Hero Books 
 
 AND NEW EDITIONS, 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "RUTLEDGE." 
 
 1. RUTLEDGE. 
 
 2. THE SUTHERLANDS. 
 
 3. LOUIE'S LAST TERM. 
 
 4. FRANK WARRINGTON. 
 
 5. ST. PHILIP'S. 
 
 6. ROUNDHEARTS. 
 
 7. RICHARD VANDERMARCK. 
 
 8. A PERFECT ADONIS. (Just Heady.) 
 
 'The Stories by the author of 'Rutledge' arc told with 
 real dramatic power, and a genuine dramatic 
 pathos, which combine to make them 
 universally read with thorough 
 satisfaction and plea- 
 sure." 
 
 All issued uniform with this volume. Price 1.50 each, 
 and sent free by mail, on receptof price, 
 
 BY 
 
 G. W. CAKXETON & CO., Publishers, 
 New York.
 
 A 
 
 PEEFECT ADONIS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 'RUTLEDGE, "THE 8DTHERLANDS, "LOUIES LAST TERM 
 
 AT ST. MAKY'S," "FRANK WAKRINGTON," "ST. 
 
 PHILIP'S," " ROUNDHEARTS," "RICHARD 
 
 ," "' 
 VANDERMARCK," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 G. W. Carleton 6? Co., Publishers. 
 
 LONDON: S. LOW, SOX & CO. 
 MDCCCLXXV.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 G. \V. CARLETON & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 J;.i'.:, F. TKOW & Sox, PRINTERS, 
 205-213 EAST i2TH ST., NEW YOKK.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 I. 
 
 |T was past one o'clock, and half-a-dozen people on 
 the steps of the hotel piazza were looking at their 
 watches, and saying that the stage was late. The 
 coming of the stage was a luminous point in the day at Mil- 
 ford ; even dinner waxed faint compared to it. The corner 
 of the hotel commanded the street that brought the stage 
 a great broad street, with a sparse edging of trees, and 
 little village shops and houses. The street on which the 
 hotel stood was also broad and straight, with again, sparse 
 trees and little houses, and shops and more hotels. Down, 
 the street by which the stage should come, a youngish lady 
 with glasses, and a very near-sighted manner, looked intently, 
 if not impatiently. She was the most prominent of the 
 group on the piazza; in fact she was always that, in mos-t 
 groups. She was abo\it twenty-five, not good-looking, pro- 
 nounced, very pronounced. Her clothes were always hand- 
 some, but so carelessly put on as to be a little (nitre at the 
 most favorable moments ; she had generally a glory of hair- 
 pins about her head, and shed gloves and handkerchiefs 
 whenever she moved, and, in her near-sighted way, was ahvavs 
 seen peering about for lost things, and receiving them back 
 with an habitual and unmeaning " O, thank you." 
 
 " For whom are you looking to-day, Miss Varian," said 
 
 2034536
 
 10 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 one of her neighbors on the piazza, a clever and hard work- 
 in"' mother of two daughters. 
 
 O O 
 
 " For whom am I looking ? O, didn't I tell you ? 
 I thought everybody knew about it Mr. Hunt, I told 
 you f " 
 
 " O, yes, indeed that's why I'm here, Miss Yarian. I'm 
 risking my dinner you see," said a gentleman, very young, 
 very tall, very blase. 
 
 "But who?" said the mother of the daughters, much 
 aroused. 
 
 " The prettiest creature," said Miss Varian ; " Dorla St. 
 John." 
 
 " I never heard of her," said the mother briefly. 
 
 " No, I suppose not. She's never been in society. She 
 is an orphan, has not had anybody to take her out, nobody 
 belonging to her but an oaf of a brother, who is only in the 
 way, no good to anybody ; not a very reputable fellow, I'm 
 afraid. She doesn't know many people. Besides, she's 
 pious." 
 
 This, Miss Varian said with simplicity, as if she had been 
 naming her nationality or her parentage. Mr. Hunt thought 
 it funny, and laughed ; when she turned on him rather 
 sharply. 
 
 " I don't like her any the less for it," she said. " I like 
 people to carry out an idea, to be something, even if it is 
 only pious. Dear devout thing; I'm not sure but that's 
 what I fancy her for more than anything. I like people 
 who own a title; who have pre-empted some adjective. SHk 
 is the only pretty young woman I know who has the right 
 to this." 
 
 " Is she so very pretty? " said one of the two daughters, 
 creeping up, interested, to join in the conversation. 
 
 " You shall soon see for yourself ; she is so fresh, so new 
 to things. I mean to do everything for her. She antici- 
 pates so much pleasure." 
 
 " Poor thing, I'm sorry for her," said Mrs. Whymple, the
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 11 
 
 mother of the two. " Such a dull place, and such a dull 
 season." 
 
 " O, I don't know about that," returned her companion. 
 " Fine weather, no end of excursions, and ever so many nice 
 people coming next month." 
 
 ' Well, if she isn't used to much, this may amuse her." 
 
 " I don't know," said Miss Varian, sharply. " I'm used 
 to a good deal, and it amuses me." 
 
 This, nobody could dispute; Miss Varian was used to a 
 good deal, and her opinion had weight. Very few young 
 women had had more amusement, and very few pursued it 
 more deliberately. A great deal of money, an easy, good- 
 natured mother, a temperament favorable to enjoyment, capi- 
 tal health, a social surrounding of the best ; the worst that 
 could be said about her was that she was fond of change, 
 that she took people up violently, and dropped them uncere- 
 moniously, that she only cared to be amused, and that she 
 was unconventional, a little meddlesome, and a good deal self- 
 willed. 
 
 At this point in the conversation, her mother came lum- 
 bering up the road from the cottage where they lodged, with 
 a double-column novel under her arm, and an umbrella over 
 her head. 
 
 " Dinner's late," she said. 
 
 " And the stage too," said her daughter. 
 
 " O, I forgot. Your protegee is coming to-day." 
 
 " O, Mrs. Varian," exclaimed the languid Miss Whymple, 
 bringing her a chair, " tell me, is she so very pretty." 
 
 " Pretty, well, I don't know. Yes. I think you'd cull 
 her pretty." 
 
 " O, what a different story ! " cried the young lady with 
 delight. " Your daughter told us she was lovelier than any 
 creature we had ever seen." 
 
 " O, my dear, you must learn to take Harriet cum yrano 
 salis. So many swans ; I've got used to them."
 
 12 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Now, Mamma, that's too bad. You know you said your- 
 self she was a beauty." 
 
 " Did I ? Well then, I have no doubt she is, or I 
 thought her so then, at least." 
 
 " There's the stage," exclaimed the tall youth, Mr. Hunt. 
 " Now let us take our salt." And he put his eyeglass to his 
 eye. Harriet dropped hers and ran forward. The stage, in 
 a cloud of dust, rattled up rapidly ; a moment's pause at the 
 post-office across the way, to throw out the mail, and then 
 the four horses drew up before the door of the hotel. 
 
 " My dear, where are you, inside or out," cried Harriet, 
 in near-sighted blindness, springing on the steps to look 
 inside, and then flying forward among the little crowd of 
 porters and loungers who had come out, to command a good 
 view of the top. 
 
 There were a great many people inside the stage, and a 
 great many outside, and a great deal of baggage, but among 
 the melee of people and things, nobody on the piazza had any 
 difficulty in recognizing the pretty debutante. She had the 
 fatal gift undoubtedly ; what with height and grace, and a 
 lovely freshness of complexion, she justified her memorialist's 
 description. She was shy too, a lovely piquante shyness, 
 that sometimes seemed a sort of fear, sometimes only a glim- 
 mering, laughing doubt how to please and what to say. It 
 was rather an ordeal, to get down from the stage-top before 
 all those people ; and her friend and admirer always had the 
 effect of embarrassing her, with her enthusiastic welcomes 
 and embraces. Mamma Varian gave her a good-natured 
 kiss, and then Harriet led her across the way to the cottage, 
 and took her to her room. 
 
 Being excused from dinner that day, and a cup of tea 
 ordered by the maid, Dorla was left alone, and shut herself 
 into her little room, with a sensation of relief. As sensitive 
 people generally are, she was tired by the journey and the 
 iin-ival, and had an excited headache. She was wretchedly 
 diffident, and felt out of place, and very much afraid, more
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 13 
 
 of her friends even than of the strangers she was to meet. 
 She was so much younger than Harriet, that she naturally 
 would never have approached her ; but she had been elected 
 to the post of favorite, and had no choice but to occupy 
 it. The life she led at home was so dull, this was step- 
 ping into another world. Without a mother since her four- 
 teenth year, with no memory of her father, and with a brother 
 who was a bitter disgrace to her, and never a companion, 
 she led a singularly restricted life in the midst of a gay city. 
 Her brother was five years older; and his disappointing 
 course had given her, almost in childhood, an unnatural sad- 
 ness. Her world had contained three people, Mamma, Harry 
 and herself. Poor little child ; at fifteen it seemed to her 
 that one-third of the world was silent, senseless and cold, 
 gone some strange whither, one-third reckless and horrible, 
 and the other third amazed and left alone. That is the way 
 things looked to her when she was very young. She was 
 very young still, but she was beginning to acknowledge to 
 herself, there were people in the world whom she had not 
 taken into her account, at fifteen. Harriet, for instance, and 
 all her set of rollicking, merry, pleasure-seeking friends. 
 They were going to do her a great deal of good, no doubt, in 
 setting her right about the smallness of her own experiences, 
 and the extent and variety of human nature, but all the 
 same, they were very foreign to her, and very disagreeable 
 at times. 
 
 About three o'clock, Harriet, not having any nerves, and 
 never feeling tired, came back and seated herself in the 
 chair by the window, and proceeded to entertain her guest. 
 
 " Now, I suppose you want to know what sort of a time 
 you're going to have, my dear? Well, in the first place 
 you're going to fall in love with the place. Don't you 
 think it's charming 'ami picturesque?" 
 
 " Why, no ; not exactly. The drive from the railroad is 
 very nice, but I am afraid I think the village is rather for- 
 lorn ; don't you ? "
 
 _ 
 
 14 A PERFECT ADONIS: 
 
 " Oh, the village, the hotels and all that. Yes, quite 
 forlorn, but the drives, the country ; you could not ask any- 
 thing lovelier? " 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I shall like it." 
 
 *' And the people ? " 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, I am a little bit afraid of them, 
 I think." 
 
 " Oh, you needn't be ; I'll take care of you. They're all 
 ready to tear you to pieces because you're such a beauty." 
 
 " Now you promised never " 
 
 " But I don't mean they shall hurt you. I think it is ex- 
 citing, and you are my great card this summer. "With you 
 I mean to punish the Whymples, and put the Duncans 
 down. I shall make you a second Attila, a scourge. It 
 will i-ight the wrongs of years. My child, you must do ex- 
 actly as I tell you, and we will carry Milfbrd. I don't see 
 why we shouldn't. With the carriage, and you, and Jack 
 Cullen coming next week, I don't see what can stop us." 
 
 " What's the carriage to do with it ? and what have I ? " 
 said Dorla, " and who is Jack Cullen ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you what the carriage has to do with it. You 
 don't know Milford. It's a place where people come when 
 they don't want an expensive summer. It's just a little 
 village overflowed by summer people, primitive and half 
 alive ; not an indigenous swell, nor a pair of fine horses, 
 nor any style but what people bring ; and as I said, people 
 come for an economical summer, and don't bring their maids 
 or their horses, and there are not four private carriages 
 here; that gives ours weight. Then we have a parlor, and 
 can leave people out if they don't do as we direct. And 
 you, oh, you are no end of a card. You see there are so 
 many prettyish girls here, but none that are new, none that 
 amount 'to anything for a sensation. ' You've seen them all 
 winter in silks and serges, and now you see them all sum- 
 mer in grenadines and muslins. The same dogs with differ- 
 ent collars. Positively 1 should think the men would de-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 15 
 
 test the sight of them ; I know I do. And no force, no origi- 
 nality ; just prettyish, fastish, stylish; that's the best you 
 can say of any of them. Now you, you know, are some- 
 thing in your own way ; a sort of an idea walking about 
 among vacancies, and I hope of all things you won't lose 
 this ; we must try to carry it out. I want you to look de- 
 vote whenever you're not in evening dress. You must 
 wear white a good deal, and beads and a cross." 
 
 " Harriet, don't talk in that way. I don't think it is 
 right." 
 
 " O, well, of course. No matter. Then about Jack. 
 He is a great favorite, and good looking, and besides he 
 brings his horse. He stays with us, and don't you see ? he 
 is very important." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 "There are not many men, that's the worst of it. I 
 don't want to have you anticipate more pleasure than you'll 
 get, you know." 
 
 " Oh, pray don't think about that. I assure you I like 
 it better without. Just quiet country days, and excursions 
 in the woods. You told me there were lovely woods." 
 
 " Oh, lovely ! But then we want something besides that. 
 I'll arrange it all. Let me tell you about the men." Dorla 
 winced. " The men " sounded so hideously to her. She 
 wondered if Harriet would call them so, if she had seen 
 some of them Harry's companions as she had, in some 
 horrid and never-to-be-forgotten encounters. 
 
 " Let me tell you about the men. There is first, the 
 creature whom you saw on the piazza, Dalton Hunt ; there 
 is no telling what he may be when he is of age. He has a 
 little sense, but is so spoiled here we can't guess what he 
 might have been; a loafing, lounging fellow, with a pipe 
 and a hammock, and a blue veil tied round his hat. Two or 
 three girls always devoted to him. Then there's Guymard, 
 a handsome young widower, clever, well-mannered, but no 
 more feeling than so much gutta-percha. You must never
 
 16 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 look for anything from him. He is ambitious, and means 
 to have his good time, and be somebody of importance when 
 he marries for the second time. Then there are two old 
 bachelors whom I despise. Dull old creatures. But we 
 must not be particular. And well really I believe that's 
 all there are ; at least, all that are here for the summer." 
 
 " Oh, Harriet ! I'm sure they're quite enough. Do let 
 the Whymples have them, and let us try the woods." 
 
 " Oh, now, my dear, don't you go to being sentimental 
 and shy, and spoil it all. It's all very well to look so ; thab 
 you can't help, but I know you have a spice of sin and or- 
 iginality in you, that you haven't yet quite prayed away. 
 Vbila ! It shall be my business to bring it out and whet 
 it up. There, now, I'll go, for I see you look wretched and 
 want to start for home the next train. I'll leave you with 
 your good little books, and not come back till tea-time. 
 Heigho ! How many of them have you brought ? My dear, 
 do you have to pray out of all these every day ? Little 
 red edges and little crosses ; what a family likeness between 
 them all. What's this one that you've taken to bed with 
 you ? Litanies, what a lot of them, intercessions, prepara- 
 tions, daily devotions ; it's all Greek to me. Ah, I'm 
 right, ' from eastern sources.' So it has been Greek, what- 
 ever it is now. There ! I won't bother you any more. 
 Put the Greek away and go to sleep. Good-bye." 
 
 Harriet presently put her head back in the door to tell 
 Dorla not to dress that evening. 
 
 " For," she said, " we'll take a drive quietly by ourselves at 
 six, and Rosa shall make us a cup of tea over here when we 
 get back, and I won't take you to the hotel till to morrow. 
 Somehow you don't look quite as well as usual, to-day. I 
 suppose it's the sun, and riding on top of the stage ; and I 
 shan't take you over till you get your complexion back, if 
 you have to stay in the cottage for a week. Rosa will get 
 you some sour cream, if the flush don't go off before bed- 
 time. Bye-bye."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 17 
 
 " She'll kill me ! " cried poor Dorla, throwing herself 
 back on the bed, as the door finally closed across the pas- 
 sage. And she nearly cried, bending the little " good book " 
 almost double in her hands. She was stung ail over, and 
 smarting with minute pains. She was shy, proud, sensi- 
 tive, conscientious, and here she was patronized, paraded, 
 probed; and her best unspoken feelings profanely made up 
 into the common talk. " I ought not to have come," she said. 
 " The only safe place for me is where I don't see anybody. 
 If she says another word about my skin I will go home. 
 It's bad enough to care about my looks myself, without 
 having people talk about them in this coarse way." And 
 she applied herself to her little book, to drive the monstrous 
 thoughts away. Poor child. This she called . temptation. 
 She had not gone very far in her matter yet. 
 
 "WEEK had passed, and this is the way things 
 stood. Harriet was satisfied, Dorla was dazzled, 
 and frightened, and uncertainly pleased. She had 
 come from something duller than a nun's life, and she was 
 in the midst of a little world of excitements, frivoli- 
 ties and strifes, of which she was the centre figure. A 
 score or so of idle women, and a dozen or two of idle men, 
 talked of her, and looked at her, and schemed about her 
 all day long. Thanks to Harriet's abilities as stage manager, 
 she was a success, a sensation. The people looked at her 
 from the little hotel piazzas as she drove past in Mrs. 
 Varian's fine open carriage, or as she walked through the 
 village with Harriet and two or three of the few gentlemen 
 who were in the place. They speculated upon the chances 
 of her going to the Bluff in the evening, or to the Glen in 
 the morning. It was something to be introduced to her, 
 for Harriet kept her very close, and would not let "her
 
 jf 
 IS A PERFECT ADONIS. ' 
 
 be profanely known. She made it a point never to spend 
 an evening at the hotels but on occasions of hops and 
 special entertainments. Then she took Dorla in full dress, 
 and looking her best, and went rather late, and there was 
 always a hush and a murmur when they came into the 
 room, in the rear of the good-natured mamma, and attended 
 by two or three favored gentlemen. The other evenings 
 they spent in the parlor or porch of their little cottage, with 
 a few people invited ; they ate indifferent ice-cream from 
 the old Frenchman's across tti% street, they compounded 
 strange drinks, they improvised suppers with cold chicken, 
 and sardines, and Albert biscuit. Spoons were short, and 
 glasses had often to be washed, but it was convivial, uncon- 
 ventional. 
 
 " C was the company highly delighted 
 Who came to the feast upon being invited." 
 
 Happy they who had the entree to the shabby little 
 parlor ; happy they who could say, nonchalantly, " at the 
 Varians' cottage the other night ; " happy they who could 
 familiarly lift the latch of the crazy little gate, and sit 
 down in the mouldy little porch if they found nobody at 
 home. How much of this was owing to Dorla's attractions, 
 and how much to Harriet's abilities, it would be difficult to 
 say. 
 
 Dorla certainly had great beauty, .and dressed herself very 
 well; this was one of her gifts. She was very fresh, and, 
 with all her piety, sufficiently piquant. For that spice of 
 sin and originality, on which Harriet had congratulated her- 
 self, contributed a good deal to her success. Her little 
 flashes of sarcasm and of temper, and her sad little repent- 
 ances, were fascinating. Everything she did was pretty and 
 unusual. Then she had around her some of the entourage 
 of style, and high life, and fashion, albeit in a rickety little 
 cottage at Milford. A maid followed her about with shawls 
 and shades, and a man in livery delivered her little notes.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 19 
 
 When she drove it was in a broad, luxurious carriage, with 
 horses that stepped high and shook their glittering harness, 
 not in a rumbling, ludicrous old hack, such as the other 
 pretty girls in Milford had to drive in, with horses that 
 haunted the imagination sorrowfully. 
 
 Then, as to Harriet's share in the success. She was na- 
 turally clever, and had seen a good deal of life. She was 
 not jealous of Dorla's good looks, for she had none of that 
 meanness of disposition. What she liked was " a good 
 time," and power, and plenly of people about her ready to 
 acknowledge her importance. She understood character su- 
 perficially, but well enough to make her full of clever de- 
 vices. Nothing pleased her better than to be putting some- 
 body through a summer or a winter, as she was now doing 
 for Dorla. It gave her an aim and an occupation, which 
 things she needed very much. She thought she was doing a 
 great deal of good, and was accordingly complacent. Her 
 creed was humanitarian. Like a great many of the bene- 
 factors of the human family who do not consult heaven, she 
 did considerable mischief. " I don't mind exerting myself," 
 she said, " to give this poor child a little pleasure." And 
 so she fastened upon her a sorrow that might be lifelong. 
 " It is a shame to see that pretty creature shut up in a dull 
 prison in the city," she said, while she was officiously forg- 
 ing for her the links that entered into her soul. It made it 
 a little better that she did it unconsciously : but it is bitter 
 to take a wound even from a careless hand. * * * 
 
 Among the men who surrounded them, there was not one 
 who put Dorla's heart in any danger. Indeed they were 
 only society men, loafing away their summer, and were 
 glad to be amused, and even ready to fall in love a little. 
 Dorla's heart fluttered at each new name, but subsided into 
 a very dull and monotonous beat after a little moment of ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " They bore me terribly, Harriet," she said, in confidence. 
 " Can't we do without them ? "
 
 20 ^ PERFECT 
 
 This was treason, and ingratitude, and Harriet was very 
 angry. 
 
 Dorla did not say anything about it any more, but learned 
 to be rather amused by them, and faintly coquettish 
 (rather faintly), and quite eager at times that they 
 should not go over to the enemy. The enemy meant the 
 two Whymples, and a pretty blonde from Philadelphia, and 
 several commonplace and envious young women whom she 
 hardly knew. Dorla became ^little blood-thirsty, witnes- 
 sing so many battles raged around her ; she entered into the 
 spirit of the conflict sometimes with an energy that surprised 
 herself, afterwards she was very much ashamed ; all the same, 
 she was injured a little by it, as everybody must be by this 
 semi-watering-place life, in which every man's or rather 
 every woman's hand is against her neighbor, and tongues 
 have utter license, and the business of every hour is only 
 to get rid of it. 
 
 One day they were sitting in the Glen together, Dorla 
 and her patroness. It was quite a rare thing for them to be 
 alone together, they always had some followers. That 
 morning they had sent away their followers to see about 
 wagons for a picnic, and Dorla was trying to read to Harriet, 
 who was trying to embroider. The Glen was cool and 
 shady, the stream at their feet ran dark and deep under the 
 pines. 
 
 " Somehow I don't care for reading," said Dorla, listlessly 
 laying down the book. She had laid it down a dozen times 
 that morning, when Harriet had interrupted her to talk 
 about the little hostilities and rivalries of the hotels. I 
 really think, Harriet, it belittles one -very much to live the 
 sort of life we're leading. I begin to feel as if there were 
 not anything in the world of greater interest than the suc- 
 cess of the picnic to-morrow, or more majestic than putting 
 down the Whymples." 
 
 " Oh, my dear," said, Harriet impatiently, tangling her 
 silk in her disapprobation, " don't begin to tooi-alize. That's
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 21 
 
 just like Felix, he's always proving the littleness of things 
 to me. For my part I mean to think the thing I'm doinc: is 
 the most important occurrence of the century, and nobody 
 shall disillusionize me." 
 
 Felix was Harriet's only brother, two years her senior, a 
 handsome young lordling of twenty-seven, with so much 
 money and RO much leisure, and so much good looks, as to 
 be greatly bored. He had been for several years in Europe, 
 and did not talk of coming home. In fact, the easy mam- 
 ma and the busy sister were, each in their v.ay, ;i pt to put 
 him out of humor. Of course, though, they were fond 
 of him in their own way, and Harriet talked of him ad 
 nauseum^ some of her companions thought. Dorla always 
 was an interested listener ; she longed to see this prince 
 among men ; she kept his picture in her writing desk, and 
 made Harriet read all his letters to her. She had made up 
 a little romance to herself about this brother, and had more 
 interest in him than in all the people round her. When 
 Harriet introduced his name on this occasion, her listless 
 manner vanished, and she said : 
 
 " Well if he doesn't find watering-place life good for his 
 soul's health, I'm sure I should agree with him." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'm sure you and he would suit each other 
 a Tnervedle. But mind you, he isn't any saint, on the con- 
 trary, a quiet young sinner, to the best of my belief; so 
 quiet that you'd probably never find it out, however. But 
 in your aesthetics, your nonsense about the woods, and all 
 that sort of thing, your horror of noisy people, you would 
 agree exactly. I think I'll keep Felix for you, you're just 
 his style and just the coloring to suit his eye." 
 
 " Ah, thank you ! It's so probable he will be kept ; it is 
 more than likely that he is engaged to be married at this 
 moment." (This was to be assured for the great 
 many-th time that there wasn't a possibility of sucli a 
 thing occurring, that the only danger was he would not ever 
 marry.)
 
 22 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Well," with a laugh, " that doesn't make it any better 
 for me ; what's the use in talking about him to me if he 
 isn't ever going to marry ? " 
 
 " Oh, but when he sees you he'll change his mind en- 
 tirely. He delights in hair of just your shade of brown." 
 
 " Well, that must be because it is so like his own." 
 
 " His own ! Why, his is light. How often must I tell 
 
 you." 
 
 " It's dark in his picture, I am sure." 
 
 " Why, here," said Harriet, taking from her dress a locket, 
 " here it is. Do you call that dark or light ?" Dorla bent 
 over it. The locket was a curious old fashioned thing, two 
 large clear ovals of crystal, bound in reddish gold. Pressed 
 between them there was a single yellow curl. The locket was 
 fastened to a gold chain, thin and fine. 
 
 " What a quaint, old locket," she cried taking it in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Yes, but the hair ; I suppose you call that yellow, do 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Why, I believe I must. But no doubt it was cut off 
 when he was a little child." 
 
 " The day before he went away to college. It may be a 
 shade or two darker now, but still it's unquestionably light." 
 
 " Harriet, I think I like yellow-haired men." 
 
 " You do ? Well, there is Mr. Oliver, he will be glad to 
 know it." 
 
 " I did not say mouse color. Come let me wear this 
 "locket, it is so very odd I like it." 
 
 She did not wait for permission, but clasped the thin 
 chain round her throat, and cast admiring looks down on 
 the locket. 
 
 " Very well," said Harriet, "you shall wear it till Felix 
 comes home, or till you hear he has a wife." 
 
 " Agreed," said Dorla. 
 
 And then Mr. Oliver, of the mouse colored hair, came 
 down the path to join them, and Dorla tried to be inter-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 23 
 
 ested in the programme for the picnic, and was very gentle 
 and polite, but rather absent-minded, as she let him carry 
 her shawl and book, and give her his arm across the bridge 
 and up the steep path to the village street. He was an el- 
 derly, estimable young man, but very unexciting. 
 
 BOUT the middle of Aiigust, however, a crisis came 
 in the smooth successes of the Varian faction ; a 
 certain pretty Mi's. Seymour arrived, accompanied 
 by wagon loads of cribs, mattresses, bath tubs, peram- 
 bulators and nursery appliances. No one could appre- 
 hend social rivalry from such a source. Five children 
 under seven years ought to be enough to occupy the time 
 of even a pretty woman who has been a belle. Everybody 
 took to her, she was naive, she was popular, she talked to 
 everybody d cceur overte / she dealt sweetness right and 
 left. She took counsel of the old ladies about household 
 grievances ; she talked by the hour to the young mothers 
 about farina, and barley flour, and rational food for in- 
 fants. She sighed a little with the young girls about 
 her past successes, as if they were things of the dim, dim 
 past. The men she coddled; asking them over to her 
 cottage, and making them nice things in a silver porringer 
 over a little lamp if they were not well, making them very 
 comfortable in her easy chairs, and being devoted to the 
 smell of smoke ; getting them to talk a great deal about 
 themselves, and being very sympathetic. 
 
 Every one was sorry for her ; it was so hard for such a 
 delicate woman to have such a host of children, and such 
 sickly children too. According to her story they had the 
 croup, some of them, every night, but she was the heroine 
 of all her little narratives, and you thought a great deal more 
 about her suffering than the children's. She resolved at
 
 24: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 these frequently recurring crises to telegraph for the Major, 
 and then heroically resolved not. These things were talked 
 abont a great deal. This went on for two or three weeks ; 
 everybody was running about on her little errands, and 
 running to see how the sickest baby was. After these har- 
 rowing nights, people sent for her to drive, (and she al- 
 ways went). They begged her to come up to the hotel for 
 a little relaxation in the evenings (and she always came)* 
 They brought her novels to divert her mind with, (and she 
 always read them). 
 
 It began to dawn on people's minds after a month of this, 
 that Mrs. Seymour's cares did not sit heavy on her, much as 
 she talked about them ; that croup and cholera-infantum 
 had never yet interfered with any of her plans of pleasure ; 
 that her cottage, overflowing with babies and nurses as it 
 was, was beginning to be the most popular cottage in the 
 place. All the gentlemen gravitated to it fatally for their 
 after-dinner smokes and for their after-supper chats ; and a 
 few young women, with disinterested tenderness, were always 
 to be found there, to lighten the burden of her heavy cares. 
 The old ladies were no* quite so enthusiastic as at first, and 
 the young mothers felt they had been swindled. 
 
 Harriet Varian was angry, no words can tell how angry. 
 
 " That fraud, Dorla, that fraud. She and her ever- 
 lasting babies have been a corps, of sappers and miners, and 
 have nearly done the work for us. Why absolutely, if I 
 hadn't drummed up Oliver last night, we should not have 
 had a soul to speak to all the evening, Rosa says there 
 were twenty people there last night, and they didn't go away 
 till half-past twelve at least. And they are actually going 
 to have a dance to-night, and a supper at Fauchere's. Of 
 course they've left us out, for I haven't spoken to her for a 
 week. But all the men are going, and we are in a pretty 
 fix. She has even roped in Oliver, though I know he doesn't 
 want to go. We might as well give up ! And it has 
 all been sprung upon us." Harriet was particularly bitter,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 25 
 
 for she had been one of the most enthusiastic admirers of 
 Mrs. Seymour on her first arrival. 
 
 " There is just this about it," she said with emphasis. 
 " We must do something for this evening, or we are beaten 
 off the field. Where shall we go ? What shall we do ? " 
 
 " W T e can't have anything very general, can we ? " said 
 Dorlu, with a little laugh. " Considering we have snubbed 
 all the ladies, aud the gentlemen have all snubbed us." 
 
 Harriet knit her brows. This was too serious for light 
 words. Again she said, " if I can't get up something for to- 
 night, I will go home to-morrow." 
 
 Then Dorla knew she must not laugh any more, but must 
 apply her mind to business. " I have it," exclaimed 
 Harriet at last, dashing her glasses away from her eyes, and 
 springing up. " I have it, Dorla ; your portfolio." Dorla 
 brought it, begging to know what she had got. 
 
 " I want you to write a note," she said, " at once, to that 
 young Rotherrnel, who was so taken with you, at the Falls 
 the other day, and invite him to go with us to take tea at 
 the Brewery to-night." 
 
 " I won't do anything of the sort," said Dorla, flushing, 
 and speaking with unusual promptness. 
 
 " You must, you shall," exclaimed Harriet with vehe- 
 mence. " Your foolish prudery will spoil everything. You 
 expect everything to come to you and you not move a finger. 
 If all girls did as you do, I'm afraid there would not be 
 much animation in society. Dorla, you've got to write this 
 note for me." 
 
 " You needn't ask me." 
 
 " I think this is a pretty return for all I've done for you 
 this summer." 
 
 " Harriet, I know you have been everything that's kind 
 but" 
 
 " But you won't do the first thing that I ask you to." 
 
 " Harriet, I can't do such a tiling as that. It would be posi- 
 tively indecent. I haven't spoken to him more than twice."
 
 26 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " No, but you know lie's very much in love with you." 
 
 " So much tlie worse." 
 
 " Simpleton ! How ! He'll think everything you do is 
 right, and will be in a seventh heaven. Besides, you'll 
 probably never see him after you go away from here, and 
 never hear his name, and if there were anything improper in 
 it (which there isn't), nobody'll ever be the wiser, for he 
 won't talk about it ; he is far too shy, and we needn't say 
 anything if we do not choose. He's just a country fellow, 
 I know that, but he is very handsome, and has niceish sort 
 of manners for a person brought up here, and the Whympies 
 and the rest of them would have been very glad to get hold 
 of him, but he wouldn't take any notice of their overtures. 
 You know they made a great point of getting him for the 
 tableaux, but he refused point blank." 
 
 " Maybe he'd refuse us point blank," said Dorla, looking 
 down. 
 
 " O, no danger," returned Harriet. " You know yourself 
 how he has been hanging round the hotel ever since your 
 little adventure with him at the Falls. Before that, you 
 know he hardly ever came here, and we only saw him driv- 
 ing past, or at his office, and once or twice at church." 
 
 Dorla knew that perfectly well, and a good deal more. 
 She knew how the handsome young fellow, semi-farmer, 
 semi-lawyer, had haunted her steps, since that little adventure 
 that had made them acquainted. How honest and real his 
 admiration was, and how much more she enjoyed it, than 
 the insipid compliments of the men about her. This had 
 really been a little romance to her, of which she had not 
 talked to Harriet, of course. She thought of the way in 
 which he had colored and been agitated, when she had met 
 him at the steps of the little law office in the village, and 
 had spoken to him, and then fancied how any one could dare 
 to ask of her the enormity of sending him a note. 
 
 " I'll do anything else for you Harriet, but I won't do 
 that."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 27 
 
 " Dorla, I think you are as ungrateful as you are prudish. 
 Any other girl would do it. ? ' 
 
 " Get some other girl to do it then." 
 
 " I wish from my heart I had some other girl to ask, and 
 that I hadn't turned everybody out for you. This will be the 
 end of everything. If I don't succeed in getting up this 
 party, you may bid good-bye to Milford, for I'll pack my 
 trunks to-morrow. Think, Dorla, what a nice plan this will 
 be. I've made it all out. It will just upset the Seymour's 
 supper, and give us the eclat of an exclusive, charming 
 little expedition. In the first place, I shall make Jack 
 Cullen break with them, and go with us. I think he's 
 rather taken with the little humbug, but he knows too 
 much to make me angry ; our house in town is something to 
 him; he will not daresay no. Then, there is Oliver. I think 
 he'd rather go witli us, it only needs a. word to make him come. 
 I'm sure of him. There are three men. Then Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bishop, jolly, clever people and the Davises, who are 
 always trumps. Then you see it's lovely moonlight. We 
 can drive round the Hamonskill, to the Brewery, take our 
 tea there about nine o'clock, and come home by moonlight. 
 You know the Brewevy is such a queer old place, and the 
 teas there used to be quite famous. Nobody has been there 
 this year it's quite a novelty, ever so much better than a 
 supper at Fauchere's, where everybody goes at least every 
 week. We'll take some champagne with us, and Oliver 
 shall carry his guitar and sing, and altogether it will be suc- 
 cessful. It is no end of a lark. Dorla, how can you be so 
 obstinate ? " 
 
 " I am not obstinate about anything but the note, ask the 
 other people " 
 
 " I won't stir without three men. I will not go unless 
 there are enough to make it look convivial. A miserable 
 scraped-together party, with two or three sticks, married 
 men, and :i brand or two snatched from the rival fire. No, 
 unless wo Lave something fresh and noticeable, we are better
 
 28 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 .off at home, creeping to bed at nine o'clock without lighting the 
 parlor lamp. I should think you'd have a little pride, my 
 dear. After the fuss people have made about you, it isn't 
 pleasant to see you snuffed out in this manner." 
 
 " Of course it isn't pleasant," said Dorla, between a pout 
 and a laugh. " It only shows it was a fictitious market : 
 the inflation was owing to you altogether." 
 
 " Not altogether," cried Harriet, " but to be frank, it was 
 not all your eyes and hair. All I ask is that you help me 
 out of this. If you will, I'll never be deceived by any one 
 again ! The more babies a woman has, the more I will dis- 
 trust her. Nothing but grandchildren will put me off my 
 guard." 
 
 " The Seymour would flirt if she had the second gen- 
 eration on her knees." 
 
 " Nobody would flirt with her. She would not harm 
 us then. But now, to block her game. Dorla, here's your 
 paper ; write the little note. John won't have more than 
 time to take it, and do all my errands." 
 
 " Harriet, there isn't the smallest use in asking me." 
 
 " Now tell me in plain English, why you are so obstinate. 
 What harm is there in asking a man to join a party, in 
 which there are at least two matrons, and in which every- 
 body is older than yourself ? Come, why can't you do it ? 
 Your first reason ? " 
 
 " Because I don't know him, and because I don't like to." 
 
 "Well, the next?" 
 
 " Because he isn't exactly in our sort of life and mightn't 
 know how to take it, and because O, Harriet, well, if you 
 must make me say it, I am afraid, that is, I think he thinks 
 he likes me, and might be unhappy about it, when he found 
 out we were only making use of him. He isn't the sort of man 
 to laugh at, Harriet, he isn't used to our ways of doing 
 things. You had better let him drop, and think of some- 
 body else to butcher for your Roman holiday." 
 
 Miss Varian left the room at this in a great pet. She
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 29 
 
 renounced Dorla and her interests for the space of half an 
 hour; she even pulled a trunk out and sent for Rosa to 
 come and do her packing. But before .Rosa could arrive 
 she had come to a wiser resolution. She did not know 
 where to go if she went from Milford, and there wa,s noth- 
 ing better than to reconquer Milford, and begin the cam- 
 paign da capo. As to Dorla's scruples, there was more than 
 one way of getting around an obstacle. She would write 
 the note herself in Dorla's name. She had a right to do it, 
 she had done so much for her ; and then, when it came out, 
 she would laugh and tell her all about it. Really there was 
 nothing in it. It was making a mountain out of nothing. 
 She despised herself for giving herself so much trouble. 
 This was the solution she should have arrived at, at the 
 first. So she pulled out of the portfolio, which in her temper 
 and haste she had kept in her hand when she left the other 
 room, a sheet of pearl colored note paper, with Dorla's 
 initials in lilac on it, and she wrote : " Miss St. John will 
 be very glad if Mr. Rothermel will join Mrs. Yarian's party 
 to the Brewery to-night. At seven o'clock the ladies will be 
 ready, if Mr. Rothermel will meet them in the parlor of the 
 cottage." 
 
 Then Harriet's spirits rose. This was quite to her taste. 
 It was conquering adverse fortune. She scrawled off two 
 other little notes, sent Rosa to lay in wait for Mr. Cullen, 
 and marched forth to reduce Oliver in person. That was 
 very easily accomplished. He was quite soft-hearted about 
 Dorla, and she forged a sweet little message from her, and he 
 was soon flying about, sending orders to the Brewery and put- 
 ting things en train. Jack Cullen was not so easy to subdue. 
 1 [<: was quite captivated by Mrs. Seymour, and was moreover 
 deeply implicated in the supper party, was the head and 
 front of it, in fact, under her direction. How to make him 
 break through all this was Harriet's difficulty; for she fore- 
 saw cheerfully it would be a permanent break. Amiable as the 
 lady was, she would never overlook a slight like that. Jack
 
 30 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 would never again smoke his after-dinner meerschaum in 
 the shade of that catalpa, if Harriet carried her point to-day. 
 And she did carry it. Jack was a society man. He dared 
 not put the Varians against him. He owed them a good 
 deal, an,d (what was more to the point) he expected to owe 
 them a great deal more. He basely forswore the supper 
 party, and with a gloomy front marshalled himself again in 
 the Varian following. 
 
 At half-past six, when Dorla came down into the parlor, 
 a little late, she found everybody there. And more than 
 everybody. When she saw young Rothermel, she gave a 
 little start and colored. He was not too much embarrassed 
 to notice her blush. Harriet, looking a little flushed and 
 excited too, managed to whisper to Dorla with a laugh, as 
 she passed her, " you see I managed to get him without you 
 after all." 
 
 Dorla was in a fever of curiosity to know " how," but 
 there was no time and no opportunity for an explanation. 
 The room was quite full of people, for, all massed, the party 
 was respectable in numbers ; Mrs. Varian and the two 
 young ladies, the three gentlemen so hardly won, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bishop, and the three Davises, father, daughter 
 and a son. The carriages were at the door. Into the 
 Varian carriage, Harriet put Mrs. Varian, Mrs. Bishop, 
 Mr. Davis and Oliver. Into the large open wagon, went the 
 others. Dorla and the pretty Davis girl were on the back- 
 seat ; on the high seat of the driver Jack Cullen was put, as 
 being a conspicuous place, and one not involving him in 
 conversation. (His present condition of mind was not 
 favorable to conversation.) The precious object of Harriet's 
 scheming and forgery was also made prominent, as was the 
 hamper of champagne. 
 
 Then, amid much laughing and merriment, some of it 
 rather forced, they started from the house, the large wagon 
 leading. Harriet insisted upon making the tour of the vil- 
 lage. It was a lovely evening ; the people were just coming
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 31 
 
 from tea, starting for their walk to the Bluff, or sitting 
 about thy piazzas. It is safa to say everybody in. Milford 
 saw them. And very nice and jolly they looked. A good 
 many people doubtless envied them. They eclipsed the 
 supper-party, now raging with the defection of its t\vo best 
 men ; they delighted the popular eye. Admiration and envy 
 followed them neck-and-neck as they swept out of the vil- 
 lage, clown the hill, towards the lovely river road. How very 
 few but thought them happy and gay, and that all these 
 pleasures had been tumbled in their lap by a generous and 
 partial destiny. Not guessing at the rancor and envy and 
 deceit that had underlaid the matter, and the little crime of 
 forgery which was the corner stone of the construction. 
 Several of the party felt very uncomfortable ; all were 
 rather silent, after they were fairly out of the village. 
 Jack was in obstinate ill-humor, making very little effort 
 to conceal his feelings. Oliver was dull and a little senti- 
 mental. Young Kotherniel was constrained and awkward. 
 Poor Dorla felt personally responsible for his behavior, and 
 was miserable every time he opened his mouth, lest he 
 should say something that the sharp-witted citizens by whom 
 he was surrounded could turn into ridicule. She was 
 much perplexed to know how he got there ; nor could she 
 understand a certain shade of difference in his manner, a 
 slight decrease in diffidence, and a slight increase in ardor. 
 When she was left beside him for one moment as they were 
 getting out of the carriages at the Brewery, she was in great 
 alarm lest he should tell her that he loved her on the spot. 
 " Maybe they do so in the country," she thought, in terror, 
 hurrying to get beside some one. His eyes said so much, so 
 unaccountably much, for such a very limited acquaintance. 
 Poor fellow, he was alarmingly, recklessly in love, and before 
 the expedition was over, everybody knew it quite as well as 
 Dorla did. The sudden elevation of hope that he owed to 
 Harriet's fraud had brought his latent passion into full 
 maturity. He was very young and very ignorant, as Dorla
 
 32 A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 had told Harriet, " of their ways of doing tilings." He was, 
 as Harriet had predicted, in a seventh heaven ; and the 
 added influence of the moonlight, the champagne, the 
 music, and the gay party, (for before the end of the even- 
 ing, the party was gay), made him quite reckless who knew 
 the state of his affections. 
 
 Sitting out on the piazza of the Brewery, after tea, Oliver 
 sang some love songs, in a slender metallic voice. Such 
 music was better than nothing, but not very good. The 
 moonlight was lovely, and the air was balmy. The tea, or 
 supper, also had been very good. The ladies sat on the 
 piazza, the gentlemen leaned about the railing or sat on the 
 steps. Jack, still morose, smoked his cigar a few rods down 
 the path. After Oliver had sung all his little ditties, some 
 one said, who else would sing ? Harriet said, " Would not 
 Mr. Rothermel ? " He consented and took the guitar in his 
 hand. Dorla was in an agony of apprehension, and made 
 Harriet an imploring gesture, which Harriet scorned to 
 notice, otherwise than by urging the singing upon him further. 
 Dorla bent down her head as he began, and wished that she 
 were deaf. She had seen the bright-eyed Davis girl was 
 preparing to enjoy a little comedy. Even Jack drew near 
 with a shade of interest, and Dorla saw Mrs. Bishop touch 
 her husband's arm. This all seemed absolutely cruel ; she 
 was in a fever of mortification. This man, through her, 
 was being made a fool of; a good honest fellow too, a better 
 man perhaps than some of those who judged him. He was 
 tolerably well educated (she had found that out already), 
 having spent his four respectable years in a college-town, 
 and having studied law after it with as much result as usual. 
 What he lacked was what both colleges and law schools do not 
 supply, to wit, good breeding. He used correct English 
 when he spoke ; she had never seen him do a flagrantly 
 gauche thing. He seemed to have a general and consistent 
 idea of good manners; yet she was always uncertain of him, 
 and was always tingling with a sense of discord. But to-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 33 
 
 night she had an agreeable surprise ; in a few moments after 
 he began to sing, she ceased to wish that she were deaf, and 
 presently raised her head, and gazed at him with reassur- 
 ance. For he had a voice of great strength, and though 
 uncultivated, quite remarkable for sweetness and expres- 
 sion. Every one was listening with pleasure. Evidently the 
 study of elementary music had entered into the programme 
 of the respectable four years, and the guitar had been re- 
 garded as part of a " liberal education." His songs were 
 old-fashioned and only of one order, but they were just such 
 as suited the hour and the surroundings. They were beati- 
 fic, after Oliver's tinkling tenor. " When the swallows 
 homeward lly," " Always of thee I'm fondly dreaming," " I'd 
 ofier thee this hand of mine " seemed not a shade too 
 romantic and tender for the hour and the occasion. There 
 was so much reality and abandon in his singing, that every- 
 one (but Jack) was touched. Sitting on the steps at Dorla's 
 feet in that soft air and moonlight, it was easy to put ex- 
 pression into such songs as these. Dorla felt a warmth of 
 pleasure and interest ; it is very pleasant to know a man not 
 to be ashamed of has fallen in love with you. 
 
 There was a great deal of enthusiasm expressed for his 
 songs. He was made to sing everything he had the small- 
 est knowledge of; to sing all the best songs over, -and to be 
 recommended to learn everybody's favorite, " which would 
 just suit his voice." Harriet was secretly happy at finding 
 him possessed of such an accomplishment, which rendered 
 him so presentable, and she made out a plan for the new cam- 
 paign, with his aid, in which Mrs. Seymour was to be routed 
 horse, foot and dragoon. He was to make her little parties 
 agreeable, he was to raise the falling mercury of Dorla's re- 
 nown ; he was to be their slave. And much more useful 
 and unique a slave than Oliver, or that " Spanish volunteer," 
 poor Jack. Thinking of all this, Harriet could not be too 
 thankful that she had written the little note. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you it would be no end of a lark," she
 
 34: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 said to Dorla, at her chamber door that night, declining 
 however to enter, and keeping Rosa by her to prevent con- 
 fidential questioning. 
 
 "No end of a lark." Yes, verily : slang fulfilled a pro- 
 phetic sense for once. It had no end, that lark, as poor 
 Dorla found at last. 
 
 HE lost ground was soon regained : Oliver and 
 Piothermel were ready weapons, and poor Jack was 
 always at their command, faute de mieux, to com- 
 mand him. For he could not go back, after that sad 
 day, to the Seymour's care, and all the coddling he got, he 
 go from the sharp-voiced Harriet. The Seymour's temper 
 suffered by these reverses ; she became less soft, less winning 
 to the smokers of meerschaums. The tide of favor turned, 
 wavered, and finally set strong towards the Varians. Their 
 cottage was again the gathering point of all the gentlemen, 
 the resort of the cleverest and nicest people. People 
 talked about Dorla, as they did at first ; admired her, criti- 
 cised her, found fault with her, but made her very important. 
 They tattled, they babbled, they grew childish, as only idle 
 people can. What point of smallness would they not have 
 reached, if the summer had been more than three months 
 long. 
 
 The summer was now at its close, and pleasant as it had been, 
 everybody was a little tired of it and glad to go away. Peo- 
 ple were tired of each other ; intimacies were worn thin, and 
 needed to be used with care. Harriet, for her part, felt that 
 she required relaxation. She had worked hard that summer. 
 Oliver thought change of scene might benefit his suit. Jack 
 had done nothing but swear at Milford since his rupture with 
 Mrs. Seymour ; and as for Dorla, she longed eagerly to get 
 away. She knew that going away was the end of gayety and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 3tf 
 
 holiday for her ; but she had become involved in a sort of 
 life that filled her with dissatisfaction, and the only way out 
 of it, was to get out of Milford. It seemed to be entirely 
 without her consent that she was put in the position she 
 occupied. She rebelled against all the worldly code of her 
 s"t, and yet she went 011 obedient to it. But it must be re- 
 membered, she was very young, very humble, and a little 
 timid. She could hardly stand up against so many people 
 older than herself, and cleverer by reason of experience. 
 But what troubled her most, was not the belittling of her 
 mind and the blinding of her conscience, that threatened 
 from such a sort of life, but the more positive and tangible 
 perplexity of what to do about young Rothermel. Harriet 
 had used him, had nattered him, had kept him about them, 
 till the affair had grown into serious proportions. Dorla 
 protested and avoided him, fled him, looked wretched when- 
 ever they were together j but that did not help the matter. 
 Ever since that evil Brewery party, he had seemed to feel 
 he had a right to be in love with her. He and Oliver were 
 ragingly jealous of each other ; that made a charming little 
 play, which Harriet, the Bishops, and the Davises, never 
 seemed to tire of assisting at. Dorla never ceased to be un- 
 comfortable, and the admiration she received from others 
 was quite lost upon her, for this annoyance. She did not 
 mind Oliver ; he seemed conventional and commonplace ; 
 she very much doubted whether he meant anything at all. 
 But this young countryman ; this was cruel, and she hated 
 herself for being the instrument of his torture, though how it 
 had come about, she was not sure at all. There was a mystery 
 about it all. Surely she had not encouraged him enough to 
 have made all this commotion. For everybody was talking 
 al>out it (having little else to talk about), and even the peo- 
 ple of the village were busy in the matter. Dorla simply 
 longed to get away, and hailed with gratitude the day 
 named for their going, when it came. She had been almost 
 invisible for a day or two, and no " declarations " had been in
 
 36 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 order. She was very womanly, if not very adroit, and 
 neither of her lovers had half a minute's interview with her, 
 from the time their going was decided on. She was Mrs. 
 Varian's shadow, and never left her side when out of the 
 cottage. When in it, she generally had a headache, and 
 could not leave her room. 
 
 The morning of the departure proved bright and cool ; a 
 radiant September day. A large party was going. All Mil- 
 ford stood idle and gazing about the piazza steps to say or 
 look good-bye all Milford, that is, that was not going away 
 in the stage. It was voted more of a lark to go on the top of 
 the stage, than to go in the carriage. So Harriet and Dorla 
 scrambled up to the topmost seat, with Jack and young 
 Davis established at their feet. They were bright with gay 
 cloaks and blue veils, and Harriet had a violent red plume in 
 her hat, (which became the stage top more than it did her). 
 Jack had his gun and fishing rods. There was Russia 
 leather run mad, in every device of valise, bag, lunch-box, 
 shawl strap. Altogether, they were a bi-ight and pretty 
 sight, and it looked like the very romance of a journey. 
 Dorla, with a white " breast " in her hat, and a dark blue 
 cloak wrapped around her, looked a little pale, but always 
 pretty. Oliver she was watching furtively, keenly appre- 
 hending an interview at the depot. She knew his farewell on 
 the steps had not been final. For the other, she was in per- 
 plexity. He had not been near them since the day before. 
 Surely he did not mean a depot declaration also. She re- 
 solved to take young Davis' arm when they got down from 
 the stage, and never to let it go till they were past the first 
 station on the road to town (no matter what became of the 
 baggage). 
 
 All this while, during the formation of this resolution and 
 during this furtive watching, she was bending down like a 
 gracious young princess, and saying good-bye to the people 
 who stood below and who had come to see them off. At 
 last J " Crack went the whip, round went the wheels, were
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 37 
 
 never folk so glad." Amid waved handkerchiefs, and 
 scattered kisses, and renewed good-byes, the stage rolled out 
 of the village. 
 
 During the drive to the depot, Dorla once grew a little 
 quiet, and stopped talking half a moment, just half a moment, 
 to young Davis. Her quick eye had caught sight of a figure, 
 a man in sportsman's clothes, with a gun at his side, leaning 
 against a tree, on a hill at their right, about quarter of a 
 mile off from the highway. No one else saw him ; it would 
 have been difficult to say how she saw him, or how she 
 recognized him at that distance but she knew instantly ; it 
 was Rbthermel, " Poor little Rothermel." Though why she 
 called him little was as mysterious ; for he was honest five 
 feet ten. The sudden sight gave her pain. This was so 
 cruel, and so real, and so wrong. She wished she could for- 
 get all about it ; no doubt she would when she got away 
 from Milford. No doubt this was the last time she should 
 ever see or hear of him. Ah! And with that certainty, 
 she said softly to herself, " Good-bye, poor fellow. Forget 
 all about this foolish summer; and I'll pray for you always 
 for my penance. You'll be happy .soon with somebody that 
 you'll think a hundred times better than you think me 
 now." 
 
 Oliver did not declare himself at the depot, for the same 
 reason that he had not declared himself before. He did not 
 get a chance. Dorla gave a deep sigh of relief as the cars 
 started, and she felt as if she could at last rest upon her 
 arms. The journey was not very different from other jour- 
 neys of its length, notwithstanding the advantages it seemed 
 to present in the matter of Russia leather and lunch. The 
 cars were delayed a little, the afternoon of the brilliant Sep- 
 tember morning had become hot, and there was a good deal 
 of dust. Harriet had a headache, and Mrs. Varian was very 
 matter of fact. 
 
 \Vlicn the city was reached, and they dropped Dorla at her 
 door, it was without much demonstration of sentiment at
 
 38 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 parting ; Mrs. Yarian seemed chiefly anxious to get home at 
 the hour she had written for dinner, and Harriet was most 
 concerned about a missing check which Jack had been left at 
 the ferry to light about. It seemed to Dorla as she went 
 up the steps and rang the bell, alone (the carriage in the 
 interests of dinner having driven on), a very tame and un- 
 exciting ending to her so exciting summer. As the servant 
 opened the door, she smelled the smell of the old familiar 
 soup which the cook would make four days in seven ; one 
 carrot, one turnip, an onion, two tops of celery, two pounds 
 fresh lean beef ; how she hated it. The house was darkish, 
 nobody being expected. Harry she knew was " out of town." 
 O, how dingy, and worn, and dull the parlors looked, as the 
 woman lit the gas (with a horrid match that filled the air 
 with sulphur). Whole weeks, and months, and years of se- 
 clusion, and worry, and monotony, defiled before her as she 
 looked down those dim rooms. She wondered she had 
 wanted to come away from Milford. Milford was paradise ; 
 and she had left paradise behind forever. 
 
 There were some bills lying on the dining-room mantel- 
 piece ; Harry always left the bills for her. There were no 
 letters, no cai'ds, nothing that looked young-lady-like and 
 pleasant. 
 
 " I don't want any dinner," she said to the servant. " Just 
 bring me some tea up to my room." Dorla spent the even- 
 ing on the lounge in her own room alone (that was where 
 she would spend a good many). O, Milford was very pleas- 
 ant ! And her holiday was over. There wouldn't be any 
 sequel to it she foresaw, in the winter pleasures which Har- 
 riet could give, for Harriet was going on to Newport the 
 next day. She would be there all the autumn, and be in 
 Washington much of the winter. Moreover, Dorla felt, 
 her days of intimacy with the Varians were over. Some- 
 how they were all beginning to feel their dissimilarity, and 
 Harriet had never been intimate with any one beyond one 
 season. Dorla was kneeling before her open trunk (which
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 39 
 
 the expressman had banged clown in the lower hall, and the 
 women had dragged toilsomely xip stairs), and was taking 
 out, carefully and tenderly, the dresses and little toilet adorn- 
 ments of the now departed summer. They each had a little 
 separate pathos to her. This was the sash that had got 
 caught in the bushes at the Glen, and about which Oliver 
 wrote the very even rhymes which she had put away care- 
 fully in her writing desk, lower down in the trunk. These 
 were the gloves, and she sighed a little as she pulled out the 
 fingers, that she had worn at the masque ball. Young Davis 
 had carried them in his pocket for a day or two, and had 
 shown some inclination not to give them up. What a nice 
 evening that had been. And here was the skirt, the poor, 
 dear old skirt, that she had worn to the Peak that glorious 
 morning when the wind blew so, and the sky was so intensely 
 blue. She could feel the strong breeze in her face, and the 
 glow that went through her as she climbed the uneven path ; 
 hero was the rent that she had made as she sprang over the 
 great tree that lay across their way. Oliver had said a great 
 many foolish things about it, and had given her pins to fas- 
 ten it up, out of a little cushion he carried in his pocket 
 that somebody had made for him " that liked him." O, who 
 could. Dorla tried to fancy the kind of girl that would 
 like Mr. Oliver and make pin-cushions for him. And here, 
 crushed between two dresses was her pretty straw hat, with 
 its faded ribbons; but it was bright with many pleasant 
 memories, and she lifted it tenderly. Wreathed in it, were 
 some ferns and leaves that Rothermel had picked for her one 
 clay at the KamonslMll. They were brittle and brown, and 
 broke when she touched them ; but they brought back the 
 smell of the moss and the feeling of the light spray on her 
 face, as they had stood under the wall of rock, and looked up 
 at the fall above. O, the blessed, lovely woods and waters 
 the broad, free hill-tops and the summer wind ! How she 
 longed for them, as she felt herself pent once again in city 
 bounds ; as she smellcd the close and stagnant air, and heard
 
 40 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 the roar of city noises that came in through the wide opened 
 window. She was kneeling before the trunk with the hat 
 and its ferns in her hand, far away in a revery, when the 
 door was pushed open, and the cook appeared ; a gaunt, 
 dark woman, whose unlovely temper showed itself upon her 
 face. She had lived some years in the house, and was honest 
 and sober and all that is detestable. 
 
 " So you're back, Miss Dorla," she said. Dorla said yes, 
 and sighed a little to think that was the only welcoming 
 word that had been spoken. She was prevented from trying 
 to be amiable in her interest about the cook's health, by the 
 woman's saying without preface, " And what's for breakfast. 
 That's what I came about." 
 
 " O, I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 A shrng and silence. 
 
 " Anything ; you know what is in the house. I don't 
 care at all." 
 
 " That's the kind that's always hardest to be pleased." 
 
 " But you know I'm. not that kind, I'm very easy to be 
 pleased.'" 
 
 " All the same, I'd like you to say what I'm to make 
 you for your breakfast." 
 
 " O, well, I don't know ; I think I should like some 
 oysters, perhaps." 
 
 " It's nearly ten o'clock, and the shops are likely shut." 
 
 " O, then don't think of it. A chop" 
 
 " We haven't an ounce of fresh meat in the house." 
 
 " Well, some cold beef anything cold you have." 
 
 " The last of the mutton was used aip for dinner yes- 
 ler^ay. We do mostly without meat when we're all 
 alone." 
 
 " Why, then you can make me an omelette. Your 
 omelettes are always nice." 
 
 " There isn't an egg down stairs. I haven't sent to the 
 grocer's for a week."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 41 
 
 " Then Amanda, it's very evident, I shan't have much 
 for breakfast." 
 
 "That's just what I was saying, you'd be certain to com- 
 plain." 
 
 " Well, I can't complain now, because I know what to 
 expect. If you give me a cup of coffee and a roll I shall 
 not be dissatisfied." 
 
 " The coffee has been out this week or more ; and Sarah 
 drinks tea and I just take what's made. I don't have 
 things put out much for me." 
 
 " Why didn't you order coffee. You know you have 
 liberty to order what is necessary." 
 
 " Liberty. O yes ; I know all about my liberty. Per- 
 haps if you had some cooks you mightn't say that to them. 
 But you're quite safe in saying it to me. I'd like you to 
 look over the books, and see if they are all correct." 
 
 " I am perfectly sure the books are all right, before I 
 look at them. If I didn't trust you, I shouldn't leave you 
 here." 
 
 " You needn't be too certain. There's the ice-man 
 says" 
 
 " O, Amanda, wait till to-morrow. I'll look everything 
 over in the morning. I am really tired to-night." 
 
 Amanda made a sound that conveyed ineffable con- 
 tempt, and turned back to the breakfast. There wasn't any 
 roll, and the French baker had stopped coming since Mr. 
 Harry had been gone. 
 
 " Then I will eat a cracker I brought some home in my 
 bag and drink a glass of water, if you haven't any coffee. 
 But I don't want to hear another word about it." 
 
 And then the sour creature had to go away, for she 
 n N-cr dared go further than this with her young mistress 
 (it surely was far enough to go). She was an American, 
 and like all capable American servants, very disagreeable. 
 She resented her position always, at all moments of her 
 life, and she saw not the least propriety in any one being
 
 42 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 better off than she was herself. She rather liked the dissi- 
 pated, villainous Harry, but for the pretty young Dorla she 
 had no pity. She would have liked to put her at the wash- 
 tub, and have seen her make the fires. Notwithstanding, 
 she was trusty and frugal, taking a pride in starving 
 herself in summer, and making the other woman live on 
 scraps, saving and saving, quarrelling over every bill, 
 and making the house unbearable to every servant who 
 came in it. The kitchen life was so grim and dull through 
 her peculiarities, that constant changes were being made ; 
 no one stayed six months. 
 
 Housekeeping cares are naturally irksome to girls of 
 Dorla's age, but everything was so unfavorable to her, it was 
 no wonder she felt overwhelmed with this sudden resump- 
 tion of them. She threw herself down, with the straw-hat 
 still in her hands, and cried bitterly, after her tormenter 
 went away. Evidently her holiday had unfitted her for 
 duty, if duty this was. (When things are very unpleasant, 
 it is safe to think them duties.) Dorla was not of the 
 kind to get up and get out of a position in which she found 
 herself because it was a disagreeable one. The tendency of 
 her disposition was always to sacrifice herself. Her life had 
 been very sad, and she always distrusted herself when she 
 was at all happy. It was certain, she was leading a very 
 unwise and unnecessary life, but thei-e was 110 one to help 
 her out of it. The executors of her mother's will decided 
 it was best to retain the house and keep the children 
 together. So everything remained as it had been before. 
 A sort of governess had been placed over Dorla, who 
 remained till she was eighteen. Then Dorla was considered 
 old enough to guide the house herself. There was sufficient 
 money to do all but make her happy (there had been more 
 than enough to ruin Harry, poor sinful boy). It was a 
 farce now to keep the house for him. He seldom was in it, 
 and it was no restraint upon him. The knowledge of his 
 sins was wasting the youth of his sister, and she was doing
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 43 
 
 him no good. What she needed was young companionship, 
 healthy interests and pleasures. But there was no one to 
 arrange it for her, and she had no ability to do it for her- 
 self, though she could have done it very well for anybody 
 else. 
 
 T was the beginning of Lent ; a chilly, grey, cold day. 
 It was the anniversary of her mother's death, a day 
 
 -^D3| Dorla always spent most strictly. That morning 
 she had been in church ; this afternoon she was alone, beside 
 her mother's picture, trying to read, with the weary feeling 
 hours of emotion had produced. 
 
 Her life had been as quiet as ever this winter. Harriet 
 she had hardly seen; partly because the latter had been much 
 away, and partly because a new enthusiasm had taken hold 
 of her. There was a young woman from the West, who 
 had great musical talent, and she was Harriet's duty and 
 pleasure at present. Harriet talked music, gave concerts, 
 went to oratorios, had a box at the opera. There was no 
 room for any other interests now. Dorla went to one or 
 two parties, but she was allowed to languish in a corner 
 while all the world was crowded round the piano. She 
 wt nt to one or two other parties, but they did not give her 
 much amusement. She knew so few people, and was too 
 timid to get along alone. The pleasures of Milford seemed 
 very sweet at this distance. 
 
 One or two experiences, consequent upon those pleasures, 
 however, had been not so sweet. One was the reception 
 of the postponed declaration from Mr. Oliver. The other 
 was u visit from young Rothermel. That had occurred 
 about a month after her return from Milford. She v.-us 
 sitting in her room one day, when the servant brought 
 \ip lh<; card. It was a great surprise, and she was in 
 fright and perplexity. She had begun to forget about
 
 44 -^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 him, and felt that she had heard the last of him. She 
 could not see him. She felt that if she did, there could be 
 but one result. So, hurriedly, she sent the servant back 
 to say, she begged he would excuse her. It was all done 
 in a moment. When she heard the door shut, she was 
 overwhelmed with regret, and saw how harsh it was. It 
 would have been so much better to have been brave and to 
 have seen him, and softened the blow, if it could not be 
 averted. This occurrence filled her with regret and self- 
 reproach for many days. But by degrees she thoiight less 
 of it, and this February day she was sitting alone again, 
 and hardly remembered that it had occurred. It is very 
 true that the sorrows of others when they are not in our 
 sight, do not break our spirits. Dorla could have been 
 happy if there had been anything to be happy about. 
 
 There came a knock at the door. She unbolted it, and 
 the servant handed her a letter. 
 
 It was from Harriet Variari, and Dorla sat down by the 
 window to read it. Another letter fell out from it, which 
 had a Milford post mark. She looked curiously at it but 
 read Harriet's first. It began : 
 
 " DEAR DORLA, Mamma received this strange letter this 
 morning, and I should have brought it round to you myself, 
 but we are just starting for Washington this evening. I 
 don't know what you'll think about it. Of course, I'm very 
 much distressed. Mamma is quite angry, but I tell her it 
 isn't any fault of yours. You never dreamed it was coming 
 to anything like this, and I am sure you did not give him 
 much encouragement. Or if you did, you could not be sup- 
 posed to know he was going to take it so to heart. Girls 
 are always blamed for everything, it seems to me. Our 
 Milford laundress (do you remember her? that French 
 woman who used to do our things so beautifully) was here 
 this morning to get a recommendation from mamrna, and 
 she says all the people are talking about us, and saying how
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 45 
 
 shamefully you acted towards him. I shall always defend 
 you, my dear, no matter what occurs, for you only did what 
 any other girl would do, in just such circumstances, and 
 it isn't fair to lay it on your shoulders. Write to me at 
 "Washington, and don't let this trouble you. Sorry that I 
 can't see you to talk it over. We shall be away about a 
 month. Good-bye. In greatest haste, yours always, 
 
 "H. H. V." 
 
 When Doi-la laid this letter down, it seemed to her her 
 heart did not beat, her blood did not move. She could not 
 draw her breath, and it was a long moment before she could 
 take up the letter from her lap. It was as follows : 
 
 " MRS. YARIAX. 
 
 " Madam, I take the liberty of writing to you. I am 
 in great trouble, and I write these few lines to tell you my 
 son is dying. He was the best son a mother ever had, and 
 it is hard to see him go, for he is my all. I do not reproach 
 anybody for it. It is God's will. But if he had not seen 
 your family ever he would not be now where he is. I 
 meant to write a letter to that young lady, but I do not dare 
 to trust myself. But 1 forgive her. Ever since he came 
 back from the city (where he went so hopeful and so happy), he 
 has not been like himself, and now for six weeks he has been 
 lying on his bed, with fever, and such sufferings. But he 
 doesn't suffer any now, so the Doctors say, for his mind is 
 never here, and he only talks about Jicr all the time. I hope 
 God will forgive her, and never make her suffer the half of 
 what she's brought into this house. I don't want to say 
 harsh things about her. But Mrs. Varian, it is so hard to 
 see him die, and to know it needn't have been so. I hope 
 you will forgive my boldness in writing to you. I am very 
 unhappy, for my boy was all I had, and I am afraid it is more 
 than I can stand. 
 
 " Respectfully yours, 
 
 " MRS. A. ROTHERMEL."
 
 46 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 There were some capitals that were unnecessary in this 
 letter, and the signature was rather unconventional ; all 
 this Dorla saw ; the cramped handwriting looked so exactly 
 like Amanda's efforts. She sat still, like one frozen, and 
 tried to take in what the strange letter meant. She read it 
 over, time after time, from the date to the signature. The 
 sense of it seemed to creep into her brain slowly ; she did 
 not receive it at once. She took in the sense of it, some- 
 way like this : 
 
 " Then he is very ill, this young man who was so healthy 
 and strong-looking;, very ill indeed. Dying. May be he is 
 dead already ; this letter is dated let me see, dated Mil- 
 ford, the sixth of February. Yes, it is many days ago. He 
 may be dead already ; think of it, anybody so strong and 
 well only a few short months ago. I cannot somehow take 
 it in. I never thought about his dying, and it is his mother 
 who writes ; that gentle, pale, worn-out looking woman that 
 we saw once when we stopped at the gate with him. He 
 seemed so fond of her ; and she hasn't any other child. The 
 father is dead too ; she is all alone. Poor woman, it is a 
 terrible calamity. She says he was so good : I'm sure he 
 was, not wild and bad like Harry. O ! is not this a sad 
 thing ! That he should have to go, and so many men who 
 only ruin themselves and give sorrow to those that care for 
 them, to stay ; so young too, with the chance of living such 
 a good life, having children, and making the old house bright 
 and pleasant. She will have to live always by herself, dreary 
 and morbid, with all the windows shut up close, and nobody 
 to look after the cattle and the farm. She will die soon 
 herself, it is not likely she can live without him, when she 
 has lived for him only for so many years. Oh, what a train 
 of miserable things. I wonder how it has all come to pass I 
 don't understand how anybody can dare to say O God ! 
 If it should be true. If it should in any little way be true. 
 If I am any, any way to blame. O Lord ! have mercy upon me 
 don't let rne think this thing. Don't let it be true. Save
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 47 
 
 me from this or I want to die. What have I ever done to 
 make it right that I should bear a thing like this. Oh, why 
 O! it isn't, isn't true. I didn't lead him on to this. I 
 never said a word to make him think I liked him. I hate 
 Harriet Varian. I wish that I had never seen her. 
 I wish that I were dead. I never have any pleas- 
 ure but it brings a punishment. I do not think I 
 am worse than other girls, and yet see the things 
 that happen to me. O, such an awful, awful thing as this. 
 It is like murder ; it is not any better. I shall have the 
 blood of that man always against my soul. Because I liked 
 to look pretty, and be admired, this has all come about. 
 Because it pleased me to think that people talked about me, 
 1 shall have to feel that they are talking about me always 
 now in another cruel way. I told Harriet not to ask him 
 to go with us that night, but someway she did ask him, and 
 there the trouble was. It never would have come to this, if 
 he had not gone with us that night and got on such familiar 
 terms. It is so awful to think of what our little schemings 
 bring about. And how well I remember, one day, when we 
 were all sitting at the Bluff, I looked up and saw his eyes 
 on me, as if he could not look away. And it gave me a 
 strange sort of pleasure (O, how wicked I must have been), 
 to think that he was in love with me and never saw anybody 
 else. That was the only time I ever thought so ; but here is 
 this come upon me. All this for that one thought. O, it is 
 not just, it is not right. I will not believe I ought to bear 
 this load for that one little sin. O, if I were only dead. O, 
 if I were the only one to suffer, it might be possible to carry it, 
 but to think of that poor woman, and that man whose soul 
 was gone perhaps even before I read this letter. O, if he 
 were not ready ! If his soul is lost for want of some prayer, 
 some preparation. This is more, this is worse than I can 
 suffer Oh, how wicked I am growing how my heart rebels 
 If I had somebody to help me, somebody to say a word, 
 somebody to tell me what to do. O, mother ! mother ! pray
 
 48 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 for me ; pray for your poor Dorla ; ask God to take this 
 load away from me, and forgive me all I've done." And 
 with a cry, she cast herself upon her knees, and burst into 
 violent sobs. 
 
 it was an ordeal for so young, so conscientious a person, 
 and one so very isolated in position. There was no one to 
 take a disinterested view of it all, and tell her what she 
 ought to do. With her brain stunned by this calamity, 
 which had fired her conscience with such flaming accusa- 
 tions and left her judgment paralyzed, she was to decide 
 upon what to do ; and what she did, then, was to be the 
 most important doing of her life. When she rose from her 
 knees, ashy white, and shaking all over, she had resolved 
 what to do. She went to the clock to see the hour ; her 
 eyes were so blinded and scorched with crying, she could not 
 see across the room. It was almost five o'clock. She went 
 to the table and hunted among the things there for a 
 morning paper, and searched it hurriedly. But no list of 
 the Erie trains was given in it, and she laid it down and 
 turned over the papers in her desk for a time table. She 
 was trembling so, it seemed to her, somebody ought to take 
 care of her and do things for hex*. She wished she might 
 call Amanda, somebody to find out for her what she wanted 
 to know, but that was impossible. So putting on her bonnet 
 and cloak, in some way, she made herself ready and went 
 out, alone, into the street. 
 
 The gas was lit in the street lamps, the outer dooi-s were 
 shut and shades were down. She had rarely been so late 
 outside the house without attendance ; this added to her 
 feeling of bewilderment. There was a depot, at which she 
 felt sure she could find time tables of all the roads, not 
 more than half a mile away. To that she went; through 
 hackmen and newsboys, and policemen and expressmen, 
 and cars and carriages and baggage wagons, she found her 
 way into the office and at some desk. There, some one took 
 pity on her and told her what she wanted to know, and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 49 
 
 even wrote it down on a piece of paper. It is posssble that 
 she looked so agitated, the man feared she would not re- 
 member what he told her otherwise. There was no train till 
 the next morning, at least none that it would be possible for 
 her to reach. She must go home and wait till then. 
 
 She hardly knew, afterward, how she had passed the time 
 that intervened ; somo heavy hours of sleep, and a horrid, 
 horrid wakening. The day was raw and damp and chilly. 
 After sho was in the cars, it began to rain. She felt cold, 
 so cold, all the time. Things looked worse to her to-day 
 than they had looked yesterday. She was used to the 
 thought now, indeed, it seemed centuries old; she felt as 
 if the time had never been, when she had not known poor 
 Eothermel lay dying, and she was the one whose vanity and 
 folly had made it so. But with this thought and its dire 
 train, had joined another, since those heavy hours of sleep, 
 and that was the thought of what people would say about 
 her going to Milford to see him, dead or dying, and throw- 
 ing herself at his mother's feet and crying out for pardon, 
 what the Varians, what the people at Milford, what the 
 servants at home, what everybody would think if they saw 
 her, practically and severely, going on this strange errand ; 
 what in fact, was the character of this errand, and whether 
 she were wise in going on it. A thousand doubts arose ; 
 she shrank from the daylight view of it. But sho never 
 thought of drawing back ; only it was like walking to 
 the stake, without any certainty of anything except the 
 pain. 
 
 She was quite unused to travelling alone the getting her 
 ticket, the watching for the station, were all so many alarm- 
 ing things. When at last they reached the station, she 
 started as violently as if she had not been looking for i 
 an hour. Somebody called out something about the Mili'ord 
 ; she followed the direction pointed out, and was put into 
 the stags. She took the furthest seat inside the coach, two 
 women followed her, and a man, wrapped up iii a great coat
 
 50 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 and with buckskin mittens on. These were all the passengers. 
 The women talked a little to each other, and complained of 
 the cold, or rather of the damp, for it was not very cold. 
 The man looked awkward and uncomfortable, and stamped 
 his feet occasionally to keep them warm, and leaned out of 
 the window very often to see if they were not soon to start. 
 But it took a -long time to strap the two lean trunks upon 
 the rack, and to get the mail bag from the office, and to 
 settle well under the driver's seat a demijohn, a box of 
 herring and a can of oil. It takes a good while to do things 
 in the country, particularly in winter, and when they have 
 all day before them. 
 
 But the poor young stranger on the furthest seat some- 
 times she felt benumbed and callous, and then there would 
 shoot across this apathy a fever flush of trepidation. She 
 more than once put out her hand towards the coach-door, 
 with a sudden ungovernable resolve to fly, to hide herself 
 till the train passed through the town that would take her to 
 New York. She felt at moments as if it were useless for her 
 to fight against the fate that was carrying her step by step 
 towards the bedside of the man whom she had injured, 
 towards the presence of the mother who could not even 
 " trust herself to write to her," towards publicity, towards 
 curious eyes and busy tongues ; then she felt at another 
 moment, as if she had lost all conscience and all care for the 
 judgment of Almighty God, and 'as if escape from the 
 position to which she had condemned herself in her repent- 
 ance was what she would fight for, die for, and be therewith 
 content. These were the struggles that went on in her poor 
 brain, as she sat trembling, shrinking back in her corner of 
 the coach, her face hidden by a veil, all alone, a hundred 
 miles from home, going on such an errand, naturally so far 
 from brave, and so exaggeratedly womanish in her fear of 
 tongues and eyes. Of coiirse, the cold, hard hand of con- 
 science kept her to the course on which she seemed sent by 
 fate. If it had been death to which she was going, she would
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 51 
 
 have gone as she went now, with struggles, but with cer- 
 tainty. 
 
 At last the coach started, and with little notice from the 
 shut houses and empty sidewalks, rolled out of the town. 
 The rain was now only a drizzling mist, but it ate to the 
 very bone. A coat of snow must have been lying even 
 yesterday over all the country, and to-day's rain was wash- 
 ing it slowly off. Great patches of it lay on the fields, 
 and along the fences, but "no longer white and fresh. The 
 fields, where they were uncovered, looked sodden and lifeless, 
 the roads were uneven and full of mud, and deeply worn 
 with the winter's travel. The trees were still, there was no 
 wind, their bark was wet with the rain, their roots soaking 
 in the unwholesome earth. The brook by the roadside was 
 embedded in thick ice, and silent. A dreary thin mist hung 
 low over the land, not thick enough to hide it, or to soften 
 its blank cheerlessness. No cattle were in the fields, no 
 life about the hills. During their long drive they met no 
 living creature. The few farm-houses looked silent and un- 
 tenanted. Dorla looked out of the window, and thought of 
 the last time she had gone over this road. What a contrast 
 to this day was the brilliant sky of that ; the green and 
 yellow fields, the woods smitten with early Autumn, the 
 smooth road, the grassy bank beside them, the glancing 
 brook, the fences touched with moss, and now and theu 
 twined with straggling vines, the ferns upon the rocks, the 
 cattle in the fields, the birds about the trees, the squirrels 
 darting along the fence beside them. And oh, the merry 
 and unthinking people who looked upon it all, and said 
 " good-bye." Dorla said to herself, which day is the dream, 
 that day or this. And not four months apart. 
 
 The three passengers did not say much : they were shy 
 country people and did not know each other well, and were 
 perhaps a little uncertain of their silent neighbor. Dorla 
 listened eagerly to hoar if anything should be said about the 
 Kothermela. She had kept her mind busy with a strange
 
 52 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 sort of speculation, about the -way in which she should prob- 
 ably hear if he were already dead. She said to herself, 
 " may be I shall meet the funeral train ; that would be like 
 a novel. Or perhaps some one will call out the news as we 
 drive up to the post-office. Or, I shall not hear it till I 
 get into the house, and the mother will point me to the room 
 where he lies in his coffin, and curse me, and tell me to go out 
 from her sight. Or as is more probable, I shall find he has 
 been dead for days, and the raw yellow clay of some new 
 grave will catch my eye as we drive past the cemetery. 
 Whichever way it is to be, how I wish that I could know. 
 It is so much easier to bear yourself rightly if you know 
 what is to come upon you." 
 
 But none of these thing were to come xipon her, alas. 
 
 As they drove over the bridge across the Vandermarck, 
 and she felt that they were in the village, the same impulse 
 to escape came upon her, and she stretched out her hand to 
 the door. 
 
 " Do you want to get out here ? " said one of the women. 
 
 "Shall I call the driver?" said the man, glad of some- 
 thing to say and the prospect of something to be done. 
 
 " No ! " she said faintly, sinking back into the corner. 
 " It is further on. No matter." 
 
 O, the village, with its dismal silent streets, its shut up 
 houses. O would it ever be summer again in it ; would 
 these bare trees ever " flush into variety again." The hotels 
 were partly closed, the cottages shut up. She thought of 
 the little piazzas grouped with gay colored dresses ; of the 
 white parasols flitting up and down the village street; of the 
 pretty children with their nurses ; parties of pleasure going 
 off in the great wagons to the woods and falls. Around the 
 store and the post-office were two or three country wagons 
 tied; a solitary man came out to get the mail bag from the 
 driver. Another man ca-mo to the steps of the coach and put 
 his head in at the window to collect the fare, and to know 
 where the four passengers were to be set down. The man,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 53 
 
 and one of the women were to be left somewhere about the 
 village, near. The other woman was to be taken half- way on 
 the road to Dingman's. 
 
 "And you," said the collector of the fare, with a nod, 
 looking at Dorla. She gasped for breath, and spoke twice 
 before the words came clear. He did not even then quite 
 get the name, and she had to say it over. He said, " which 
 Rothermel," for there were two. She had to explain where 
 the Rothermels lived to whose bouse she would be taken. 
 
 " Ah," he said, and he looked at her with a shade of curi- 
 osity. This was the first time that she had spoken the name. 
 It gave her a strange sensation. 
 
 Hanging on to the coach door, he called out to the driver 
 to go on, and so they drove down the main street of the 
 village. One of the passengers was to be left at the last 
 hotel on the street. There, two or three men were standing 
 about the steps, and there the demijohn and the box of herring 
 were to be taken down. The men talked a little to each 
 other. One on the piazza said to a man who had got on tho 
 box with the driver : 
 
 " Have you heard from George Rothermel to-day ? " 
 
 " No," said the man addressed. " He was alive last 
 night, lying very low." 
 
 " You've got a passenger inside for Rothermel's," said the 
 collector of the fares, looking up to the driver ; he was 
 " settling " with the proprietor of the can of oil and the 
 herrings. " You'll leave her, as you take that other woman 
 down to Dingman's." 
 
 " All right," the driver said, and after a few professional 
 details, gathered up the reins and started at a steady pace 
 for Rothermel's. 
 
 The farm lay about a mile and a half out of the village, 
 on tho river road ; Dorla had often walked beyond it in the 
 summer. Now, as they went splashing and rolling through 
 UK.; rough and muddy road, sho felt as if it never \vcre possi- 
 ble that she could have doiic so. And yet, when she first
 
 54 4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 caught sight of the house, no longer hidden by the surround- 
 ing trees, she felt a shock as if they had come too quick, and 
 she were unprepared for being there as soon. In fact, unpre- 
 paredness was what she felt more than any of the emotions 
 she had anticipated. Though she had had so many hours to 
 prepare herself, and had thoughts of nothing else, she was in 
 a state of bewilderment, and did not know what she should 
 say, or whether she could say anything at all. 
 
 " Here you are," called out the driver from his seat ; 
 while the woman inside, seeing perhaps her trepidation, 
 pushed the coach door open for her, and offered to help her 
 to get out. She stammered thanks, and got out by herself, 
 and tried to shut the door. The driver, rather impatient per- 
 haps at being brought so far out of his way on this chilly driz- 
 zling day, started forward abruptly, and left her standing 
 alone at the gate. Before she got it open, he was half-way 
 down the hill. 
 
 The house stood back about fifty feet from the road ; a 
 path paved with brick and bordered with flower beds led up 
 to the small piazza. The front windows of the house were 
 all closed ; across the fresh paint of the piazza floor there 
 was not a single foot mark ; the gate had opened as if unused. 
 Of course, but Dorla did not see it, there was a second gate 
 and a second path that led up to another entrance, that of the 
 familiar and comfortable region of sitting-room and kitchen. 
 No one had seen her come ; she was all alone before a dead, 
 sileut house, mitst she awaken it ? Even at that moment 
 she felt the impulse to fly and save herself. But instead of 
 yielding to it, she walked to the door, and with a hand that 
 almost refused obedience, knocked. No answer came, the 
 faint sound died away, and she stood, shivering with cold 
 and fear, xmcertain what to do. The rain dripped from the 
 dead leaves of the honeysuckle on the lattice ; she thought, 
 how strange that Chinese honeysuckles keep their leaves all 
 winter. She never could lose anything, even in her greatest 
 moments of excitement. Then her eyes fell upon some tall
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 55 
 
 slim plants, well matted from the winter. " What can coun- 
 try people see in dahlias, that they take such care of them ? " 
 she thought. " Tall, stiff, artificial things. Oh, if they don't 
 come soon I shall die of this damp chill stillness. I wish the 
 wind blew. This is horrible. I don't know whether I am 
 alive or dead. I must knock once again." 
 
 And again she knocked, this time accidentally making a 
 louder noise. Then, after a moment, came a sound of steps 
 within, and the unbarring of the door. At that, her heart 
 stood still ; and when the door opened a little way, and a 
 servant appeared, she was really too choked to speak 'a syl- 
 lable. The woman asked her what she wanted, and that 
 had the effect of rousing her a little. 
 
 " I want to speak to Mrs. Rothermel," she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 The servant motioned her to come inside, and took her 
 into a large square room at the left of the hall, that might 
 have been the family vault, for all the warmth and light of 
 it. It struck a horror to the very soul of the youug visitor ; 
 it was as much worse as possible than the raw cold outside. 
 She shuddered from head to foot, and thrust her hands 
 tighter in her muff. The servant rattled and battered for 
 
 O 
 
 some time at one of the windows, and finally threw back a 
 shutter. Then taking a chair, she planted it in the centre 
 of the room, and told the young lady to sit down, and went 
 away. She was so cold and bewildered, she really had no 
 thought of what was to come ; she saw, as in a dream, the 
 ungainly pattern of the ingrain carpet on the floor, and the 
 photographs in their oval gilt frames on the wall, the big un- 
 used books, and the two or three shells upon the table between 
 the windows. In a moment more the woman came back, and 
 told her she had better come into the sitting-room and warm 
 herself; she'd have to wait a while, for Mrs. Rothermel was 
 making something in the kitchen and couldn't leave it for a 
 minute. Thereupon, Dorla followed her into a room at the 
 back of the house. This room was long, and rather nar-
 
 56 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 row, running across the back of the house, but it was warm, 
 and had many windows, which made it very light. It was 
 home-like and natural, with no attempt at ornament ; no 
 shells, and no oval photographs. There were one or two 
 deep, comfortable, leather-covered chairs, and a " settee " 
 with a turkey red cover on it ; a tall clock ; two or three 
 hanging book-shelves, and an old-fashioned secretary. There 
 wei'e two lamps on the chimney piece, an inkstand and a 
 match stand. And on a little shelf near, were some pipes 
 and a tobacco pouch. And in a corner of the room, with a 
 window on each side, stood a small melodeon, and on it, a pile 
 of old music books, and some newer sheets of music. The 
 sight of these things gave Dorla a strange and sudden emo- 
 tion. She felt cold and dull no longer, but stirred to the 
 very heart. There was such an oppressive silence : the tick- 
 ing of the clock alone broke it, and the careful movements 
 in the room overhead. 
 
 Presently, the door leading from the kitchen opened and 
 some one came in. Dorla recognized in an instant the 
 mother. She was a sweet, delicate-looking old woman, 
 ordinarily pale, but to-day a little flushed with her work 
 about the fire, and perhaps some agitation. 
 
 " I am sorry," she said, coming across the room, and ad- 
 justing her apron as she came ; " I am sorry you had to 
 wait so long. Sit down, won't you ? I don't believe I 
 know just who it is. I find I don't remember faces as I 
 used to do." 
 
 Dorla stood, pale as ashes. The old woman went on 
 speaking with embarrassment. 
 
 " You must excuse me my dear, for not being able to call 
 you by your name. I always was a little apt to be forget- 
 ful. But since this trouble, I am hardly able to remember 
 what I want to say from one minute to another. I'm all 
 unstrung and helpless." 
 
 And a little sob or moan closed the sentence, and the poor 
 woman passed her hand befoi-e her eyes.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 57 
 
 "Mrs. RothermeV began Dorla, in a low tone, starting 
 towards her, and then stopping and clasping her hands to- 
 gether, instead of putting them upon the broken and suffer- 
 ing old woman, " Mrs. Rothermel, I don't expect you to 
 know my face, and I wish you did not know my name. 
 You hate me you think that I have done you wrong ; 
 and may be it is true. I have come to tell you that I did 
 not mean it that I am broken-hearted to have given any- 
 body pain. I never dreamed of making him unhappy, be- 
 lieve me. I am not a girl that could do such a thing as 
 that ; I am not the sort of person that you think me. I 
 may have been foolish and vain. I suppose I was, but it 
 is not in my nature to trifle with anybody. Oh, if you 
 could only know what I have suffered since Mrs. Varian 
 sent your letter to me, you would be sorry for me a little. 
 I came here without stopping a moment, even to think 
 about it. I felt as if I should die, if you would not say 
 you could forgive me. Oh, tell me that you can, and that 
 you believe me; indeed, indeed I speak the truth." 
 
 She held her clasped hands imploringly towards the 
 mother, who, steadying herself by the table near which they 
 stood, looked at her bewildered. " And this is Miss St. 
 John," she said, slowly, " Dorla, that he talks about. I 
 thought she was a great beauty, and always very fine." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, I am not," she exclaimed, eagerly. " I am 
 not beautiful, nor anything. I am very plain and quiet, 
 and try to be a good gii'l and do my duty when I know 
 what it is. Don't condemn me, don't be hard on me. Do 
 I look as if I could do a thing like that, lead a man on to 
 like me, and then break his heart. Oh, say you don't be- 
 lieve it ; say it is not true ! " 
 
 " No, I don't believe it ! " cried the \>oor woman, stretch- 
 ing out her arms to Dorla. "I don't believe it; and I 
 thank God it isn't true." 
 
 Dorla threw herself into her arms, and wept with the 
 abandonment of relief, as if the words had redeemed her.
 
 58 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 The poor mother clasped her arms about her and wept with 
 her. 
 
 " I could not believe, for a long time," she said, in a bro- 
 ken voice at last, " that any one had meant to deceive my 
 boy." 
 
 " How could they ? " said Dorla. " So kind, and good, 
 and so straightforward." 
 
 " So gentle and so good a son," moaned the poor woman. 
 " So careful for his mother always ; you might be sure he 
 could love the one he set his heart upon. Poor George ! 
 Oh, if he only knew." 
 
 " Oh, what a load you have taken from my heart ! " said 
 Dorla, "since you say that you believe me and will forgive 
 me for what I have been so unhappy as to do. If I could 
 only comfort you in any way, or help you in any way to 
 bear your dreadful sorrow. But I know that is impossi- 
 ble." 
 
 " You have helped me," said the poor woman, with tremb- 
 ling arms, still clasped about her. " It helps me to have 
 no hard feelings towards anybody in the world. I can bear 
 it from God, but I couldn't bear it from a woman. God 
 Almighty has a right to do what He pleases with us all. I 
 can submit to Him ; it is very different when there is no 
 wrong from any one." 
 
 " Yes," said Dorla, softly, " I am sure I know how you 
 feel about it. Grief is very different from bitterness." 
 
 " I never was one to have hard feelings," said the poor 
 mother, drying her eyes as she sat down on the settee, trem- 
 bling still, so that she could scarcely stand. " I have al- 
 ways been one for peace. It has never been my way to have 
 hard thoughts of people. I have had a good many troubles, 
 first and last, but that hasn't ever been among them. But 
 now, when it came to George when it came to giving him 
 up for for " 
 
 And she cried again, as if the very memory of the pain 
 were intolerable, and Dorla, half kneeling beside her, pressed
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 59 
 
 her lips upon her poor shaking hands, and whispered, " Do 
 not say it, it makes me so unhappy. " 
 
 " No, I won't say it," she answered, suppressing her sobs, 
 " For maybe God meant it all along. I know you did not do 
 it evilly, I know you are a good honest girl, and he only 
 misunderstood. " 
 
 " That was it indeed," said Dorla, eagerly. " You know 
 how easy it is to be led all astray by some little word, some 
 little bit of a mistake." 
 
 " Yes " said Mrs. Rothermel, with a deep sigh. " I know 
 how that can be ; for I know how near George's father was 
 to going away and never speaking, for some little thing I 
 did and never meant it. Men are so quick ; they don't stop 
 to reason when they are in love, they think a woman means 
 every thing, and never think that she has feelings too." 
 
 Dorla felt the blood rushing to her face : she saw she had 
 been misunderstood, but she had not the hardihood to put 
 her companion right, though she tried to say something to 
 correct the error without wounding her with the hard truth. 
 But her incoherent words passed for agitation ; the poor 
 mother only put her arms again around her, and passed her 
 hand tenderly over her hair ; and she felt her tears fall upon 
 her head. Oh ! how they scorched and burned her ! This 
 was worse than it had been before. The poor mother 
 thought they had a common SOITOW. " If I could only 
 make her understand," thought Dorla, in an agony of per- 
 plexity. But it was not easy. She had found one to whom 
 she could speak of her dai'liiig, and she poured out her 
 heart in broken words of confidence. 
 
 " So handsome," she said, " so clever, so much above all 
 the young men about him. He could have married 
 anybody, anybody that he had wanted. But he had ii'-vi-r 
 looked at any of them never could be coaxed or teased into 
 liking any girl in all the country round. People said he 
 held himself above them because he'd had a college educa- 
 tion and had money. But it wasn't that, it was because lie
 
 60 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 was above them, because he was so different, because he was 
 himself my poor, handsome, good boy ! " Then wringing 
 her hands. " O, don't you think God might hear yet, might 
 listen if we both asked to have him live. Can't you think of 
 some words to say ! Maybe I haven't said everything I ought. 
 My head feels so I cannot think of things. Pray for him if 
 you can my child. Pray for him ask God to let him stay." 
 
 Dorla had in her pocket a little book, one of the red- 
 edged family that afforded Harriet Varian so much innocent 
 amusement, and she took it and began to look for a prayer 
 she had said many times already for poor George, since she 
 heard of his condition. She was still kneeling by Mrs. 
 Rothermel, with her arms in her lap, and she only bent her 
 head lower, and read the prayer in a voice just audible. 
 There was a long silence ; then Mrs. Kothermel, kissing her, 
 said it had been a comfort to her. 
 
 " And now, my dear," she continued, wiping the tears 
 from her face as she got up, "you had better come up and 
 see him." 
 
 Dorla felt the hot flush all over her face again as she 
 heard this. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better not," she said, recoiling involun- 
 tarily. The mother looked startled and pained. 
 
 " Why ? " she asked. " Do you think it would make you 
 feel badly ? He is not so very much changed. He is like 
 a picture, he is so handsome and so still." 
 
 " Perhaps it might shock and startle him to see me sud- 
 denly," she faltered, holding back. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the poor mother with a heavy sigh. " All 
 the world might come into his room and he wouldn't know 
 it. It is days and days since he has noticed any one. He 
 is past that, my dear, ah, long past that." 
 
 Dorla's hat had fallen to the floor ; she stooped to pick it 
 up, trembling all over. What should she do ? Mrs. Roth- 
 ermel held out her hand ; she wondered in her heart that 
 Dorla could hesitate a moment about looking upon that face
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 61 
 
 again. She began to feel that she, for her part, had been 
 too many minuses out of sight of it already ; precious min- 
 utes of which there were so few left to her. The pull upon 
 her heart was always felt when he was out of her sight, and 
 had been ever since he was v. baby. 
 
 Dorla conquered the strong feeling that made her recoil 
 from this step. 
 
 " What difference can it make," she said to herself. 
 " Perhaps I owe it to him to look once more upon him, and 
 pray beside his death-bed for forgiveness for the vanity that 
 killed him." 
 
 She took the mother's hand, and followed her out of the 
 room and up the stairs. When they came to the door of 
 the sick-room they paused. No sound came from within, 
 but the regular motion of a rocking-chair, in which an el- 
 derly stout woman sat, near the tire. The mother pushed 
 open the door, and they entered. There was a strong 
 smell of vinegar, and Dorla shivered. How she hated the 
 smell of vinegar. " Why do country people always have 
 vinegar about the room when any one is ill," she thought, 
 as they approached the bed. " And why are their souls so 
 bound up in patch-work quilts." 
 
 Thus she stood, thinking these very grovelling thoughts, 
 beside poor George's bed, and seeing the stars and flowers of 
 the pattern on the counterpane with the same eyes that 
 looked on his death-stricken face. The woman by the fire 
 got up and came towards them in manifest curiosity, for 
 Dorla's beautiful hair had partly fallen down, and the emo- 
 tions that had been dyeing her cheeks and filling her eyes, 
 made her look very lovely, and the old woman could not 
 imagine who she was and whence she came. The mother 
 let go her hand, and stooped with irresistible desire towards 
 the poor sufferer on the bed. She smoothed his hair, 
 touched his forehead with her hand, and laid the sheet softly 
 over his wasted arms. Dorla stood tall, and erect, and 
 silent, looking down at him.
 
 62 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " How do you think he looks ? " said the woman, in her 
 ordinary voice, addressing Dorla. Dorla, shocked at the 
 tone, made some whispered answer. " Oh, yon needn't be 
 afraid to speak loud," she said. " He doesn't hear a thing." 
 
 " Nothing disturbs him now," said the poor mother, with 
 tears, speaking low from instinct. 
 
 The woman whom they had found in the room, and who 
 was a neighbor, was a little deaf, and was quite determined 
 to enter into communication with Dorla, and satisfy her 
 curiosity. She made many observations, and at last, Dorla, 
 shocked and frightened, and anxious to put an end to the 
 conversation, answered her in her usual voice, possibly a 
 little heightened. At this sound, strange and wonderful re- 
 sult ! The figure on the bed moved slightly ; a little con- 
 tractidn passed over the features, the eyes opened, and after 
 an instant of amazed uncertainty, a smile of intelligence 
 came into the eyes, and lifting his feeble hand, he said, 
 " You have let me come ! " 
 
 A low cry of joy burst from the mother, who raised her- 
 self up quickly. The neighbor, with an exclamation of 
 amazement, pushed Dorla forward, who stooped and took his 
 hand in hers. For a moment or two he gazed at her with 
 an expression of earnestness and satisfaction ; then, with a 
 long breath, he turned slightly upon his side, and seemed to 
 sleep quietly and naturally. He still held her hand, not re- 
 laxing his hold when his eyes closed. 
 
 " He'll come round all right now ! " cried the old woman, 
 in exultation. " He's past the crisis and has taken the 
 right turn." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Rothermel trembled and wept with joy, bend- 
 ing down to kiss Dorla, and whispering she had saved him. 
 
 " He hasn't noticed any one for more'n ten days now," 
 went on the woman in attendance. " He hasn't heard if 
 you shouted at him (she was shouting now it seemed 
 to Dorla). He's been like the dead, but he's taken the 
 right turn. See how he sleeps there, like a baby, and his
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 63 
 
 eyes are shut. He'll pull through now, you mark my 
 words." 
 
 There was no need to mark her words, it was enough to 
 mark the changed and relaxed face on the pillow, and to 
 hear the even and regular breath that came from his lips. 
 The house was in a tumult. One went to summon the 
 doctor ; the mother was wild with the sudden hope ; even 
 the phlegmatic old woman was restless with excitement. 
 Only Dorla sat as if in a trance, holding the thin, heated 
 hand in hers, feeling the mother's tears and kisses raining 
 on her cheek, praying that God would hear her prayers, and 
 not punish her for her cold and stony heart ; for she was 
 not glad he was coming back to life. It was all like a 
 dream. 
 
 " I wish I had not come," she said to herself, and then 
 asked God to forgive her, when she seemed to have saved a 
 life by coming; when He seemed to be granting what she 
 had been constantly asking for since since when ? This 
 time yesterday she had not heard that he was ill. It was 
 not twenty-four hours since she had been quietly, and 
 complacently, and comfortably at home, and it seemed as 
 if she had been in trouble and perplexity for years, and as 
 if she were now almost hardened and remorseless. 
 
 It was night, and Dorla was alone in the spare-room of 
 the house, which was unused, cold, and strange. A great 
 fire was burning in the stove, but it seemed to make no im- 
 pression upon the dead cold air of the room. The result 
 most forcible to her senses, was an unfamiliar and disagree- 
 able smell of heated iron, and a giddy moving sensation in 
 the air, such as you see when the stove is between you and 
 the daylight. She crept into the bed; it was like lying 
 down in the sea and drawing the ice up around you. 
 
 " If I could get warm I really would not mind any- 
 thing," thought the poor girl, shivering. " If I only could
 
 64: ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 get warm, I really am so tired I know I could gat asleep, 
 without thinking of anything at all." 
 
 There was a slight smell of kerosene oil which came from 
 the lamp which she had just put out, and she buried her 
 head in the icy pillow, with an irritated sense of misery. 
 What was it to her, she thought, all the remorse, and ex- 
 citement, and bewilderment she had gone through ? Noth- 
 ing if she could only get warm, and stop smelling disagree- 
 able things. It was nothing to her that the doctor had 
 pronounced this man likely to live, this man whom she had 
 come a hundred miles to see, this man who had held her 
 hand and called her Dorla, whose mother had wept upon 
 her neck, and called her daughter, whose very neighbors 
 had spoken to her as if she had loved him and had come to 
 mourn him. It was nothing to her, all this entanglement 
 and trouble, nothing, if she might once feel warm again and 
 get asleep. Having suffered all she was capable of suffer- 
 ing mentally, the carnal part of her took up the fight, and 
 carried it on with a fierce rancor. It was almost dawn 
 before she slept.
 
 n. 
 
 T was nearly five o'clock, a soft lovely afternoon in 
 3Iay, and Dorla was on her knees in church, 
 where she had been much and often of late. This 
 was the last time that she would come, till she carne 
 to-morrow, to be married. Plenty of time she had had to 
 think it over, since that dreary February day, when she 
 had found George Kothermel was going to live, plenty of 
 time, but not plenty of help ; and her own miserable 
 thoughts had always revolved in one dark circle. 
 
 " I shall never be happy myself. Can I make others so ? 
 Sacrifice is the best thing in the world. I have it in my 
 power to benefit others by a sacrifice." Poor child. It is 
 hard to fight these battles alone, and not always wise. That 
 afternoon, in her agony of uncertainty, she had risen from 
 her knees, and had cast so appealing a look towards the 
 clergyman as he passed out of the church, that he had been 
 startled and perplexed, and had half turned back to speak 
 to her. But it was unconventional ; there were others yet 
 in church. So, full of uncertainty also whether he had not 
 mistaken the glance, he went away into the robing-room, 
 and after he^had laid aside his surplice, returned into the 
 church, to find that every one else had gone, and Dorla had 
 sunk again upon her knees. He lingered, wishing that she 
 might look up, and give him a chance to speak to her. 
 But there is such a barrier of ice between priest and 
 people conventionalities, customs, precedent. What young 
 girl would not rather die than go to a distant, dignified 
 gentleman for whom she has the veneration of girlhood for 
 middle age, of parishioner for pastor, and pour out her
 
 66 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 miserable heart and ask counsel ? He is a voice speaking 
 to her from the clouds, and bringing her a blessing out of 
 Heaven ; but he knows no more of the state of her soul 
 than if she had none. She has never heard of any one 
 who has done the like before. She does not know what 
 language to speak to him in ; she has never talked to him 
 except in distant courtesy before, and she does not know if 
 he could imderstand her. She has always had to keep her 
 own soul herself, and she does not know but that it is her 
 duty to go on keeping it. If she were a criminal, prepar- 
 ing for the scaffold, of course she knows she would have 
 the benefit of a clergyman to help her. It would be con- 
 ventional and right for her to send for one, or for one to 
 present himself and offer help. But being only a poor 
 young creature, trying to live well and to get ready to die 
 righteously, at an uncertain date, it may be presumptuous, 
 or worse, ridiculous, to ask for counsel and for help. 
 Undoubtedly it is her duty to live on generalities, and to 
 govern her soul by the broad rules that are given out for 
 the government of the hundreds of other souls in the same 
 cure. Poor Dorla ! There wasn't anybody else in the 
 congregation condemned to marry George Rothermel to- 
 morrow from a sense of duty ; and a little particular aid, 
 in the rendering of the law of sacrifice, would have been 
 like a draught of fresh water on a salt sea. As well expect 
 a fever patient to take charge of his own case because he 
 has heard many courses of lectures on medicine since he 
 was a boy. Dorla had heard as many sermons, and read as 
 many "good books," as most persons of her age, and had a 
 much stronger desire than most of them, to do what was 
 right ; and yet she was on the brink of doing what was 
 most unwise, nay, of what was absolutely wrong, because 
 there was no one to tell her what was duty, and what was 
 not, no one to show her what had blinded her and why she 
 was so confused. 
 
 And the only one to whom she would turn, by reason of
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 67 
 
 her isolated position, was one who, by the cold rule of cus- 
 tom and the age, was further off than any other. He longed 
 to help her, longed to know what was going on in her heart, 
 but there was no right by which he felt he could go to her, 
 and ask such confidence, there had been no intercourse 
 before that could sanction him in doing so ; the officer of 
 the bank who paid her over her dividends would have been 
 just as much entitled by precedent to penetrate to the 
 sanctuary of her heart as he. 
 
 tl We are too far off from our people, we Anglicans," he 
 said to himself as he took up his respectable hat and went 
 away, leaving poor Dorla on her knees. " What do I 
 know of my charge till they come to die. Then if there is 
 time and inclination, and all things fitting, they open their 
 hearts to me. I am not the shepherd of the living but of 
 the dead. I know no more of the condition of these 
 hundreds of souls than I know of the condition of their 
 wardrobes or of the condition of their bank accounts. Are 
 they growing or are they dwindling ? All cannot bear the 
 same meat. All are not capable of guiding themselves. 
 I only know of my work by its end, or by a notorious 
 failure. When a soul goes to open ruin, I hear of it, but 
 then it is too late. A spiritual coroner. These people 
 have no pastor." 
 
 And he went away with a heavy sigh. For he was a 
 man of large and tender heart, and much wisdom and 
 insight into spiritual things. But he was by nature shy 
 and awkward, and as unfitted as a very young and shrinking 
 person, from breaking through conventional rules, and 
 forcing an entrance where there was none established. 
 
 And so Dorla was left to her fate ; and it did her no 
 good that she was left unwillingly. As has been said, she 
 had had plenty of time to think, but her thoughts were all 
 tainted by a morbid and unjust view of life, and her judg- 
 ment wan full of error. She h;id said to herself again and 
 again, " I shall never be happy. I shall never love any one
 
 68 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 particularly. My life benefits no one. Harry has left me, 
 and it is a mockery to say I can do him any good. As for 
 this man who loves me, I have done him a wrong. I owe 
 him reparation. It will make him happy if I marry him, 
 and his dear good mother kind good people, who 
 through me have suffered a great deal. If I disappoint 
 them now, and undeceive them about my feelings for him, 
 I shall perhaps double the wrong I have already done. Pie 
 knows I do not love him, as people talk about love gener- 
 ally, but that does not appear to matter to him and I 
 need not tell him how bitter and impossible it seems to me 
 to marry him. It is because I am so selfish, that I feel 
 so-; because I am not willing to live for others and sacrifice 
 myself. What better could I do than this ? God surely 
 will be pleased with me. This will be laying down my 
 life. Dying would be so much easier. What makes it so 
 very hard ? I cannot tell, except that I am so very selfish, 
 and think so much about myself. I do not dislike him ; I 
 should like him very well if it were not for this. I am 
 very fond of his mother ; she is sweet, and always so good 
 to me. It is very foolish that I cannot get used to it, that 
 she expresses herself differently from ourselves arid that she 
 signs herself Mrs. A. Rothermel. That would be a fine 
 reason for refusing to be her daughter-in-law, and for making 
 
 o o * o 
 
 her unhappy for the remainder of her life. I think I shall 
 have to find a better reason than that for being so unkind. 
 And what reason have I ? Reason none, nothing but feel- 
 ings, instincts, impulses. I would rather die to-morrow 
 than marry him. I would rather go out as a servant. I 
 would rather go into a prison where I should never see the 
 sun again. And why ? There is no why only because I 
 feel so. I like him ; I think him kind, good ; I think him 
 handsome. There is no other man I want to marry. There 
 is no other that I have ever liked or ever fancied that I 
 liked. Have I any right to listen to these feelings ? Have 
 I any right to break the heart of a man who has so faith-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 69 
 
 fully loved me? to wound one who had been so good to 
 me? Why what a ruin it would make of those two lives! 
 They seem to care for nothing, to plan for nothing, but for 
 ine. I can't think what would happen to them if I were 
 suddenly to tell them all the truth. No, I will not tell 
 them. They shall never know, and I will try to do my 
 duty always. I am sure I shall be helped if I try honestly. 
 People always are helped in getting through their duty. I> -- 
 sides what choice have I? I owe it to them. I have gob 
 to do this thing. No matter whether the sin that drew this 
 on me seems little or great to me. It only seems a little 
 vanity that made his admiration sweet to me. That is 
 because I am not careful about my soul, and do not know 
 what sin is. Yes, it was a sin, and I am to be punished for 
 it all my life. Well, I should be glad that I can pay for it 
 here. I will pay. I promise before God I will not draw 
 buck. There ! Am I not bound. Why should I not rest 
 now and stop torturing myself? And yet O, I don't feel 
 as if to-morrow could corne, as if God would let it come. 
 I am sure something will happen. I know I shall never 
 stand before that altar to say those words to him. And 
 yet why not to him as well as to any one. People say them 
 every day. Perhaps they always feel so when they are 
 making up their minds. No, I don't mean that exactly. I 
 know that is not so. But maybe love comes after, and it 
 is not wise to wish to feel too much. Oh, my foolish 
 dreams ! O, all the hopes and castles and pictures ! They 
 are not to mean anything ! Life is very different from till 
 that. I make a sacrifice of all these. I bury them. I am 
 only going to live for duty and for Heaven, and when I am 
 old, T shall say how much better it was that I bore this in 
 my youth." 
 
 These were some of the thoughts that went through poor 
 Dorla's mind as she knelt in church and tried to ; 
 
 c child ; she got up at last, and went away away, to 
 her lonely home, vhc-ro the prosaic prepuration.s for to-mor-
 
 70 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 row met her eyes whichever way she turned them, find where 
 it was only better to be, because she could not think as 
 ceaselessly and uselessly as she did in church. One cannot 
 live always at high tragedy pitch ; and by to-morrow she was 
 tame and dull enough to please even her own sense of duty. 
 She literally did not care what happened to her and though 
 to the last moment she never lost her faith that something 
 
 O 
 
 would happen to prevent the marriage, it was only a faint 
 surprise to her to find that nothing did, and that she was 
 married to George Rothermel. She went through the service 
 with quiet self-possession, and the clergyman, who had been 
 haunted with her wild appealing look of the night before, 
 was quite reassured, and accused himself of great folly, and 
 congratulated himself that he had not exhibited it by speak- 
 ing to her in the church. 
 
 Very few witnessed her marriage, and fewer still came to 
 the house afterward, for poor Dorla knew very few people, 
 and was shy of asking even those she knew. Some middle- 
 aged, quiet people who had been her mother's friends, the 
 elderly gentleman who was her guardian, a school-mate (with 
 whom she had exchanged the inevitable girlish promises), 
 and some plain out-of-town connections of the Rothermels, 
 were all who were invited. The "Varians were away, to 
 Dorla's great relief (all the discussion of her resolution, 
 had been by letter). Every one talked in low tones, and 
 appeared ill at ease ; it was not very festive. Only Dorla 
 seemed quite unembarrassed and quiet. She went about 
 among the guests in her white clothes, apparently forgetting 
 that she was a bride, and got pictures for some children to 
 look at, and made the old ladies comfortable, and provided 
 for the wants of every one, in the most matter-of-fact wav. 
 George stood in an awkward rapture of bliss. He was the 
 only one of the party who at all came up to the requirements 
 of the occasion. Some one congratulated her on the fine 
 weather, and she looked inquiring. 
 
 " O, I forgot," she said, with a laugh. But it wasn't
 
 A PEItFECT ADONIS. 71 
 
 much of a laugh. It might have been somebody else's wed- 
 ding for all the sentiment she had about the sun's shining 
 on her. Even when she went to cut the bride-cake, followed 
 by three or four awe-struck children, she seemed principally 
 intent upon having them each take a very large slice. And 
 upon the conclusion of a congratulatory speech from her 
 guardian, she turned to a servant and begged that the base- 
 ment door should be shut, and the smell of fried oysters if 
 possible kept below, showing that she had not followed the 
 good gentleman's remarks, nor appropriated any of the 
 flowers of speech with which he had been strewing her 
 path. 
 
 It was not a very picturesque nor a very brilliant begiu- 
 ing, her young school-mate thought, who had, with her, often 
 whispered confidential anticipations about this great, this 
 inevitable day, ." this day their souls had singled out of time 
 and marked for bliss." Certainly it was rather tame, rather 
 disappointing. Middle-aged people, and people not much 
 used to society, might have thought it all very well, but to 
 Dorla's contemporaries it was chilling, and Dorla, with all 
 her beauty, was not at all one's ideal bride, and had an ex- 
 pression that would have suited much better black serge and 
 starched muslin, than lace and orange flowers. Altogether 
 it was incongruous, and the young people were glad to go 
 away. 
 
 JFTER all the high tragedy of the time preceding her 
 marriage day, the dullness of the day itself, and the 
 weariness and discomfort of the days of her 
 wedding journey, it was, perhaps, illogical and common- 
 place, but Dorla became rather happy and contented. She 
 loved the country with all her nature, and had a feeling of 
 thankfulness that she was to be in it always, and thought 
 of the life she had left without regret. There was great
 
 72 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 relief in knowing that everything was settled, and that 
 she need ask herself no more questions. She had great 
 need of rest, and it was almost happiness to her to have 
 it. The country was lovely ; there was much beauty in her 
 new home, with all its simplicity, and she was left a great 
 deal to herself. No one preyed upon her and demanded her 
 attention, as in the days of that weary wedding journey. 
 George was away almost all the day, either about his farm 
 business, or at his law office in the village. And dear old Mrs. 
 Hothermel was so happy, and so proud of her daughter-in-law, 
 she made herself her slave, and was consequently busy as a 
 slave from morning to night. Dorla had a pony-carriage and 
 a pony which she could drive herself; she had the blessed 
 woods in which to roam and be silent, the fields in which to 
 be free and to breathe the sunshine ; ferns, violets, anemones, 
 clover, butter-cups, and wild roses. These were the things 
 that always came into her mind when she recalled that first 
 month of her country life. She had always spent June in the 
 city before ; this was a revelation to her. The garden beds 
 were full of the trophies that she brought from her long 
 rambles in the woods. To be sure they never lived, but it 
 was such an occupation, such an interest to her dear little 
 ferns, how she loved them, and how delicious the smell of 
 the soft brown earth. Sometimes they grew on such beau- 
 tiful pieces of rock, and then she .dragged home as much of 
 the rock as she could carry, and put them in the shade, and 
 hung over them day by day with solicitude. The house was 
 filled with moss-covered bits of branches; with tassels of 
 chestnut blossoms, with curious leaves, with wild buckwheat, 
 with endless, endless bunches of ferns and vines. What a 
 lunacy it must have seemed to the dear old mother-in-law ! 
 But everything that the beautiful young creature did, who 
 had corne to make George happy, was right, and to be ap- 
 proved in her eyes. The " brakes " and dead branches were 
 all sacred, and she would not even call old bird's nests 
 rubbish.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 73 
 
 Dorla did not know anything of country housekeeping, 
 and would fain have learned, obedient to her sense of duty. 
 But this was desecration. The old mother only lived to 
 serve her, and she was permitted to have no share in anv 
 household duty. It was quite en regie for her to have any- 
 thing she wanted, and no innovations were looked upon as 
 painful. Her own room was refurnished for her by George 
 before she came, and was very fresh and pretty. The parlor 
 was a sorrow to her, and George had divined it after a few 
 days, so that was all changed. And before June was over, 
 it was really a charming room, white matting, white muslin 
 at the windows, pale cretonne over the horse hair offences, 
 some pretty pictures that Dorla had brought with her, two 
 or three quaint and graceful chairs, a screen, some candle- 
 sticks and vases for the mantelpiece. All the fireboard 
 abomination was done away with, some old andirons brought 
 from the garret, and a low fender, and there on cool evenings 
 blazed a cheerful fire. A marble-topped table, whose ugli- 
 ness made one quail, was covered with cretonne to match 
 the furniture, and a fluted border. There stood the pretty 
 lamp, some new books cut and uncut, Dorla's dainty work 
 basket, and a vase of flowers. The room was quite a pleas- 
 ure to her. In the morning it was full of sunshine ; in the 
 afternoon it was cool and shadowy. George considered it a 
 miracle of art, and his mother brought her visitors to see it, 
 on tip-toe, as if it were asleep and must not be disturbed. 
 They sat in the sitting-room, and Dorla was not always 
 called to see them. Of /course they did not like her, with 
 all her graciousness ; the one thing people never forgive, is 
 superiority. All were sure Dorla did not want to know 
 them, and felt she was above them. This was the one little 
 trial that obscured the ferns and the violets, and made her 
 occasionally remember that there were other things besides 
 .these inanimate ones, that would have to be faced by- 
 and-by, and that she could not rest forever and dream 
 as she was doing now. "Why don't they like me when
 
 74 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 George and his mother do so much ? she wondered inno- 
 cently. 
 
 George was so devoted and so good to her, and so proud 
 of her, she would have been a heathen if she had not begun 
 to feel some kind of affection for him. He also had a good 
 deal of delicacy, and did not bore her very much, and 
 was so happy, he was willing to do all that any body asked 
 of him, and that was a good deal, between his law and bis 
 farm. He had some tact, and soon saw what pleased her, 
 what expressions to avoid, what occupations to keep out of 
 sight, what interests to assume. Added to this he was very 
 good-looking, and had learned to dress himself in good taste ; 
 she was less and less offended every day, and was gradually 
 surrounded by the reBnements that were necessary to her. 
 If she had put it into words, she would have said, " How 
 thankful I ought to be that I did my duty. Now I am 
 really happy." It was indeed a pleasure to be worshipped 
 and waited on by two such people as George and his mother ; 
 and she felt all the time that without any effort of her own, 
 she was making them entirely happy. And the little shadow 
 of the neighbors' disapproval fell across her path but 
 seldom. 
 
 Thus June wore away ; and it was like being awakened 
 out of a peaceful dream, when one afternoon early in July, 
 Harriet Varian's shrill voice arrested her half way up the 
 cliffs that rose from the orchard at the back of the house, 
 and brought her down to level ground, and to the realization 
 that the city influx had indeed begun. 
 
 " Why, Dorla, child," cried Harriet, kissing her enthusias- 
 tically, " we've been here since yesterday, and you haven't 
 been to see us. I surely thought you would have been 
 down before we were through breakfast." 
 
 " I don't go to the village every day," said Dorla, with 
 embarrassment, "and I had not heard that you had 
 come." 
 
 " Why, what on earth do you do, if you don't go to the
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 75 
 
 village?" Harriet asked. " I should think it would be the 
 only thing to do. You must conie and stay a few days at 
 the hotel with us after every body comes." 
 
 " I couldn't think of that," said Dorla, hurriedly. 
 
 " But it's going to be really nice this year," said Harriet. 
 " Excellent people coming. We shall have a capital time. 
 Indeed a good many are here already, but things never get 
 started for a week or two you see. You know you came 
 just in the midst of it all last year. It does seem so funny 
 Dorla, to think of your being married, and settled here, of 
 all places in the world, and of all people in the world, to 
 poor George Rothermel ! If anybody had told us last sum- 
 mer, do you think we could have believed it possible. Ah! 
 what droll things do happen ! " 
 
 Dorla's very throat grew crimson as these words were 
 spoken, of which Harriet made a note, for it was all she 
 could see under the shade hat of her companion, and tried 
 to turn the subject, but went back to it again from very 
 fascination. 
 
 " What do you do here all day long ? " she said again, 
 looking curiously towards her. 
 
 " Do ? why amuse myself and walk and drive as peo- 
 ple generally do in the country," said Dorla, with some dig- 
 nity. 
 
 " O, then you're not busy, not occupied about about the 
 house?" 
 
 " O, no ; I don't milk the cows, if you mean that, nor make 
 the beds, nor bake the bread. Mrs. Rothermel is very fond 
 of housekeeping, and she has two excellent servants, and I 
 am only in the way about those matters." 
 
 " Ah," said Harriet much enlightened, (this had been one 
 of the objects of her visit) ; " and you don't, really, now 
 mind the country so very much ? " 
 
 By the country she meant George Rothermel, marrying 
 below her and marrying from a sense of duty, but Dorla 
 only chose to take it literally.
 
 76 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Mind it," she exclaimed, " why I think it is a paradise, 
 and I hope I may live here all my life." 
 
 Harriet gave an exclamation of delight, and called her a 
 plucky darling ; she did not believe her exactly, but she 
 liked to have people stand up to their colors, and she was 
 glad to be relieved of a little weight that had rested on that 
 part of her that she called her conscience. If Dorla declared 
 she was so happy, there was an end of it forever. She gave 
 her a little hug, and proceeded to ask her a great many 
 questions, and to be very curious in her inspection of every 
 thing. Dorla felt it would have to be endured once, and it 
 might as well be now as any time. So she answered pa- 
 tienlly, and explained the surroundings as well as she could. 
 They walked leisurely through the orchard and garden, and 
 came towards the house from the side. " "What room is 
 this," she asked. " Is it your parlor? And this, the sitting 
 room ? And that's where the family sit ? " 
 
 " The family," said Dorla with a flush, " the family do 
 you mean Mrs. Rothermel. She sits there, yes, sometimes 
 so do I." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. Now let us go and see the parlor." 
 Harriet was charmed with the parlor, with the porch, with 
 the yard and the old trees in front. In fact she had begun 
 to think of it as a delightful place, and to wonder whether 
 Dorla wouldn't invite her often to make up parties and 
 come out there to tea. She pressed her arm affectionately 
 as this thought passed through her mind. 
 
 11 It is all charming," she said, " you are delightfully fixed, 
 and you'll have a lovely summer. Everybody at the hotel 
 is crazy to see you, and you'll be quite the rage." 
 
 " O, thank you," returned Dorla rather curtly, " I've had 
 enough of rages." 
 
 " O, nonsense. Don't talk that way," said Harriet, with 
 slight embarrassment, and then hastened to change the sub- 
 ject. " Now let me tell you my great news. Who do you 
 think is coming in a day or two ? "
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 77 
 
 "I can't imagine, unless it is your brother." 
 
 " Exactly. How came you to guess it ? Yes. Felix LJ 
 on the briny even now, and may be expected to appear at 
 any moment." 
 
 " How very nice for you. Your mother must be so 
 glad." 
 
 " Yes ; I really never wanted to see him so much before. 
 He has been away almost three years. And he is a great 
 sensation already. Now if you had not got married, think 
 how you would have been delighted with his coming ; the 
 girls at the hotel are quite excited at the prospect you must 
 know." 
 
 " I can imagine it," said Dorla, with a smile. " Well, the 
 ranks are thinned by one. I am sorry I cannot be 
 counted." But she did not look sorry, Harriet thought ; and 
 as she drove away she said to herself sagely, that it takes 
 very little to please a woman with a sense of duty. 
 
 And Dorla, as she was left alone, reflected that if Harriet 
 Yarian were to come there often, she should persuade 
 George to take her to some remoter wild, till the summer 
 invasion was at an end and done. 
 
 IJARRIET YARIAlSr did come there, every day, for 
 the next week ; Dorla found she must get used to 
 it, and George, to her amazement, appeared to like 
 it very much. For she brought a great many people 
 with her, talked incessantly about the beauty of the place, 
 and made George feel of some importance. A very pleasant 
 way to be made to feel. It seemed a very fine thing to him 
 to have two or three carriages before the gate every after- 
 noon, and to see fine ladies wandering over the yard and 
 orchard, and to hear people in the village say they were 
 getting to be very guy. 
 
 He begged Dorla to have a tea-party, and was chagrined
 
 78 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 at her aversion.- He wanted her to drive to the village 
 every morning, and " to see something of people." He sent 
 baskets of fruit to Mrs. Varian and Mrs. Bishop, and seemed 
 inclined to assume the duty of showing hospitality to all 
 Miiford and its dependencies. Dorla sighed and resigned 
 herself. This was not the way of making him happy that 
 she had promised herself, but she supposed it was a good 
 discipline for her, and that her feelings were selfish. " It 
 was very easy to make him happy when it was only to do as 
 I liked. Now I'll try to be as amiable when it comes to 
 doing as I don't like." 
 
 At the end of a week a tea party had been forced upon 
 her. " Only six or eight people to begin with, George. If 
 we find it a success, it will be easy to have a larger one next 
 week." 
 
 George was full of interest about it, Mrs. Rothermel was 
 full of care and business about it, and Dorla tried to be 
 interested and be patient. It was a fine clear summer 
 morning, and when she had watered her poor pining little 
 ferns, and the languishing rhododendron that she had trans- 
 planted from, the hillside, she began to think that she had 
 some preparations to make for the fete, and so she adj listed 
 the parlor's toilet with many dainty little touches, and then 
 went out into the garden and gathered an armful of roses 
 and gay flowers and brought them in, putting them in a 
 gorgeous heap upon a table before her, and then collect- 
 ing all the empty vases and glasses, filled them with water, 
 and set them on the table. 
 
 The parlor looked very pretty ; the windows were open, 
 and a little sunshine came ia through the vines without and 
 the muslin curtains within. Everything was so dainty and 
 fair. She felt very young and happy, notwithstanding the 
 impending tea-party; she sang a little as she filled the vases. 
 At last there came a sound she did not love, the sound of 
 Harriet Variau's voice, accompanied by other voices, and 
 the stopping of a vehicle outside the gate.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 79 
 
 " I shall not go," she said, as she heard her name called 
 shrilly. " If she wants me, she will have to come into see me. 
 No doubt there is somebody new she wants me to ask to-night, 
 but I shall not be imposed on. No one else shall come." 
 
 After a moment more of calling, Harriet was heard open- 
 ing the gate and running down the path. Not waiting to 
 knock, she ran into the hall, and dropping her glasses off her 
 nose when she saw Dorla, she hurried up and kissed her. 
 She was more out of breath than usual. 
 
 " Why didn't you come out," she said, with a little annoy- 
 ance. " Quick ! call George and get your things on, we're 
 going to the Ramonskill for the morning, and we want you 
 and George to get the pony carriage and go with us. Come, 
 there is no time to lose." 
 
 " I can't go," said Dorla, " for George isn't here. Be- 
 sides I go to the Ramonskill every day, and it isn't any nov- 
 elty to me." 
 
 "Nonsense ! It isn't to see the falls, but we've got a jolly 
 party, and we'll have a good time. The Davises are here, 
 and the Bishops, and that new girl from Boston. And be- 
 sides, Felix has coine, and I want to have you see him." 
 
 " No ! " said Dorla, with interest. " Felix ! Oh, how 
 glad you must be about it." 
 
 " Yes, he's outside in the wagon with the others, and he 
 promised to come in,"' she said, re-instating her glasses and 
 peering out towards the gate. " I thought he was following 
 me. lie is so lazy." And she ran out and down the path 
 to the great wagon, where three on a seat and closely 
 packed, was gathered the beauty and chivalry of Milford. 
 
 " Felix," she said, sharply, " you ought to be ashamed. 
 Why didn't yoxi come when I asked you to ? I don't know 
 what she'll think of you." 
 
 " But she is coming with us, and it's so early to make a 
 call," said Felix, not moving from his seat. He was sitting 
 by the new girl from Boston, who was very clever and suffi- 
 ciently pretty, and was amuaiag him.
 
 30 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " She isn't coming with us," exclaimed Harriet, impa- 
 tiently. "And considering everything, it's the least you 
 can do, to go in a moment and be introduced to her." 
 
 " Mr. Varian has never seen her, or he -wouldn't need 
 a second invitation," said Mr. Bishop from the driver's 
 seat. 
 
 " It won't take you a moment. Come," urged Harriet, 
 not giving up her ground. 
 
 " It will, it will take me five," said Felix, quite unmoved. 
 
 " Felix," remonstrated his sister in a lower tone, " I really 
 am annoyed at this ; you might at least be civil to my 
 friends." 
 
 " That's always my intention, Harriet, but you have so 
 many of them." 
 
 "Well, then you won't get an invitation for the tea to- 
 night, and you will ? be the loser." 
 
 " O," cried the Boston girl with vigor, " go then, Mr. 
 Varian, and we'll wait for you an hour. Go, for you must 
 get an invitation for the tea to-night." 
 
 There was a chorus of assent to this, and Felix with a 
 little grimace, got out of the carriage, and followed his sister 
 deliberately up the path, across the threshold, and into the 
 hall. Harriet plunged into the parlor in her headlong way, 
 and Felix stood at the parlor door, and looked in. Dorla 
 got up from the table with its heaps of flowers ; she still had 
 a branch or two of 1'oses in her hand, and she came a little 
 forward, looking bright and interested, yet somewhat shy. 
 Felix said quietly to himself, as he looked at her, " It is the 
 prettiest creature that I ever came across," but aloud he said 
 some pleasant commonplace, and then began to rummage in 
 his memory for all that his sister had told him of this one 
 of her innumerable friends. The circumstances of her mar- 
 riage came out gradually in his mind, like a half developed 
 photograph, as he went on talking, and his curiosity became 
 quite keen. So keen, that for a moment he forgot himself, 
 and Harriet had to say twice :
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 81 
 
 " Isn't it a pity, Felix ; Dorla says she can not go with us 
 to-day." 
 
 " A pity indeed. But surely, Mrs. Rothermel, you are not 
 going to lose this beautiful day in the house." 
 
 " Why no, but Mr. Rothermel is not here, and I dare not 
 drive myself, since a little accident that happened when I 
 was driving alone last week." 
 
 "But mayn't I drive you? " he said quite eagerly, com- 
 ing forward into the room. 
 
 " O, thank you," she returned with a little hesitation, 
 " that would be breaking up the party." 
 
 " Not in the least. They will be glad of the extra room. 
 The wagon is over-crowded. Mayn't we arrange it so ? " 
 
 " Why yes," said Harriet, " that's the very thing. And 
 we needn't wait for you. We'll go on, and you'll overtake 
 us, for you'll diive so much faster than we do." 
 
 " But," said Dorla, blushing, " there's another thing; all 
 the men are away on the farm, and there's nobody to harness 
 Jenny." 
 
 '-* O, we can manage that I'm sure," said Felix, firmly. 
 " If you'll only show me the way to the stable, Jenny shall 
 be ready in a moment." 
 
 " As to that," said Dorla relenting, " I believe there is a 
 boy down below the orchard, if we could only make him 
 hear." 
 
 " I am sure we could, Mrs. Rothermel. Shall we go and 
 try?" 
 
 " But about the others they'll think it very rude." 
 
 " O, I'll make it all right. You come on as fast as you 
 can," said Harriet, disappearing down the path. 
 
 The young Bostonian was bitterly chagrined ; Felix had 
 forgotten her clever existence, too much even to come back 
 and apologise for his desertion. He reached down Dorla's 
 hat from a peg in the hall, and followed her out into the 
 orchard. It was tbe perfection of a summer morning, cool 
 in the shade, warm in the sun, with a fresh breeze from the
 
 82 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 west, and a sky without a cloud. They walked across the 
 orchard, and then looked into the field beyond. 
 
 " I don't see him," said Dorla, " I'm afraid we've had our 
 trouble for nothing. 1 ' 
 
 " O, that would be hard indeed." 
 
 "Well, but it would, if you had to harness the pony." 
 
 " I like to harness ponies." 
 
 " But call, at any rate ; maybe he's gone to sleep behind 
 the bushes, somewhere." 
 
 " But what shall I call ? " 
 
 "O, I forgot. Why, Tim's his name, Timothy Mc- 
 Laughlin if you want to be precise." 
 
 But no calling was' of the least avail. Dorla sat down on 
 the rocks, and Felix went to the furthest extremity of the 
 orchard, and called in vain. 
 
 " You see it's only wasting time," he said, coming back 
 to her. " The boy is hunting squirrels in the woods." 
 
 " That comes of having a farm bounded by such tempta- 
 tions," said the young mistress of it, getting up. " The 
 cliffs on one side, and the river on the other. When a boy 
 isn't fishing surreptitiously, he's hunting squirrels, as to-day. 
 I never wanted Jenny harnessed yet, but there were two 
 hours wasted in looking up a boy." 
 
 " You should learn to do it yourself, Mrs. Rothermel. 
 Let me give you a lesson, No. 1, to-day." 
 
 "To tell you the truth T am a little afraid of Jenny." 
 
 Felix didn't tell her so, but he thought it was lovely for a 
 young woman to be afraid. It was a long while since he 
 had seen one who was afraid of anything. The Bostonian 
 was a distinguished whip. 
 
 " The fact is, Jenny kicks a little. And it's no pleasure 
 to me now to drive, even when she goes quite quietly. I'm 
 always thinking what she may possibly do next." 
 
 They went back across the shady orchard, and through 
 the sunny garden, and paused at the steps of the porch. 
 
 " You will have to come with me," he said, "fin- I have
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 83 
 
 no idea where the pony's regalia is kept, and where the pony 
 is herself." 
 
 " O, I will show you, only I cannot help you much, I ain 
 afraid. I don't know a great deal about the barn." 
 
 The barn-yard was by no means a model one old wagons, 
 old wheel-barrows, a precarious path to the barn-door ; Dorla 
 picked her way across with a little misgiving, but though 
 her companion was the finest of fine gentlemen, she did not 
 feel half the awe of him, that she would have felt of good- 
 natured Mr. Bishop, or prim and tiresome Oliver. He 
 went before her, and unfastened the great barn-door, which 
 swung open, and then followed her in. The other doors were 
 wide, and the whole place was sunny and nice smelling, 
 though iu anything but good order. The floor was strewn 
 with hay, the bins that held the grain were open, and grain 
 strewed the floor. Tirn had done a little carpentering too ; 
 here were some squirrel traps half finished, and a saw and 
 hammer and many things about. Harness hung around in 
 all stages of decay, on all the posts and hooks ; here was the 
 pony's fine new silver-plate, and there was the old working 
 leather of the oxen. On one side of the place stood a thrash- 
 ing machine, dingy and dusty since last year's use ; on the 
 other stood the dainty little pony carriage, half covered with 
 a sheet. 
 
 " Tim keeps the carriage here for his convenience," said 
 Dorla, " though there is a carriage-house just across the 
 yard. And here is Jenny. See how nice she is. Now 
 dorft you wish sha didn't kick." 
 
 Jenny began a little winnowing when she saw her mis- 
 tress, and put her head out over the stall, to which her mis- 
 tress responded by patting her cautiously with her hand. 
 " O, Mr. Varian, how will you manage it. See you will 
 have to go out that door, and in there, and bring her round 
 do please be careful that she doesn't kick." 
 
 Mr. Varian laughed and promised to be careful, and 
 dusted off a box and placed it ou the opposite side under the
 
 84: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 hayloft and invited Dorla to sit down. He proceeded to 
 bring Jenny from her stall, and then Dorla said, " but where 
 are her things ? " 
 
 " Oh, there they are, see, against the door." 
 
 " Some of them," said Felix, laughing. " But not all. 
 Tim mxist have some other favorite cranny for them. Let me 
 see. Ah, here." 
 
 " Do you call that the head stall, Mr. Varian. What 
 goes on first ? Oh, now I see." And so on, till the pony 
 was harnessed. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Rothermel, do you think you could hold 
 Jenny, while I uncover the carriage and turn it round." 
 
 " O, yes ; but oughtn't you to have done that first ? " said 
 Dorla, critically. She tried to be very brave, but looked a 
 little uneasy as she held the bridle. 
 
 " Do not be afraid," said her companion. " She won't be 
 likely to kick with her head you know, and her heels are 
 very remote at present." 
 
 Reassured, Dorla held Jenny's head, and watched him 
 while he pulled the carriage out and shook out the cushions, 
 and the rug, and forgot the pony's heels enough to think 
 " He is the handsomest man I ever saw. Yes, Harriet was 
 quite right in all she said. A perfect Adonis. But so nice 
 and pleasant. How glad I am he's come." 
 
 In a moment more, Jenny was led out, and all was ready. 
 " There now, Mrs. Rothermel, you see how short a time it 
 took to do all that : you will do it yourself after the next 
 lesson, and I will sit and watch. Shall we shut the barn 
 door, or leave it open and give Tim a fright ? " 
 
 " Leave it open by all means, and please lead Jenny 
 round to the front door and tie her there. O, I shall 
 have to open the gate for you." So Dorla ran before and 
 opened the gate, and then walked by Felix, while he led the 
 pony to the post and tied him under the shade of the trees. 
 
 " I have to go in for my parasol and hat," she said. 
 " Will you wait in the parlor for me ? " He followed her
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS, 85 
 
 up the patli and into the house, and then as she looked in at 
 the parlor-door, she exclaimed, " O, the poor flowers, I quite 
 forgot them ! They will be withered, and there are no 
 more in the garden. What shall I do about it ? And I am 
 to have a tea-party to-night." 
 
 " Yes, so I heard," said Felix. " And am I to be in- 
 vited ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think so. On account of harnessing Jenny, 
 I feel that it is owing to you. Yes, you shall be invited ; 
 dismiss all fears about it, and tell me what I shall do in the 
 matter of these flowers ? " 
 
 " Why, arrange them in water and I will help you. 
 See," and he placed a chair for her and proceeded to pour 
 water from the pitcher into the nearest vase. 
 
 " Oh, no," she cried, " there is no time. It would take me 
 half an hour to arrange them as I want ; no, you must put 
 them all in water any way while I am putting on my hat, 
 and then I will arrange them after I get back." 
 
 " Very well," he said, sitting down before his task and 
 taking up the first flowers that came to hand. " I don't 
 know a great deal about it, but I'll do my best." She 
 looked back laughing as she reached the door and said, " the 
 stems go in the water." Felix sat in a sort of maze, after 
 she went out, with a half smile on his lips, and the unusual 
 work did not proceed far in his hands. He put a few of the 
 biggest flowers in the water in an awkward attitude, and 
 then he put two or fchree roses in his buttonhole, and then 
 he gave up the duty and walked around the room, and took 
 up Dorla's books, and looked at her hand-writing on the fly- 
 leaves, and took up her work-basket ; and then examined all 
 the pictures on the wall. And before he was quite satisfied 
 about them all, Dorla came down with her hat and gloves 
 on. 
 
 " The flowers," she said, disapprovingly. " Mr. "Varian. 
 Why didn't you do as you said you would ? " 
 
 " O, Mrs. Rothermel, see what an expression those gerani-
 
 86 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 urns have ! They do not satisfy me. I put them in the 
 vase and they discouraged me. You must see I've no voca- 
 tion. I did not think flowers could look so ugly." 
 
 " But you know it will save them from wilting all the 
 same ! Well we might as well give up going, for it will be 
 too late after T've put them all in water." 
 
 " O, by no means," cried Felix, with alacrity. " See, it 
 will not take five minutes. I will hold your gloves, I will 
 hand you the flowers, I will pour out the water. It is only 
 for you to put them in the vases." 
 
 " But you will not understand," said Dorla, taking off her 
 gloves and handing them to Felix, as she sat down by the 
 table. " You will not understand that this is not their 
 final disposition, this is not even dress rehearsal." 
 
 " B-ot I am afraid it would break their spirit to be made 
 to look like those ungainly things I put into the vase. I 
 really was afraid of the effect upon them." 
 
 " I really am afraid of the effect upon Harriet and the 
 others," said Dorla, adjusting the flowers that Felix handed 
 to her. " It will be high noon before we reach the Ramon- 
 skill, and if they have waited for us they will be anything 
 but amiable." 
 
 " They will have no reason to complain," said Felix. 
 " For this is a party made up with the sole object of showing 
 me the Ramonskill, all the rest have seen it ; and if I am 
 satisfied to come back without seeing it, no one is concerned 
 in it but me." 
 
 " O, Mr. "Varian, this makes it even worse ! A party for 
 your pleasure, and you kept away by me ! Let us hurry. 
 I shall never be forgiven. There, those geranium leaves 
 must go, I can get plenty more of them. And those ver- 
 benas ! Ah, I haven't time. But here, you shall have 
 this for your good intentions." And she broke off a little 
 spray of sweet verbena, and gave it to him for his button- 
 hole, at the same time fastening a piece of it into her dress. 
 Then tying a veil on, and putting on her gloves, which
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 87 
 
 Felix gave her singly, as they went out, she led the way 
 down to the gate. Felix put her in the carriage, and ar- 
 ranged the skirts of her pretty cambric dress, so that it 
 should not touch the wheel, and then took his place beside 
 her. A very light-hearted and happy pair, they bowled away. 
 The summer morning was beautiful to them. Life at that 
 moment a happy holiday affair. People called Felix a 
 little blase ; he did not look so now. They said young 
 Mrs. Ilothermel was too shy and too distraite to be absolutely 
 pleasing. No one could say that of her to-day. 
 
 It was a lovely drive along the river. Felix never for- 
 got it ; ifc always came back to him in a glow of sunshine 
 and verdant beauty. The broad valley before them was 
 laughing with com ; the cliffs above them were dark and 
 green. They quite forgot they ought to hurry. Dorla saw 
 some of her beloved ferns high up on some rocks beside the 
 road, and Felix scrambled up to get them. While the road 
 was even and hard, as it was along the river, they drove on 
 rapidly with the soft wind in their faces ; but when they 
 turned off, up the hill, they loitered and drove very lei- 
 surely. The hill was so steep, Felix got out and walked be- 
 side the little carriage, tenderly mindful of the interests of 
 Jenny. There is a nice little view at one point, where you 
 look over a mile of tree-tops, with a faint blue mountain 
 glimpse beyond ; that they stopped and talked about. And 
 Dorla told Felix why she liked it, though she had driven 
 past it fifty times at least, and had never before felt that she 
 wanted to talk to any one about it. And Felix, though it 
 was but a month since he left Switzerland, felt in it a charm 
 that all that land had lacked. The hill was steep, and 
 though they were not in a hurry, at last the top was reached, 
 and they turned into the grove where the horses are tied, 
 and the wagons left on the way down to the falls. 
 
 " The wagon is not here.-," said Dorla, in a little conster- 
 nation, hesitating to get oiit. "Where can they have gone ? " 
 
 " Perhaps they have left the wagon somewhere else,"
 
 83 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 urged Felix, insisting upon lier getting out, " we shall find 
 them at the falls." 
 
 " But they always tie the horses here," said Dorla. " It 
 is the only place. I think it would be better to go back, I 
 am afraid they did not like it." 
 
 " Depend upon it they are down below. Besides, being 
 here, are we not wise to see the falls ? It's no novelty to 
 you, but you know I've never seen them." 
 
 So Jenny was tied to a tree, and they started down the 
 steep path through the woods. Halfway down they found 
 a piece of paper pinned upon a tree, informing them that 
 the party had grown tired of waiting longer, and had gone 
 home by the Brewery. It was a testy little document, 
 signed by all the party excepting the young Boston woman, 
 who disdained the pleasantry. Dorla was annoyed, and 
 wanted to go back. 
 
 " Now see," said Felix, " how foolish that would be, we 
 cannot overtake them, we are within five minutes of the 
 falls, and shall lose a pleasant walk by turning back be- 
 cause they badgered us." So Dorla yielded, and they would 
 have lost a pleasant walk by going back. Having dismissed 
 the spectre of the waiting party, they gave themselves up to 
 tho enjoyment of the moment. They went over the falls 
 an 1 under the falls ; they followed the stream down farther 
 thk,n Dorla had ever followed it before ; they found a hun- 
 dred charming spots that she had never seen before. It was 
 so cool and sprayey and musical down below the rocks ; 
 being high noon now, the cool and the spray were welcome ; 
 they could not talk much the water made such a noise. It 
 was a very steep path to get up again, and very slippery, 
 for the ground was covered with pine needles ; but Felix 
 had cut a stick for Dorla, and with that, and his hand at 
 the worst places, she reached the plateau opposite the fall, 
 and there they sat and rested. "And that is the bridal 
 veil, undoubtedly," said Felix. 
 
 " I wonder if there ever were falls that hadn't a faint
 
 A PERFECT ADCWIS. 89 
 
 little misty one that they called the bridal veil ?" said 
 Dorla. 
 
 " Co-extensive with human discovery. A misty, chilly 
 phenomenon loveliest in the distance." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Dorla with a little hesitation. 
 
 " Well, you have recent and reliable experience. I can 
 only speculate," said her companion with a little shrug, at 
 the same time he glanced quickly at her. She was silent 
 and he saw a faint clouding of her face, a weary common- 
 place look, as if the world were not so brilliant and gay 
 after all ; in truth she was thinking of the incongruous, dull 
 wedding party, and of the smell of fried oysters, and of the 
 racket of the omnibuses and carriages past the house, on that 
 day not two months past, when she had worn the chilly, 
 misty phenomenon of which her companion spoke ; she did 
 not think at all about George, or about anything but the ex- 
 ternals of that dull occasion. Felix did not understand 
 exactly, but he thought it was best to talk about something 
 eke at once, and the cloud passed away at the first word. 
 
 All this took time the rocks, and the climbing, and the 
 resting ; Dorla gave a little scream of horror when she saw 
 the hour. " Two o'clock ! why, dinner is over and done in 
 every house in Milford ! ' Whatever ' shall we do ? " 
 
 " How material ! " exclaimed Felix. " Are you so hungry 
 then ? For my part I had not thought of dinner." 
 
 " But you ought to have thought of it, and so ought I ; 
 poor dear old Mi-s. Rothermel ! she will be so unhappy." 
 
 All this while Dorla was hurrying up the bank, quite out 
 of breath ; but had to stop and rest and acknowledge she 
 was tired. She looked very pretty, standing with her hand 
 on her heart, her hat fallen back, her cheeks flushed, and 
 panting for breath. 
 
 " See how you have tired yourself, and how absurd it is," 
 said her companion. " Probably no one has thought about 
 us since we've been away." 
 
 He took off his straw hat, and leaning with one hand
 
 90 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 against a tree, fanned her with it with the other. His 
 cheeks were little flushed too with the exercise, but he did 
 not look tired. 
 
 They left " the woods so sweet with birch and fern," and 
 seated once more in the little carriage, drove towards home. 
 It was a very short drive after all, if one chose to make it 
 so. When they reached the gate of the farm house, Dorla 
 said with candor, " Dinner is never a very state affair with us, 
 and less than ever to-day, I suppose, owing to the tea-party. 
 But you will find it better than no dinner at all, or a cold 
 one at the hotel ; so please come in and take it with me, 
 the others will all have eaten theirs." 
 
 That was a strong temptation ; aud she presented to his 
 fancy a tete-a-tute broiled chicken, some fresh vegetables and 
 a glass of claret; possibly some whipped-crearn and fruit. 
 But he had a good deal of tact, and he did not want to see 
 her wearied, and to be associated in her thoughts with any- 
 thing mal a propos or uncomfortable. He said lie dared not 
 provoke Harriet any further, he must go and be recou oiled 
 to her, or she would forbid his coining to the tea that even- 
 ing. " But you will take the pony," she said, as he tied 
 her to the post. "Tim shall go down and bring her back. 
 Please, you surely would not walk all that distance in the 
 sun." 
 
 He laughed, and said he should have to show her some 
 notes of his walking tour last summer. Then lifting his hat 
 he said good-bye, and she watched him from the porch as he 
 walked rapidly down the road. O, what a happy morning! 
 She went singing into the house ; she laughed aloud when 
 she saw the gaunt geraniums in their glass alone, and picked 
 up with interest some roses that he had handed her, and she 
 had dropped upon the floor. She threw her arms around 
 her mother-in-law with unusual effusion, aud begged her to 
 forgive her for being so late, and ate her little dinner all 
 alone, as if she enjoyed it thoroughly. The tea-party be- 
 came an. interest and an excitement ; she entered into the
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 91 
 
 preparations for it keenly, arranging the flowers and the 
 candles on the tables with her own hands, and giving the 
 servant many close instructions on the matter of her duty. 
 She forgot all about poor George, and nearly ran over him 
 in the hall, when she was coming down stairs with her arms 
 full of table linen. He was delighted to see she was no 
 longer a martyr, and tried to help her in every way she would 
 permit. 
 
 " Tell me about this Varian," he said, standing by her 
 and holding the steps, while she put some ferns over a pic- 
 ture. 
 
 " Oh, he's delightful ! " she said, " so clever, so handsome 
 and so so easy to get acquainted with ;" for she began 
 to think she had only been with him three hours and a half, 
 and yet he seemed more of a friend to her than people she 
 had known all her life, therefore it must be his characteris- 
 tic that he was easy to get acquainted with. 
 
 " A good deal of a swell, though, I've no doubt," said 
 George, for he felt provincial, in prospect of meeting this 
 travelled creature. 
 
 " On the contrary," said Dorla, " he is most unpretend- 
 ing ; he doesn't seem to be thinking of himself at all, but 
 of the pei-son to whom he talks, and he doesn't say anything 
 about the places he has been to that tiresome way ! Oh, I 
 know you will like him ; [ never liked anybody half so well 
 in all my life before in such a little time." 
 
 George shook his head ; he did not feel her confidence. 
 Then she went to her room and tried to sleep a little while ; 
 but it was not much use to try to sleep ; she was in a daz- 
 zling gay dream whether she slept or waked. When she was 
 dressed and ready to go down stairs, George came to the 
 door and knocked. He had been afraid to disturb her be- 
 fore, and he was not yet dressed himself. He told her she 
 looked lovely, and asked her to give him a kiss ; she gave it 
 to him absent-mindedly and amiably, thinking, meanwhile, 
 whether the hall would be light enough with the lump, or
 
 92 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 whether she had better not have candles too. George was 
 not dissatisfied, and went in to make his toilet in great con- 
 tent of spirit. Dorla went to her mother-in-law's room, 
 with some lace in her hand. That dear old lady was nervous 
 about her appearance ; she knew the tea was nice, but she 
 was not so sure about herself. 
 
 "Now you look just as I want you to!" cried Dorla 
 caressingly. " I am so glad ! Wait one moment ; you must 
 wear this lace to please me. Your cap is quite perfect, pray 
 believe me." 
 
 She had had a handsome black silk dress made in honor 
 of George's wedding (though she did not go to it), and that, 
 and the fine lace, and the pretty cap, made her sweet old 
 face quite picturesque. Still she was nervous, and that dis- 
 turbed Dorla a little. She hoped George would not be ill 
 at ease. It was so underbred to be so. In a little while he 
 called her up-stairs again, to tie his cravat for him, and to 
 tell him if he were " all right." She felt a little contempt 
 for him, for she knew he was afraid of the criticism of " that 
 "Varian ; " and she gave him the kiss he asked for rather less 
 cheerfully than at first. 
 
 " Now, I do beg," she said, a little less gently than usual, 
 " I do beg you won't be worried about things. Everything 
 is well arranged, and will be nice. Leave it all to me, and try 
 to act as if you were in somebody else's house." 
 
 Easy advice to give, but very hard to put in practice ; and 
 poor George wandered about the rooms with a troubled face, 
 every few moments coming back to Dorla to tell her of his 
 conviction that the dining-room would not be light enough, 
 or that the parlor lamp would smoke. 
 
 " I've thought of all that, George," she said ; " You 
 needn't be afraid. It is all right." This was her house, 
 this was the hour of her reign. She felt herself quite capa- 
 ble of doing her part well. It was an excitement and a 
 pleasure that she had never felt before. She had made up 
 her mind just how her guests should be entertained, just
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 93 
 
 what every one should do ; and she did not feel at all afraid 
 of any of them, at least, while they were in the hoxise. 
 
 There was nothing more that she could possibly do, so she 
 sat down quietly in the porch to wait for them. About half- 
 past seven o'clock, the guests arrived (they could not be said 
 to assemble, for they came in one great wagon, which was the 
 Milford fashion). All but Mr. Varian. Dorla felt a pang 
 of disappointment when amid the crowd who came in at 
 the same time, she did not see him. But Harriet relieved 
 her mind. 
 
 " Felix preferred to walk," she said. " He will soon be 
 here, no doubt." Then the ladies all went up to Dorla's 
 room, and Dorla entertained the gentlemen upon the porch. 
 The evening was lovely. The sunset was still reflected in the 
 valley before them, but the tall cliffs behind the house 
 made it all in shadow. " It is pleasanter outside," said 
 Dorla, " is it not ? " So they all stayed outside, where there 
 were plenty of seats about the grass. Presently the ladies 
 came down, and then she presented them to Mrs. Rothermel, 
 and then she made her sit down in the porch, and kind, dis- 
 criminating Mrs. Bishop sat beside her and talked to her, 
 and Dorla was free to walk about among the others. George 
 was talking to some one quite placidly, but she saw that he 
 was thoroughly uncomfortable. The Boston young woman, 
 whose name was Grayson, was keenly watching her. The 
 Davises, who had never seen her with her husband, were as 
 curiously wistful as well-bred people can be. Oliver was 
 there, and never took his eyes off her ; she saw it all. Pres- 
 ently, Harriet, who had been hovering about the gate and 
 looking down the road, said " There's Felix," and at the 
 same moment, Felix entered upon the scene. Dorla went 
 forward a step or two in a natural, bright manner, and wel- 
 comed him, and saying quickly, " I want to present you to 
 Mrs. Rothermel," led him up to the porch. That little cere- 
 mony shortly over, she said " George," and moved towards 
 him. He came, looking unmistakably ill at ease.
 
 94 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I want to introduce you to Mr. Varian." She tried 
 not to feel that Felix was criticising him. After a few 
 words she turned and left them, and asked Miss Grayson to 
 come and see some rhododendron that she had transplanted 
 from the woods. And after five minutes, when they came 
 back across the grass, she had the happiness of seeing George 
 and Felix apparently on the best terms, George quite at 
 ease, and looking infinitely relieved. ft I knew he would 
 like him," she said to herself. " Everybody does. Who could 
 help it ! " But aloud she said, " O, Miss Grayson, I have 
 done wrong to bring you on the grass ; it is damp already, 
 and you are wearing slippers. We will keep to straight 
 paths in the future. Let us take Mr. Davis, and go and see 
 my rabbits ; by that time, I am sure it will be time for tea." 
 
 Harriet and Oliver were exploring the orchard ; all 
 were sauntering about as they felt disposed. When they 
 were summoned in to tea, it was quite twilight, and the 
 bright lights of the house were welcome. The parlor was 
 really very pretty, with its ferns and flowers and soft wax 
 Vghts. They passed through this, into the dining-room. 
 Every one was hungry, the things to eat delicious, the table 
 extremely pretty. Dorla was perfectly satisfied, as she knew 
 she should be. Her mother-in-law was fully occupied behind 
 the tea-things, and overcame her trepidation. George had 
 concluded to take his wife's advice, apparently, and forgot to 
 be anxious, and became a little important instead, which 
 suited the occasion better. Dorla was seated between old 
 Mr. Davis and Mr. Bishop, while opposite were Felix and his 
 friend, Miss Grayson. Dorla was so much prettier than any 
 body else ! No one could help noticing the difference. She 
 was dressed in white, with a broad scarlet sash, and scarlet 
 geraniums in her hair ; the very ones Felix believed that had 
 looked so ungainly when he put them in great branches 
 in the vase. She was twice as lovely as ever she had been 
 last year, thought poor old-bachelory Oliver, and he could 
 have gnashed his teeth if nobody had been looking, As it
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 95 
 
 was, he was doubly devoted to Miss Davis, who liked it 
 very much and did uot divine the cause. In the melee that 
 followed their leaving the dining-room, Felix contrived to 
 speak a word or two to Mrs. Rothermel, but only a word or 
 two. 
 
 " Collect Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Varian for me," she said, 
 " I want them to play whist." 
 
 Then she herself went to collect Mr. Bishop and Mr. 
 Davis jpere, and George brought the whist table, and in half 
 an hour after tea, these four were comfortably playing their 
 beloved game. The younger people wore scattered about the 
 parlor and hall; Miss Graysonand Felix were on the porch. 
 Bye and bye they had some music. Miss Grayson came in 
 and played, and Oliver sang some songs. Miss Grayson 
 played quite remarkably ; it made everything else seem crude. 
 She was quite willing to stay at the piano, with the con- 
 sciousness that she was giving pleasure and excelling every 
 one at the same time. Felix was fond of music and he 
 stayed beside her for a long while. At last she said she 
 had heai-d that Mr. Rothermel sang ; she must insist that he 
 sing something for them. Mrs. Rothermel was called upon to 
 play his accompaniments. No ; for that Mrs. Rothermel was 
 too wise. 
 
 " I play them so badly, that it would spoil the songs for 
 every one, most of all for you, Miss Grayson. Ho shall take 
 his guitar and go out in the moonlight, troubadour-fashion, 
 and sing to us from the porch. Please, George, do that ; it 
 will sound so much better than if I play for you." 
 
 And while George obeyed, she said with a little laugh, 
 " then we can listen or not as wo feel inclined." 
 
 It was very well done ; the songs did sound much better 
 in that informal way, and disarmed criticism ; besides, he 
 sang twice as well, being from under the bright lights, and 
 the sharp eyes of a roomfull of people. Harriot was out- 
 side with him, Miss Davis and Mr. Oliver also. Miss Gray- 
 son and young Dux is sat in the window. The moonlight
 
 96 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 was beautiful, and the air sweet with flowers. Felix came 
 across to the sofa where Dorla sat alone. 
 
 tf You do not really play well ? " he said, taking a chair 
 beside her. 
 
 " Infamously. Sometime I will play for you, when no 
 one else is here, that you may know I speak the truth." 
 
 " Then you do not care about my opinion, that is clear, as 
 much as for these people to whom you will riot play to-night." 
 
 " Well, not in the same way, certainly. It is true, I be- 
 lieve, I would rather you knew I played badly, than Miss 
 Grayson, or any of the rest ; in fact, I don't mind you know- 
 ing it at all." 
 
 " That is a doubtful sort of confidence. Am I to be flat- 
 tered by it ? " 
 
 " Well, that is impossible for me to say, for I have never 
 thought about it before. I only tell you the facts as I find 
 them in my mind." 
 
 " I shall try to interpret them favorably to myself. Now 
 I am going to pay you a compliment." 
 
 " Are you ? Oh, how pleasant. I am listening." 
 
 " Very well. There is no ambiguity about my facts. I 
 think you very clever, and I find you play most skilfully 
 upon one instrument, if not upon the one Miss Grayson 
 does." 
 
 "And what is it pray? For I cannot guess." 
 
 " Why, the instrument that one might call Society what- 
 ever part of it comes under your hand. You have a gift, 
 believe me. I have watched you to-night with wonder. 
 See how you have made every one do what you wanted. I 
 almost think you've regulated the cards my mother has held ; 
 but of course I can't be sure of that ! At any rate, you've 
 put her with her back to the light, which always makes her 
 happy, and given her a good partner, which ensures success. 
 And put a screen behind Mrs. Bishop's back, to relieve her 
 mind from fear of draughts. And given Miss Davis permis- 
 sion to sit in the moonlight with Mr. Oliver. And made
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 97 
 
 Miss Grayson's talent give everybody pleasure, beginning with 
 herself. Besides asking your mother-in-law to wind those 
 skeins of worsted for you (which you didn't want), to make 
 her feel occupied and amused among the younger and gayer 
 people. Yes, Mrs. Rothermel. We are your gamut, and 
 upon us you play." 
 
 " Oh," said Dorla, laughing, " that may be true. But if 
 it is, I must tell you this, that you are the only irresponsive 
 note, so far, to-night. I have struck you three times, tluee 
 times I'm sure, and not a sound elicited. For, once, I 
 wanted you to urge Miss Grayson to play again, and you 
 did not take the hint. And another time, I wanted you to 
 make Harriet stop teasing Mr. Oliver ; and the third, I 
 wanted yon to come and talk to me, for I was very tired of 
 being pleasant to people that I did not care about." 
 
 And she gave him a smile so bright, so innocent, so full 
 of nameless flattery, that it looked like the perfection of art. 
 It had the effect upon Felix of making him silent for a mo- 
 ment ; of almost taking away his breath. "When he spoke 
 again it was in a lower tone, almost a smothered one. He 
 really did not understand her and he wanted to. 
 
 " And how did you learn all this," he said. " I thought 
 from Harriet's account you were a sort of nun, and knew 
 nothing of the world." 
 
 " Oh, to begin with, I beg you will discredit all Harriet's 
 judgments of me. You and I know her too well to make it 
 necessary to call her discrimination her strong point." 
 
 "Yes. I admit she makes great mistakes in judgment. 
 But I am only talking about her facts in this present case." 
 
 " Ah, facts ! They are such tiresome things. I feel to- 
 night as if there were no facts worth noticing besides moon- 
 light and Beethoven." 
 
 " Then you do not mean to tell me how you learned to be 
 so clever and to manage people so ? " 
 
 " No, I'd rather you'd think it a gift as you said before. 
 We don't learn gifts."
 
 98 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " No, but we begin to use them." 
 
 " Well, I am beginning. To tell you the truth, this is my 
 first essay. Harriet was right, I never had a chance before, 
 nor felt the inclination." 
 
 " I wonder whether Harriet was right about another thing 
 she said. "Will you tell me if I ask you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I cannot promise," said Dorla, looking frightened. 
 " Harriet says so many random things." 
 
 " Yes, I know; but I don't think this was a random thing 
 she said. You can answer it, and I'm sure you will. She 
 said you were a sort of nun, not only from want of expe- 
 rience of the world, but from choice and deliberation. Is it 
 so ? . I want you to tell me ; really, I have a reason for 
 wanting to know." The color came into her face, and she 
 sat looking down, but not as if she were going to answer. 
 
 " Why ? Cannot you even speak of such things to me, 
 Mrs. Rothermel ? Am I such a sinner ? Well, perhaps I 
 am, and perhaps I have not a right to talk about this to 
 you ; but I confess I have a longing to know if there dp live 
 women who well there is no use in talking of it. I 
 have been in a bad school. My mother and Harriet don't 
 help me much by their example. I know them to be good 
 and excellent in their way, but it's such a very worldly way ! 
 It's unreasonable to ask people to govern themselves by 
 higher rules, but somehow, you'd like to know that there 
 were a few that did it, just for the exaltation of sentiment it 
 would give you." 
 
 " Felix ! " cried his mother. 
 
 "Mr. Varian!" cried Mr. Bishop. "Come here, we 
 have agreed to leave it to you. If you know your adversary 
 holds a short suit, are you justified, etc., etc., etc." 
 
 Felix went over with reluctant steps to the card table, 
 and Dorla sat silent and thoughtful with her eyes upon 
 the floor. It was impossible for Felix to come back to her, 
 for before the whist difficulty had approached solution, Mr. 
 Oliver had come in and taken his place beside her, and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 99 
 
 there had arisen a noisy consultation about the doings of the 
 morrow, in which everybody talked at once ; Dorla alone 
 was silent. She was thinking, not about the picnic, but 
 about Felix, and how sorry she was for him, and how she 
 longed to talk to him about " such things," but did not dare 
 to speak ! Whatever he might lack, she was sure it was not 
 bis fault, quite sure. When next she heard his voice, it was 
 not gay and noisy like the rest, but sxibdued and quiet, just 
 as it ought to have been, after the way he had begun to talk 
 when he sat beside her, and he seemed quite indifferent about 
 the picnic, which was such a matter of interest to all the 
 rest. Where it should be, how it should be, what hour they 
 had better start. What a tumult about nothing, or very 
 nearly nothing. At last it was settled the hour, the edi- 
 bles, the conveyances ; and it was time to go. 
 
 At the last moment, George remembered he had some 
 business that could not be put off that would take him to 
 Port Jervis in the morning. But Dorla mustn't lose it. 
 " Dorla, couldn't you drive yourself? Such a coward as 
 you've got to be. Well, Mr. Varian, maybe you won't mind 
 driving her again to-morrow. We'll see that Tim's on hand 
 to harness Jenny up." 
 
 Mr. Varian would be very glad to do it ; and Miss Gray- 
 son set her lips together, and Miss Davis shrugged her shoul- 
 ders, and said to Mr. Oliver aside, it was such bad taste to 
 break up the party in that way. It was against all Milford 
 precedent to go in pony carriages to picnics or gregarious 
 undertakings. Then they all said good-bye in the moonlight ; 
 the older people drove home in the big wagon waiting at the 
 gate, and five of the younger ones started off to walk.
 
 100 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 HE next morning, the baskets that the dear old 
 mother had been arranging stood on the dining- 
 room table. Dorla was on her knees, packing some 
 bottles in a pail of ice, when she heard Felix come in at 
 the front door. She had been listening for him without 
 knowing it, since breakfast-time. She started up, and ran 
 out into the parlor. " O, come in," she said, " and tell me 
 if this is not the best plan. To let Tim take these baskets 
 to the woods for us, with one of the farm horses, and then 
 let him stay and build the fire, and get some wood together, 
 and make a sort of table. Picnics are so tiresome when you 
 have to do everything yourself; and besides, I am sure all 
 these things could never be got into the pony carriage." 
 
 Felix thought they certainly could not, and that Tim 
 would be an acquisition. 
 
 " And then," he said, " don't you think we had better 
 start at once, and have no possible complaint about our 
 keeping anybody waiting ? I see Jenny has ' her things ' 
 on, as you'd say, and it will not take you very long to put 
 on yours." 
 
 " Oh, not five minutes," said she. And in eight minutes 
 they were off, Tim being charged with the safe conduct of 
 the baskets, and Mrs. Rothermel giving herself up to the 
 safe starting of Tim. 
 
 It was such a day as yesterday, only a little warmer ; the 
 wind in your face was softer and more velvety; you did not 
 want to drive so fast, or to walk with such determination, 
 and you chose the shade. Still, it was not a hot day ; it 
 was just perfect summer weather. When they reached the 
 Conneshaugh, there was no token of the picnicers. They 
 turned off from the wood road, into an unfrequented wagon 
 track that led to the little valley. The boughs caught Dorla's 
 veil, and grated upon the top of Felix's straw hat. They 
 went down with a thump into the dry bed of a stream, and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 101 
 
 Dorla uttered a little scream and looked with solicitude at 
 Jenny. 
 
 " How are the others to get through here," she said, with 
 some anxiety. 
 
 " Perhaps they are braver," answered her companion. 
 
 " However that may be, they have higher carriages, and 
 that is more important than their moral qualities." 
 
 " When Tim comes, I will get his axe and cut down some 
 of the branches ; that will remedy the carriage difficulty." 
 
 " And take his spade and fill up the bed of that brook ? 
 That will perhaps assist the courage of my successors." 
 
 " Well you see I did not tell him to bring a spade, I only 
 advised an axe, dealing with material facts, and not with 
 moral qualities." 
 
 The valley was cool and lovely. It was now past noon, 
 and the shadows were already stretching across it. It lay, a 
 grassy plateau, surrounded on all sides by tall forest trees, 
 the hill rising steeply from it ; a pretty little stream ran 
 through it ; the grass was green and smooth as a pleasure 
 ground. Felix and Dorla selected the best spot for the 
 table, arranged some logs for seats, picked two or three big 
 leaves full of raspberries, washed their stained hands in the 
 cool brook, and then sat down to wait. 
 
 " He cometh not," she said. 
 
 " She cometh not," he said. " And that refers to Miss 
 Grayon let me say at once." 
 
 "O, I knew it," said Dorla. "You need not have said. 
 I knew you did not mean Mrs. Bishop." 
 
 " Well now, to tell you the truth, I do not believe they 
 will be here for an hour. I felt very much discouraged 
 when I left them. They were not half ready, and in such 
 confusion ; two or three people out of temper and every- 
 thing chaotic." 
 
 " Then why did we start so soon ourselves ? " 
 
 " Why ? O, why I thought it was best to have to tell 
 them we had waited for them much longer than they had
 
 102 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 done yesterday for us. And I thought the woods were so 
 cool and fresh." 
 
 " Yes, they are. And the drive along the river must have 
 been warm if we had left it later." 
 
 " And now what shall we do ? " said Felix. " For I am 
 tired of picking raspberries." 
 
 " I know of a lovely drive," said Dorla, (< all through 
 the woods. But the hill is very steep indeed." 
 
 " Let us try it," said Felix, taking Jenny by the head and 
 turning her. In his heart, he thought the party would soon 
 be there, and he thought it would be much pleasanter to 
 escape their arrival and the babble and confusion of the prepa- 
 rations for the feast. As they reached the road again, they 
 encountered Tim, and told him where to build the table and 
 make the fire, and charged him to be careful of the baskets, 
 and to tell the ladies and gentlemen when they came, that 
 they had been waiting for them for an hour, and had gone 
 off to take a drive. 
 
 The road "all through the woods" was beautiful and 
 cool. They gathered laurels and ferns, and walked up the 
 steepest parts of the hill, and went to a farm-house and got 
 a drink, and rested for a little while ; and then Dorla 
 thought it was time to go back to the valley. But Felix 
 thought it was so dull going back the same road ; she had 
 told him of one a little longer that took them around the 
 hill, and that brought you to such a pretty view. Felix did 
 really like " pretty views " very much. It would only take 
 them a little longer, and they had be-fcter, he was certain, go 
 that way. 
 
 " Only, it seems a little as if we were shirking the trouble 
 of getting the lunch ready and unpacking the baskets," said 
 Dorla, with some hesitation. 
 
 " Isn't it a pity to care too much bow things look, when 
 we are sure our motives are right ? " said Felix, gravely. 
 And then Dorla laughed, and he took up the reins and went 
 the way he wanted to go. What did they talk about all
 
 A PEBFECT ADONIS. 103 
 
 that long drive through the woods and across the hill tops ? 
 Not of music not of books a little of the nature before 
 them, and a good deal of themselves. It really seemed very 
 little to remember, and yet how well they felt they knew 
 each other, before the drive was over. 
 
 " O, go quickly," said Dorla, as they entered the 
 Conneshaugh woods again and were turning into the val- 
 ley. " I really am afraid. I think we have been very 
 rude." 
 
 " So do I," said Felix. " But it was not my fault. I did 
 not want to go, you know." 
 
 " O, of course not," cried Dorla. " That always is the 
 way." 
 
 " I fear we shall not be popular," said Felix, drawing in 
 the reins, and peering through the trees upon the picnic 
 party. " Look ! There is poor Oliver with a face of carna- 
 tion. He is set to tend the fire. The heat must be really 
 apoplectic. And old Bishop ! He has actually had to take 
 his coat off, carrying those loads of wood." 
 
 "Why didn't they let Tim do all that," said Dorla 
 faintly, looking on with anxiety. 
 
 " Tim is hunting squirrels, I haven't any doubt. And see ! 
 O, Mrs. Rothermel, will you ever dare go in ! Even good 
 Mrs. Bishop's energies are at low water mark ; dear faithful 
 creature, she is fanning herself on a log, and cutting bread 
 at intervals. What thick slices ! How I detest the sight. 
 She needn't ask me to have any." 
 
 " I don't believe she will." 
 
 "And Harriet is in a rage with somebody. O, I see. 
 It's with Mrs. Whymple. They've been making rival 
 mayonnaise, and Mrs. Whymple has appropriated all the 
 eggs. That is hard lines. I don't wonder Harriet is 
 furious. She never made anything that was good but may- 
 onnaise, and it will be great trash without a single egg. I 
 shall have to take some of Mrs. Whymple's." 
 
 " I doubt whether she will give you any."
 
 104: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " 0, yes she will. And I promise you shall have some 
 too." 
 
 " Then you will have to be attentive to one of the two 
 daughters." 
 
 " Well, I can do that, if your salad depends upon it. 
 Ah, there is the best looking one, helping Davis make the 
 coffee. Bah! What stuff it will be. I really wish they 
 had waited till I came for that. I was willing to make the 
 coffee." 
 
 " Then your face would have been vermilion, like Mr. 
 Davis, and you would have had to roll your coat sleeves up 
 almost to the elbow as he had to do." 
 
 " But the coffee would have been fit to drink." 
 
 " You should have thought of that before. But now please 
 let us go." 
 
 They drove on, into thq opening, with some misgivings ; 
 and Dorla, getting out of the little carriage, went on alone 
 towards the group, leaving Felix to fasten Jenny to the 
 nearest tree. She was greeted rather coldly, as was entirely 
 natural. In fact, no one was in the humor for raillery. 
 It was an hour past dinner-time, and it was an inferior 
 dinner for which they could hope at last. 
 
 " Can I do anything," said Dorla, timidly, going up to the 
 table, as she took off her gloves. 
 
 " You might have done something if you had been here 
 an hour ago," said Harriet, sharply, from over a fluid-com- 
 pound which refused to thicken. " But it's just like Felix, 
 always getting out of the way of woi'k. He will do three 
 times as much as the thing itself would be, to get away from 
 any piece of work that threatens him. I know he went to 
 Europe once to get rid of selling the carriage horses that 
 had got too old. He is the prince of loafers. I can tell you 
 that if you haven't found it out." 
 
 " Wait till he comes where he can hear you. It's a pity to 
 waste it all on us," said Dorla, coldly. " Have you un- 
 packed the baskets that I brought ? "
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 105 
 
 No. Harriet had not known that there were any. Felix 
 must be sent to look for them at once. Then Felix came 
 up, and was in such a beaxitiful good-humor, every one 
 grew better tempered. The baskets from the Rothermels 
 were full of treasures, and that had a mollifying influence. 
 The coffee began to throw out delicious odors, and there 
 was no reason that dinner should not be eaten without fur- 
 ther waiting. 
 
 After awhile, " be advised by me," said Felix, sotto voce, 
 to Mrs. Bishop. " You are very tired. Come and sit over 
 there in Mrs. Rothermel's little carriage, and I will bring 
 your lunch to you." 
 
 Mrs. Bishop consented and followed him to the shady spot, 
 some distance removed from the others, where the carriage 
 stood, detached from the pony, who was tied beyond. It 
 gave her a very comfortable seat. 
 
 " O, such a blessing after that hard log ! " she exclaimed, 
 " And now why can't you bring some one else to share it 
 with me. Tell Mrs. Rothermel. She is not very strong. 
 She is looking a little tired." 
 
 " A happy thought," said Felix ; and as he went across 
 to the group to ask her, Mrs. Bishop smiled amiably, and 
 wondered whether he thought she did not understand. 
 Soon Dorla came back with him, looking bright and not at 
 all tired now. She sat in the carriage beside Mrs. Bishop, 
 and gave Felix the rug for himself on the grass. Tim hav- 
 ing exhausted the pleasures of the chase, and feeling that 
 dinner-time was near, had returned, and was of service in 
 bringing them hot cups of coffee from the rather distant 
 fire, and doing other tiresome things. Though to do Felix 
 justice, he showed none of that aversion to being useful of 
 which his sister had accused him. Still ib made it pleas- 
 anter to have Tim to call upon. They were just far enough 
 from the table and the people not to be disturbed by their 
 noise and chatter, and yet near enough to hear faintly the 
 sound of laughing, and to see them an in a pantomime. It
 
 106 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 made quite a gay and pretty scene. The three in the pony car- 
 riage had a very nice lunch. Felix had secured all that was 
 nicest to bring over there, and there were two or three surrep- 
 titious bottles of champagne which he had put in his sister's 
 basket in the morning, of which one was appropriated to 
 their use. 
 
 " Is not this selfish, but so pleasant," said Dorla to Mrs. 
 Bishop, as they finished their most comfortable meal. 
 
 "Yes, I am quite ashamed of it, but I've enjoyed it all 
 the same." 
 
 " I don't think," said Felix, as he lay on the rug upon 
 the grass and smoked an unspeakable cigar, " I don't think 
 that I ever want to be any nearer to a crowd of people than 
 I am at present. I am not gregarious." 
 
 " Do you know," said Dorla, " that was the first thing I 
 ever heard about you. Your sister told me you hated crowds 
 and liked the woods, and I always remembered it about 
 
 you." 
 
 " How long ago was that," asked Felix, " that Harriet 
 told you anything about me ? " 
 
 " It was more than a year ago a year ago last week. 
 Harriet is very fond of you when you are away." 
 
 " We live like angels forty miles apart." And Felix 
 sighed a little ; he would have been very glad if Harriet 
 would have done exactly as he wished. It never occurred 
 to him that she had any reason to be dissatisfied. Dorla 
 sympathised with him deeply, but did not want to hear him 
 speak about it lightly, and in the presence of another per- 
 son. So she said : 
 
 " What a pretty picture they make, over there by the 
 fire a real gypsy fire, crooked sticks, black pot and all ; 
 and Miss Grayson and Miss Whymple with their dark eyes 
 and red skirts are just what they ought to be. I neglected 
 my duty in wearing a white cambric dress to-day." 
 
 " Neglect it always," said Felix, looking at her for a 
 moment.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 107 
 
 " But at a picnic one owes a duty to the picturesque," 
 said Mrs. Bishop, following Dorla's eyes. " Look at Miss 
 Davis with the field flowers in her hat, and its long black 
 velvet ribbons. Those poppies are a ' sweet boon.' " 
 
 " At a distance of forty rods, they are," said Felix. 
 " Nearer they have a look of cheap decoration ; a little 
 suggestion of upholstery." 
 
 " That is the reason he stays here, Mrs. Bishop ! Just a 
 question of effect. If we wore black and red, with muslin 
 flowers, we should be studied at a distance, too. We nmst 
 be careful in the matter of costume." 
 
 " I am careful, always," said Mrs. Bishop, looking down 
 complacently at her shabby gray stuff dress. " Who could 
 find any fault with this ? I have the voice of all the past in 
 its favor ; it has passed through much festivity and has 
 never been accused of scenic effect. You are always safe 
 in a gray mohair." 
 
 Dorla and Felix laughed ; such a light-hearted, merry 
 laugh, Mrs. Bishop quite enjoyed it. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Bishop, I like you better than anybody in 
 the world," said Dorla, putting some ferns in the battered 
 old ' sundown ' that that lady wore. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," she returned, and though not 
 given to caressing, she passed her hand affectionately over 
 Dorla's pretty cheek. Dorla felt the look of admiration 
 and the touch of affection, and they brightened for her the 
 already bright hour. 
 
 " Do yoii know," she said, making up the rest of the 
 ferns into a bouqu-et de corsage for herself. " Do you know, 
 I never really enjoyed a picnic before ; this has been per- 
 fect ; the ideal picnic. I am not tired or bored, and I have 
 been tired and bored before always." 
 
 " What has made it different," said Mrs. Bishop, looking 
 at her curiously. " Because there was champagne ? or was 
 the coffee hotter than at other times ? " 
 
 " It can't bo the champagne entirely," said Dorla. *' For
 
 108 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 wo had it last year more than once. (O, that maiden-hair 
 I've dropped. Thank you, Mr. Varian.) A ud the coffee was 
 excellent that horrid clay we spent at Diugman's just before 
 we went away. No. Maybe it's the weather. It is such a 
 perfect day." 
 
 " Eighty- two in the shade, I'm sure, my dear. It must 
 be ninety in the open road. Keally, it cannot be the 
 weather." 
 
 " Well, I don't know what it is. Only / don't think it 
 is too warm. I love a thorough summer day." 
 
 " And it's dusty too. You have forgotten that." 
 
 " Dusty ! Why, dear Mrs. Bishop, if it were ever so 
 dusty we couldn't feel it in here. I am sure the dew never 
 leaves the grass in this deep glade." 
 
 " Well that accounts for it. I didn't know why I felt the 
 heat so much. Damp heat is so much harder to bear than 
 dry heat." 
 
 " You are determined to find fault." 
 
 " And I am sure there are mosquitoes." 
 
 "Mrs. Bishop! Now that's unjust; the last thing to 
 accuse poor Milford of. I don't believe you could get one 
 if you advertised for it in the Milford Herald. It would 
 be easier to get a bald eagle or a golden pheasant. I do like 
 people to be just." 
 
 " That is always what I aim to be, my child, and I am 
 only trying to make you see that this picnic is not any better 
 than ordinary picnics. I am trying to make you take the 
 middle-aged view of it." 
 
 " But I am not middle-aged," said Dorla, plaintively, 
 " how can I." 
 
 " That is true ; and that is what I want to bring you to. 
 It isn't the picnic nor the day that is so delightful. It is 
 you ; and it is you because you're young." 
 
 " O, but I was younger last year; and things were not so 
 delightful." Mrs. Bishop shrugged her middle-aged should-'
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 100 
 
 era, and turned to Felix, who lay silent on the grass, smok- 
 ing and gazing into space. 
 
 " Help us, Mr. Varian, don't you see how far we are from 
 shore?" 
 
 " You should have been more careful," he said. "It is 
 easier sometimes to get out to sea than to get back to land." 
 
 " But throw me an oar in charity. Why is to-day's pic- 
 nic so much better than other day's picnics ? Mrs. Rother- 
 mel is a year older " 
 
 " Perhaps that's the reason," he said, rather abruptly. 
 " Mrs. Rothermel is just learning to enjoy herself." 
 
 " At that rate," cried Mrs. Bishop, " how happy I should 
 be." 
 
 " What is the use," exclaimed Felix, <{ of trying to ana- 
 lyze one's happiness. Finding out what it's made of does'nfc 
 help you to get it up again. You may be pretty sure of one 
 thing what you enjoy to-day, you won't enjoy to-morrow. 
 Either it won't come to you again, or you won't want it if 
 it does come." 
 
 " O, dismal ! " cried Dorla, stopping her ears. " I mean 
 to enjoy every day this summer as I've enjoyed to-day, and 
 to think every picnic nicer than the one before." 
 
 " May it be so !" said Felix, who seemed to have a ghost 
 of discontent flitting around him at the moment. 
 
 " It is really disheartening," said Dorla, making a bouton- 
 ni&re for him out of the tiniest of the ferns and a single 
 wild rose. " I do not think you have enjoyed yourself at 
 all. Here is a flower for you. I hope it will make you hap- 
 pier." She tossed the little spray out to him, and it fell 
 upon the ground beside him. He picked it up and put it in 
 his coat. 
 
 " I did not say I had not enjoyed myself," he said, in 
 rather a low voice. " But this does make me happier." 
 
 He had almost forgotten Mrs. Bishop, but she, good soul, 
 had not forgotten him. She quite enjoyed them both. She 
 had been very faithful to her Bishop for all the twenty-five
 
 HO A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 years that she had been married to him, for she had never 
 seen anybody that she liked half so well, and hadn't, in fact, 
 had much temptation. But she had very liberal ideas, and 
 thought that a pretty young married woman had every right 
 to her little romances, if she found amusement in them. 
 She thought that Felix was very decidedly in love, which 
 circumstance pleased her, for two reasons ; the first, that he 
 was a man of the world, and it " served him right." The 
 second, that Dorla was a sweet wild rose, whom she ap- 
 proved ; and that the greedy young women to whom Felix 
 was an aspiration, were not sweet wild roses in any sense, 
 and she was rather glad to see them overthrown. She did 
 not quite understand Dorla ; but she was sure of one thing 
 that Dorla had enjoyed the picnic very much. Soon, 
 however, her attention to the little play at which she was 
 assisting, was distracted from the harmless, pretty trifling of 
 the talkers beside her : several others of the party ap- 
 proached them. Miss Grayson, who was learned in ferns, 
 was going up to the bed of the stream in search of some, 
 accompanied by two or three Davises and Mr. Oliver. They 
 made a detour with the purpose of breaking up the party in 
 the pony carriage. Mr. Felix got very quickly off the grass 
 as they approached. Dorla uttered a faint little sigh as she 
 shook the last of the ferns off her lap : her " idea of happi- 
 ness " was to have them stay away. 
 
 " Why, how qiiiet you are over here," cried Mr. Oliver, 
 who thought picnics should be attended with hilarity. 
 " You are having a stupid time, I am afraid." 
 
 "Yes, " said Miss Grayson, maliciously, "you aH have a 
 look of being bored." 
 
 " O no," exclaimed Dorla, with bright innocence, " in- 
 deed we are not bored. We have just been talking of it." 
 
 " One needn't be Bacchanalian always to enjoy one's self," 
 said young Davis, who had an irritated feeling about the 
 jokes and songs and loud talking that he had suffered for 
 the last four hours. He thought to be sitting under cool
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. HI 
 
 shady trees, with just two people, one pretty, and one clever, 
 was not a thing for a man to complain about. Miss Gray- 
 son looked at Dorla and said, hardly : 
 
 " Mr. Rothermel is not here. Does he never join you in 
 your excursions ? " 
 
 " O, yes, often, and likes them so much." 
 
 " What a pity he could not come to-day. We must give 
 him longer notice next time we go. You are sure it doesn't 
 bore him ? " 
 
 " O, quite sure." 
 
 " Then, let us bring him next time in place of Mr. 
 Varian. For he looks so ennuyS, it really spoils my com- 
 fort." 
 
 Dorla laughed lightly, and looked at him. " Why, I 
 don't think he does. Mr. Varian, what have you done to 
 be so much commiserated ? " 
 
 " lie will have to sing a negro song, and burn his face 
 scarlet over that hideous fire before he can be considered 
 to have entered into the spirit of the thing," said Mr. Davis, 
 mutinously. 
 
 " Davis, I am afraid you are not the happy man you 
 seem," said Felix. " That has a sound of discontent." 
 
 " O, yes, I am happy, but I'm tired. " 
 
 And the. audacious young Davis threw himself down on 
 the grass beside the carriage where Felix had been lying. 
 " Mrs. Rothermel, mayn't I stay here and rest myself ? " 
 
 " O, yes," said Dorla rather faintly. " I think you would 
 all l)o wiser to stay. " 
 
 " They are going for ferns ; nothing would stop them. 
 They are not tired at all. " At the mention of ferns, Dorla 
 tried to say something interesting and civil to Miss Grayson, 
 who stood near her. She told her something about the 
 ferns that grew in the valley, and showed her one that she 
 had found that morning. 
 
 " But 1 want some aspidium, " said Miss Grayson, hard 
 u> satisfy.
 
 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " O, I had some in ray hand not half an hour ago ; " and 
 Dorla looked about the bottom of the carriage to find it 
 among the remnants of her ferns. " No, I am afraid it is all 
 gone. It must have been in the little bunch I made for Mr. 
 
 O 
 
 Varian. Mr. Varian, won't you come here a moment ? " 
 
 For he had strayed off three or four steps and was talking 
 to Miss Davis. He came very quickly, at the sound of her 
 voice ; quicker than husbands and brothers and that sort of 
 cattle come. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Rothermel ? " 
 
 " I am going to ask you to let me have back that little 
 bouquet I made for you. There's a scrap of aspidium in 
 it, that I want to give Miss Grayson : we can't find any 
 more." He took it o\it very quickly and handed it to her ; 
 twenty-seven, and man of the world, as he was, he neverthe- 
 less blushed a blush that there was no mistaking, and every 
 one saw it but Dorla, who, intent upon conciliating Miss 
 Grayson, thought of nothing but the scrap of fern which she 
 was disengaging from the others. Felix was in a rage, and 
 meant never to notice her again ; hardened creature, what did 
 this mean ? The distracting coquetry of her words and man- 
 ner when she gave it to him ; " Here is a flower for you, I 
 hope it will make you happier." And this cool matter-of 
 fact way of asking for it back again before these people, 
 and making such a fool of him, how should it ever be for- 
 given ? 
 
 If he had been self-possessed enough to do it, he would 
 have said something very stinging. Bxit he was, for just 
 once in his smooth life, utterly confounded, and could not 
 command his voice. 
 
 " Why, that is what the children call being an Indian 
 giver !" cried Mrs. Bishop, who was very much perplexed. 
 
 " O, yes, I know," said Dorla, smoothing out the fern, 
 " and it makes the children very angry, doesn't it ? But I 
 knew Mr. Varian's strong point was his temper, and that I 
 was very safe. There, Miss Grayson, now if you press that
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 113 
 
 as soon as you get Lome, I think you'll have a very decent 
 specimen." 
 
 "O, thank you very much," said the bitterly -flavored 
 Grayson. "But I'm really in doubt whether I ought to 
 take it. Mr. Varian values it very much, I'm sure." 
 
 " Not at all," he managed to say, confusedly, and with 
 that general and humiliating confession of defeat, he turned 
 away. 
 
 " O, that need not trouble you," said Dorla, innocently. 
 " I'm afraid he doesn't know one fern from another ; it's prob- 
 able he took it for a scrap of parsley, and I don't believe that 
 he could tell the difference between clematis and wild-rose." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Davis, " then we will give him a les- 
 son. Mr. Varian, you shall go up these rocks with us, and 
 learn all the clumsy names Miss Graysou has to teach." 
 
 " With pleasure," said Felix, going to Miss Grayson's 
 side ; he was^very glad of an excuse to get away. His rage 
 towards Dorla expressed itself in this alacrity. He could 
 not believe she was not the most profound, the most unprin- 
 cipled of coquettes, and yet he could not divine any cause he 
 had given her, in their brief and golden friendship, to affront 
 him in this way. He went off with Miss Grayson on the 
 fern hunt, but he made rather an absent-minded and unprofit- 
 able companion. He was continually going over in his 
 mind the possible causes that could have made Dorla treat 
 him so ; he laughed bitterly at himself for being annoyed 
 about it, and voted it served him right, at his age, for be- 
 lieving in any one's sincerity. He assured himself the only 
 thing that made him feel so sore about it, was the know- 
 ledge that other people had witnessed his discomfiture. 
 And then he pushed it away and became ardently interested 
 in Miss Grayson and the ferns, and then he went back to it 
 again, and grew absent-minded and random in his talk. 
 
 .Miss Grayson was a little sharp and shrewish when she 
 found this out ; she and Miss Davis had both burned their 
 faces quite red in the sun, and they looked a little draggled
 
 114 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 and untidy with their scrambling in the woods, and their 
 domestic service in the matter of the feast. Also they were 
 a little tired and cross, and Mr. Oliver was a frightful bore 
 to have as a companion all day long ; it was no wonder the 
 climbing up the bed of the brook was a failure as far as 
 pleasure was concerned. All were glad in the recesses 
 of their hearts when it was proposed to go back to the pic- 
 nic ground. Felix, as they drew near to the glade again, 
 grew very silent, and filled his mind with conjectures about 
 how he should find Dorla occupied, how she would receive 
 him, how he should best show her his contemptuous indiffer- 
 ence. He had been away an hour and a quarter ; he had 
 left her with young Davis stretched at her feet as her com- 
 panion, and he was disposed to think Davis was inclined to 
 be devoted. How should he find her ? Talking to Davis 
 with the same sweetness and innocence (save the mark) with 
 which she had favored him ? Perhaps she had given Davis 
 a flower for his button-hole; perhaps she had said, " I hope 
 it will make you happier ; " perhaps she had smiled when 
 she turned her face to him, with that flushing, illuminating 
 smile ; perhaps Davis liked it ; ha ! ha ! it was very likely 
 he did. Davis was young. She would make a much better 
 affair of it than with him, an old experienced hand. She 
 would find she had made a mistake in playing so capricious 
 a game with a man who had had so much experience in 
 married flirtations on two continents. " What was the silly 
 creature thinking of? " he said to himself many times, 
 gnawing his mustache gloomily as he helped Miss Grayson 
 down the rocks. 
 
 All at once they found themselves at the bottom of the 
 descent and in the open glade, and exactly opposite the 
 pony-carriage party they had left. Felix felt his heart give 
 a jump, when he found himself standing again beside her, 
 and when he saw Davis still stretched upon the rug. They 
 had made their sortie from the wood rather silently, he and 
 Miss Grayson being in advance, and not having much to
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 115 
 
 eay, and for an instant no one noticed them or looked their 
 way. Mrs. Bishop was taking a furtive nap ; Davis was 
 lying on his elbows and picking a tuft of grass to pieces, 
 and Dorla was leaning on her hand, silent, and thoughtful, 
 and rather weary. When she heard the sound of Miss 
 Grayson's step, she raised her head quickly, and flushing, 
 illuminating, irradiating there could not be too many 
 pretty names for the smile that came across her face as she 
 saw Felix. He was at her side in an instant ; while Davis 
 got up and shook himself, and began to talk to Miss Gray- 
 son. 
 
 "Why did you go away?" asked Dorla, sotto voce. 
 " O, I have had such a dreary time. I have gone through 
 two boat-races, and base-ball enough for a life- time." 
 
 " It surely must be time to go," said Felix, in an eager 
 whisper, " and then we shall be rid of all the tiresome crea- 
 tures." 
 
 " O, yes, go and start the others, please." And Felix 
 found himself half-way across the valley " to start the 
 others, please" before a bewildered feeling of shame and 
 surprise came over him, to mix with the other bewilder- 
 ment of relief and pleasure. Yes, certainly it was the soft- 
 est thing he had ever done in his life, and he had to remind 
 himself that he was twenty-seven, and not seventeen. 
 What ! Was he in his senses, and yet so twisted about by 
 this well, yes this very pretty woman.? Of course she 
 was that ; but he had seen so many pretty women ! What 
 was the difference? And he had never been taken off 
 his feet before ; never at least since he was out of college. 
 This was absolutely ludicrous, but it was rather pleasant. 
 Let him enjoy it while it lasted, it would soon be stupid 
 like the rest of life. So he went to do her bidding, and 
 rouse the others to the necessity of going home. That was 
 not difficult to do ; every one was tired, and longed to be 
 away. The baskets were packed and in the wagons. There 
 was nothing to do but to embark. Tim was sent to put Jenny
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 to the pony-carriage, and Felix busied himself in pacify- 
 ing Harriet, and being a little ostentatiously useful. By 
 the time he went back again to the pony-carriage, however, 
 a new trouble awaited him. The pony was all ready, with 
 her head turned towards home ; Dorla was in the carriage ; 
 Davis was rather officiously tightening straps and looking at 
 the harness. 
 
 " I believe they want you in the wagon going back," he 
 said. " I was proposing to take your place and drive Mrs. 
 Rothermel, if you're agreed." 
 
 " That shall be precisely as Mrs. Rothermel decides," re- 
 turned Felix, stiffly, feeling furiously angry. Dorla looked 
 anxious and embarrassed. 
 
 " Mr. Davis is so kind," she faltered. (t But I really 
 don't believe that is I have some doubt don't you think 
 they would like you better than Mr. Vai-ian, in the 
 wagon ? " Then brightening up, " they have persecuted 
 Mr. Varian so to-day, I don't think it would be right to 
 trust him there without protection." 
 
 Felix, reassured, said with great urbanity, " I really 
 should be afraid to risk myself among them," and without 
 further parley stepped into the carriage. 
 
 It was now young Davis' tiirn to be disgusted, but that 
 was not a very serious matter. Dorla attempted to say 
 something amiable to him as they drove away, but Felix 
 did not give her time. 
 
 " What an escape ! " she whispered, as they left him 
 standing sulkily behind. 
 
 " These boys are utter nuisances," he ejaculated, loftily. 
 
 " How patriarchal ! " cried Dorla. " Why he must be 
 three four years your junior ! Were you an utter nuis- 
 ance that length of time ago ? " 
 
 " How come you to know so accurately the age of Master 
 Davis ? Has he been confidential ? " 
 
 " O, yes, to the extremest limit. I even know what 
 day his birthday comes, and what his father's promised him
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 117 
 
 when he's twenty-five. He's to be taken into the business, 
 and have well, I suppose he didn't mean me to repeat it, 
 but he will be quite an important young man if his father 
 doesn't change his mind." 
 
 " A most desirable parti, no doubt. Now, if he had told 
 you this a year ago " 
 
 " O, he did tell me this a year ago, and has told me again 
 to-day." 
 
 " He is a most ingenuous youth. I wonder the disclosure 
 didn't affect your fate." 
 
 " O, it is too late now, and last summer, he was, to tell 
 the truth, a year younger than he is at present." 
 
 "I can hardly believe it possible. It seems to me he 
 never could have been younger than he is to-day." 
 
 " That's because you are a patriarch." 
 
 " Well, I might be something worse. I might be middle- 
 aged and cynical like Mrs. Bishop ; or young and gay, and 
 heartless like Mrs. Itothermel." 
 
 " Oh ! that results, does it ? No heart in youth, a bad 
 heart in middle age, and all the virtues at twenty-seven ? " 
 
 " Twenty-seven ! How do you know that I am twenty- 
 seven. Has Harriet told you on what day my birthday 
 comes ? " 
 
 And so on ; an hour or two of this sort of talk, full of in- 
 terest and pleasure to those who talked. Who cannot re- 
 member such words ; weariness to all but those to whom 
 they were joy ; such joy as never comes but once. Who has 
 not treasured up, through dull and dusty years, such con- 
 versations, and never realized how little worth they were, 
 till in some rare moment of confidence, he, or much more 
 probably she, has set them in the light, before some one who 
 could sympathise, if anybody could. But no one can. 
 
 It was now five o'clock ; and Felix persuaded his compan- 
 ion it was just the hour for a little drive ; so they turned 
 abruptly, when they reached the river road, and went bowling 
 along towards Din^uian's in the cool shade of the tall cliiis,
 
 118 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 while the heavy wagons lumbered along in the opposite di- 
 rection, with their loads of sun-burned, weary and iinamiable 
 revellers. Many sharp eyes followed them as they turned 
 off, and some sharp words. 
 
 " There goes your brother," cried Miss Whymple to 
 Harriet. 
 
 " Where how ? " said Harriet saddling her glasses on 
 her nose, and peering down the road. 
 
 "O, with Mrs. Rothermel, of course." 
 
 " O," said Harriet dropping off her glasses, " it's all right 
 then. He could not be in better hands. She'U teach him 
 to say his prayers a little, and flirt a great deal." 
 
 " There's nothing like your pious women for good times 
 after they are married," said Miss Whymple, who wasn't 
 much at repartee, but who could always throw a good solid 
 lump of dirt. " I remember how you used to talk about her 
 virtues last summer before she came ; we expected to see 
 something quite uncommon. I'm afraid you've changed your 
 mind since then ; you gave us to understand she wouldn't 
 flirt before she was married, much less after it." 
 
 " As to that," said Harriet, " maybe I didn't take into 
 consideration that all the men would be running after her. 
 That makes such an amount of difference you see." 
 
 Miss Whymple reddened ; she naturally didn't like ta 
 hear that all the men were running in a straight line away 
 from her; she wore her hair short on the forehead, and she 
 had her clothes made by the same French woman who made 
 Mrs. Rothermel's. She did not feel that the men were war- 
 ranted in what they did. Some people in the other end of 
 the wagon, out of hearing of Harriet, said other things, that 
 hit both Mrs. Rothermel and her admirer; who quite un- 
 conscious of the venom they had bred, sped on beside the 
 river, on which lay golden and rosy tints of the evening sky. 
 The air was full of pleasant odors ; now they passed a bloom- 
 ing field of buckwheat that srnelled like honey ; now they 
 drove along a road, bordered on each side by raspberry
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 119 
 
 bushes on which the berries hung, filling the air with their 
 peculiar odor. There came sometimes across the fields a 
 wind that was direct from the new cut hay ; sometimes the 
 woody earthy smell from the deep glades they passed, would 
 seem sweeter than the breath of flowers. Then everything 
 was so still ; only at intervals the lumbering of a hay wagon, 
 or the call of men coming from their work, or the whet- 
 ting of a scythe, or the tinkle of a cow-bell, or the twitter of 
 a bird. And the sky was so delicately blue, and the clouds 
 so pearly. And all life was so fair. 
 
 When they came home, and Dorla said good-bye to Felix, 
 she was neither tired, nor yet impatient that the pleasure 
 was at an end ; everything was so bright and perfect, she 
 did not feel troubled that this day was over. All days were 
 to be like this, for some reason that she had not yet defined. 
 Life in the farm-house, however, was a trifle prosy ; George 
 had not yet got home, and two or three elderly aunts had 
 come from some miles off, to tea. It was not easy to enter- 
 tain them ; and Dorla found it more difficult than usual to 
 forget their dulness and their many differences. It was with 
 a great sense of a burden removed, that she saw them depart 
 packed into their stout old Rockaway, and driven by a 
 " bound boy " aged twelve, of whom she had heard the his- 
 tory and the characteristics from the lips of each one of the 
 three aunts. He was considered a great advance upon Tim, 
 though he had his frailties ; and " Sister Amelia," was criti- 
 . cised as very weak and lax for tolerating Tim. It seemed 
 so strange to Dorla that people should be so much interested 
 in bound boys, and such dull things. She had a good deal 
 of imagination, but she could not throw herself to-night into 
 the lives of these withered, narrowed souls. She was glad, 
 very glad that they had gone away, and the best that she 
 could do was not to think about them, and the easiest too. 
 
 It was a soft, brooding twilight ; she wandered down the 
 path, and sat \inder tlie trees beside the gate. 'An hour 
 uassed ; she stiil sut divaiuiiig uimlesb dreauis, wutcbing the
 
 120 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 moon come up, when a sudden whirr of wheels, and a sud- 
 den pause at the gate, drew an exclamation from her. 
 
 " Mr. Varian ! " she exclaimed, going quickly to the 
 gate. By this time he was out of the wagon and stood be- 
 side her. " And this is the famous horse. When did he 
 arrive ? " 
 
 " I found him when I got back this afternoon. Ad I 
 couldn't resist a little dash down the road, to make sure he 
 had not forgotten how to go." 
 
 (l And this river road is the best of all the roads," said 
 Dorla. " O, what a beauty ! What a dainty head. Mr. 
 Varian, Jenny is rather provincial, isn't she. And I thought 
 her so perfect when George bought her for me only two 
 months ago ! " 
 
 " Don't you think, Mrs. Rothermel," said Felix, " that 
 you might take a turn down the road ? It is such a fine 
 night. I would bring you back in ten minutes if you said 
 so. And I am really proud of my horse. I want you to 
 see how he can go." 
 
 " O, it would be so nice ; but don't you think it's very 
 late ? And besides how could I ever get into that high 
 thing." 
 
 " I am afraid you can't trust my driving. Is that it ? " 
 
 " O, no," she cried, " it's odd, but I never am afraid with 
 you. I never think about Jenny's vices when once I'm in 
 the carriage and you have the reins. No ; it isn't that. I 
 only think I oughtn't to be going all the time ; and it is 
 really late." 
 
 " Only a few minutes after nine. And the moonlight is 
 so perfect." 
 
 " Yes, I know it," said Dorla, wistfully. 
 
 " Just ten minutes," urged Felix. "A mile or two down 
 the road and back." 
 
 " It will take me so long to get ready," said Dorla. 
 
 " Pull the hood of that cloak over your head. It isn't 
 cold," siii
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 121 
 
 " I must tell Mrs. Rothermel then," said Dorla, fastening 
 her cloak about her throat, a little undecided. 
 
 " Why take the time for that ? You will be back before 
 she realizes you have started." 
 
 So she let herself be persuaded, and went out to the gate 
 and stood beside the wagon. She pulled the hood of her 
 soft white cloak up over her head, and climbed into the 
 wagon rather clumsily, on two accounts, that she had so 
 much drapery about her, and that she had a faint misgiving 
 that the horse would bound away with her, before her com- 
 panion could get in. But that did not occur. Felix got 
 into the seat beside her, almost while she thought of it, and 
 they were away, almost while she thought of it, and out of 
 sight of the farm house and its surroundings. The horse 
 went like a bird ; the wagon was of a perfect make, noise- 
 less and smooth running ; it was like swimming through the 
 moonlight, and Dorla held her breath. The air was so 
 beautiful, the hush over the calm silvered landscape so pene- 
 trating ; sometimes they passed through warm currents of air 
 in the ocean of cool blue ether never had motion seemed to 
 her so delicious, so exhilarating. They did not talk ; that 
 would have broken the charm ; besides Felix had to drive, 
 which was something, with such a horse as that in his hand. 
 Not that Dorla dreamed of fear. Only she panted a little 
 bit, when they drew up, three or four miles from home. 
 
 " You are not frightened ? " said Felix. 
 
 " O, no ! " she said. 
 
 " Then we can go a little further, can't we ? " 
 
 And they were off again, whizzing through the air. 
 'When they paused again, Dorla drew a deep breath and said, 
 " Now I think we must go back." 
 
 Then Felix said, " Here is a good little piece of road. 
 Let me try that, and then I promise I will take you back." 
 
 The ' good little piece of road ' was about two miles long, 
 and ended in a dark and gloomy sti'etch of forest trees, with 
 a bridge, and a little stream flowing under it with a faint
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 monotonous sound. The air felt cold and damp, and invol- 
 untarily Dorla gave a little shudder. Felix who was driving 
 slower now, said, " You are not cold? Can't you put your 
 cloak around your neck ? " 
 
 '' O, no, it is not that. But it is so gloomy here. I wish 
 we hadn't come so far." 
 
 " Don't be frightened ; we will turn here." And in a 
 moment, they were turned homeward, and were out into the 
 moonlight. O, the glory of the moonlight as they came 
 out of the woods. It seemed almost the light of day. And 
 Felix said " What a night it is ! " and they drove slower as 
 they went towards home. Slower, that is, when it was pos- 
 sible to keep the gay horse in. Felix would have been glad 
 to have made the minutes longer then. When they were a 
 mile or two out of the wood, and going up a little hill at a 
 slower pace, two gentlemen in a trotting wagon passed 
 them, and took off their hats. 
 " Who is it ? " asked Dorla. 
 
 " Oliver and the infant Davis," answered Felix, not much 
 pleased at the encounter. It did not trouble him very much 
 though. He knew that before breakfast every one in Mil- 
 ford would know that he had been met with Mrs. Rothermel 
 miles away from home. He knew that Oliver was growing 
 a little spiteful, and that Davis had only the discretion of a 
 boy. But all these things were in his line, and he forgot 
 they were not in his companion's. Still he let the horse out 
 a little more, and consented to reach home a few minutes 
 sooner, on account of the occm-rence. Dorla did not give 
 it a second thought. To what did she give her thoughts ? 
 That would be difficult to say. Principally to the beauty of 
 the night, and the harmony of the whole earth, and her own 
 exceeding pleasure in its pleasant tilings. A sort of rapture 
 to which she could not give a name. ' Felix was silent too ; 
 not a word was spoken till they drew up the little hill and 
 approached the gate. 
 
 " Are you not sorry we are here? " said Felix, rather low.
 
 A PERFECT ADONTS. 123 
 
 " Yes," she said. " It was beautiful. I never liked any- 
 thing so much." 
 
 At the gate stood George, looking a little anxious ; and 
 that broke rather rudely in upon the dream. 
 
 " We didn't know what had become of you," he said, 
 lifting Dorla out. 
 
 " My dear ! you gave us such a fright," cried poor old 
 Mrs. Rothermel, flying down the path. (She had been 
 searching the cistern with a lantern and a pole, all by her- 
 self, dear lady, not to impart her feai-s to George.) 
 
 " Why, I'm very sorry," Dorla said " but I haven't been 
 away ten minutes." 
 
 " Why, I've been in three quarters of an hour," said 
 George. " But I won't scold, seeing I've been married such 
 a little while." 
 
 Felix winced, but said something in an easy, apologetic 
 way. And Dorla, while she kissed her mother-in-law, 
 turned and said, " O, but such a horse ! Nobody should be 
 blamed for forgetting time and space. George if you could 
 see him go " 
 
 " Get in and let me drive you a little way down the 
 road, won't you, Mr. Rothermel ? " And Felix leaned 
 forward quite urgently. 
 
 " Thank you," said George " but I'm pretty tired, and 
 to tell the truth, I'm pretty hungry too. We were all in 
 such a commotion about my wife, that I haven't had my sup- 
 per, though I've been home as I said, three quarters of an 
 hour." 
 
 " You haven't had your supper ! O, George, I am so 
 sorry ! " 
 
 And Dorla started forward, looking pained. Felix felt 
 much more irritated than the man who hadn't had his sup- 
 per. That was natural. George hadn't had his supper, 
 but he had permanently a beautiful woman for his wife, 
 who seemed to Felix at this moment, the very crown and 
 flower of life. As he drove away, after a few more words
 
 124 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 of unmeaning courtesy, he glanced back and saw her stand- 
 ing at the gate, so tall she seemed to dwarf the man beside 
 her, her light dress falling with grace ; her fair face sur- 
 rounded by the soft, white hood of her long cloak. Her 
 eyes looked so dark and soft in the clear, stainless moon 
 light. Felix felt a fire in his heart, as he thought that 
 she belonged to that insignificant, crude man. 
 
 " Hardly fit to be her bootmaker, or to groom her horse," 
 he muttered bitterly, as he drove on along the road, which 
 the moonlight still flooded, but which looked very common- 
 place and tiresome to him now. He could only see George 
 Rothermel sitting at his homely supper-table with his wife 
 beside him perhaps waiting on him, perhaps smiling as 
 she talked to him. No ! He knew she was not smiling, 
 except faintly and absently. He knew her eyes were wan- 
 dering away from him with her thoughts. She was thinking 
 he was sure she was thinking of the green and shady pic- 
 nic ground^of the soft sunset sky under which they had 
 driven home of the flood of moonlight witli which the 
 heavens were overflowed when they two sped through it 
 silent and in harmony. 
 
 JHE early morning was cloudy at nine o'clock it 
 was raining hard. " I will read some French," 
 thought Dorla ; as she sat down by the parlor 
 window. But she could not fix her mind upon it. " Either 
 I'm getting tired of sentiment, or I'm getting rusty in my 
 French," she said, as she shut up the book. " I'll sew a 
 little, and then I'll write some letters." 
 
 She tried the sewing, and she tried the letters, and then 
 she leaned idly against the window, and looked out. The 
 rain was coming down in great sheets of spray, the trees 
 were bowing and flapping in the gale, it looked like an
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. f !25 
 
 Autumn storm. A few drenched and unhappy looking 
 chickens scampered across the yard ; the dog was sitting 
 very close up to the door courting the shelter of the house ; 
 little streams of water were running down the path. It was 
 rather dismal, and yet it was one of Dorla's traditions that 
 a rainy day had its delights. Somehow, to-day, she did not 
 find them readily. Perhaps it was because she was so chilly ; 
 it was really cold. She looked at the thermometer ; it was 
 62. No wonder she could not read or write. She would 
 light the fire. So, with the assistance of the maid, she 
 built a bright, gay fire upon the hearth, and began to think 
 that she was happier. 
 
 " There ma'am," said the girl, " see how you've torn the 
 trimming off your dress. You should always let me bring 
 the sticks in, when you have your good clothes on." 
 
 " O, they're not my good clothes," returned her mistress, 
 a little mortified to think how useless she was, and how 
 inappropriate all her clothes were to a farm-house. Her 
 dress was a delicate grey ; she wore pi-etty embroidery at 
 the sleeves and throat, and a double string of silver beads 
 around her neck, and a lovely, large pink rose, and geranium 
 leaves fastened at her breast ; it was all simple enough, but 
 no wonder it looked dainty to the drudge of a maid, who 
 had helped her build the fire. " Now, Ann, that is a lovely 
 fire. Isn't it worth the trouble ? " 
 
 Ann thought fires in mid-summer were flying in the face 
 of Providence, but only said "if people thought so," and 
 went her worky way. 
 
 Presently Dorla heard the gate open, and she started up. 
 This was beyond hope ! Somebody coming to amuse her in 
 the storm. She almost knew before she reached the window 
 who it was, and gave a little cry of pleasure and welcome as 
 she saw Felix, with his umbrella bent all ways, coming xip 
 the path. He saw her, and she ran to open the door, standing 
 radiant with warmth and welcome as he came in from the 
 cold storm. Even in the confusion of taking off his wet
 
 126 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 coat and putting down his umbrella, he found opportunity 
 to say, he had come to bring a note from Harriet, which she 
 had represented as of the last importance. 
 
 " O, how wrong of her to send you out in such a storm ! 
 All the same I'm very glad she did, if it doesn't kill you, 
 I mean to say, of course." 
 
 " O, I'm 'nae sic tender plant.' I shall not die of this I 
 think." 
 
 " And you walked all the way. That must have been 
 what I had the fire made for ! You shall sit there in that 
 warm chair and dry your feet." 
 
 It was a good while before either of them remembered the 
 note. Felix had established himself as an accredited mes- 
 senger and then had forgotten all about his message. And 
 Dorla hadn't given it a thought. Bye and bye he remem- 
 bered the note and gave it to her. If she had only known. 
 its history ! . 
 
 Felix, having seen George Rothermel pass, as he smoked 
 his cigar on the hotel piazza, had been seized with compas- 
 sion for the lonely Dorla, and had gone to Harriet and urged 
 her to send down for her to come and spend the day with 
 them. (George had a valise in the bnggy beside him and 
 was driven by the faithful Tim.) Harriet jeered at the idea 
 of sending for any one to come out in such a storm. Felix 
 opposed her by saying it would at least be showing an at- 
 tention, and would do no harm. Harriet said she was 
 under no obligations to Dorla and it could do no good. 
 Felix did not give up, and Harriet at last burst out with : 
 
 "Say the truth, and that you want to take the letter 
 down yourself. You do not dare to go without something 
 in your hand. I ain to be catspaw, am I ? " 
 
 " Yes, you are to be catspaw," he said with coolness, 
 knocking the ashes off his cigar. " Don't keep me waiting. 
 Come." 
 
 tl Felix, you're making a fool of yourself, and I'm ashamed 
 of you," she cried angrily, drawing the portfolio out of
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 127 
 
 her trunk with a twitch that sent half the papers flying ; 
 " a mail like yon not to know his value it's degrad- 
 ing." 
 
 " I know it is, but don't stop to think about it now." 
 
 And Harriet dashed off the note, burning with rage 
 against her brother for having dared to fancy any one whom 
 she had not authorized and suggested. 
 
 " There'll be trouble about this before you are through," 
 she said tossing the note across the table to him. t( I wash 
 iny hands of it altogether. 
 
 " Thank you. That is just exactly what I want you to 
 do ; and if I persuade Mrs. Rotherrnel to come back with me 
 this morning, or this afternoon, I shall trust to your treat- 
 ing her with every consideration." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the sort," said Harriet, hotly. 
 
 " O, you will think better of it," said Felix, sweetly, as he 
 went out from the door. This little encounter had put 
 him out of temper. Harriet always had the effect of doing 
 that, whether she said much or little. He felt a good deal 
 ashamed of himself as he went floundering through the mud 
 and rain the long mile and a half down to the Rothermels, 
 and he was very glad that he met nobody. It took all 
 Dorla's sweetness and joy at seeing him to restore -him to 
 tranquillity. It was full ten minutes before he realized that 
 he was glad that he had come. It was while Dorla was 
 reading the note that he came to this distinct conclusion. 
 As he sat warming himself by the ruddy blaze \ipon the 
 hearth, and glanced around the pretty room, he contrasted 
 it with the dull parlor of the hotel, with the women chat- 
 tering over worsted work, yawning over novels, or tinkling 
 meaninglessly on the piano ; the chilly piazza to which he 
 would have been driven, or the cheerless barroom with its 
 black stove which would have been his last resort. There 
 was Dorla, like a young queen, in her gray dress, and her 
 rose, and her silver beads, sitting opposite him, reading 
 the note with a flush on her cheek, and there was a long
 
 128 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 idle happy day before him. Yes, he was very glad he had 
 come. He could not have done a better thing. 
 
 " How absurd Harriet is," said Doiia, laughing, " she 
 could not have thought I would go out on such a day as 
 this." 
 
 " She did not know how absurd you might be under the 
 influence of such a storin perhaps. You know you have 
 said you were very sensitive to the effect of weather.' 
 
 " Have I ? Well then maybe I should have gone into a 
 melancholy, if you had not come. Certainly I was feeling 
 very dismal." 
 
 " Curious, we never know how near we are to danger. 
 We can't tell what Harriet has saved you from. That is, 
 if you don't refuse her invitation." 
 
 " O, think of it! shall I walk back with you at once ? Or 
 is it best to wait an hour or two ? " 
 
 " Let us wait an hour or two if you think best," said 
 Felix, sinking back in his wide chair with an expression of 
 perfect satisfaction. Dorla laughed a little, and went across 
 the room, to get her work-basket. 
 
 " How shall I amuse you," she said, sitting down on the 
 other side of the fire. 
 
 " I can't think," he answered ; " at the hotel, I should 
 have had the happiness of a game of euchre with Miss 
 Davis ; or the choice of reading aloud to Miss Whymple. 
 And perhaps Miss Grayson would have played for me ; who 
 knows." 
 
 " Ah, what a pity. I can't make up for any of those lost 
 delights. I can't play euchre, and you wouldn't want me to 
 murder Mendelsohn for you. And as to being read aloud 
 to, I don't feel in the least like it. But I'd try to be patient, 
 if it would make you any happier. Reading aloud always 
 seems to me like people in a story book. I never had a 
 gentleman read aloud to me yet. I suppose Miss Whym- 
 ple has, and she would know what to say at the sentimental 
 parts. I shouldn't."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 129 
 
 Felix laughed at this, and said it was a pity she felt so 
 about it, for he read particularly well. 
 
 " Yes, I'm sorry about it, but it can't be helped." 
 
 " Just think some sweet thing out of Tennyson, or a bit 
 of Browning." 
 
 " O, please, I am sorry to be so sordid, but indeed I could 
 not listen." 
 
 " Well, then, how am I to be amused. You won't play 
 for me, though you said the other night you would, and you 
 won't listen to me and admire my reading ? " 
 
 " O, but you don't know how many other things I can do. 
 You don't know how well I draw. You shall look at my 
 illuminations and admire them, and that will take up some 
 of your long morning." 
 
 " You illuminate ? So do I, admirably. How much we 
 can say to please each other. Mayn't I look for the port- 
 folio ?"" 
 
 After the portfolio was found and examined they did find 
 a great deal to say to each other. (Not that there would 
 have been any lack of that, if the drawing had not come up.) 
 Felix pushed a table up to the window, and took a piece of 
 drawing card and Dorla's colors, and said he should sur- 
 prise her by his skill. But they talked a great deal and 
 drew very little. Dorla kept her embroidery in her hand, 
 but leaned over the table and watched the progress of the 
 design Felix was sketching out. 
 
 " What shall I put in here," he said, " on this border ? 
 The ground ought to be blue." 
 
 " Put in anemones," she said, with a sudden smile which 
 Felix did not understand. 
 
 " Anemones ? I've forgotten what the stupid things are 
 like. (Not that I ever knew.") 
 
 " Let me see, can't I find a plate in some botany," and 
 she went off to look among some books, but could not find 
 one. 
 
 " Why anemones ? " asked Felix. " Won't a daisy do as
 
 130 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 well, or mignonette. You see I know a little more about 
 them." 
 
 Dorla shook her head. " If you are doing that for me, 
 you must put in anemones. Here, I will make you one in 
 outline." 
 
 " I wonder what there is about anemones," he said study- 
 ing the little sketch she made, and then putting it in his 
 pocket. " I shall look up all about them, as soon as ever I 
 go home." 
 
 " Ask Miss Grayson ; she can no doubt tell you their his- 
 tory, in botany, in mythology, in poetry, and probably let 
 you read her some ' sweet thing ' about them in blank verse." 
 
 " Clever Miss Grayson ! If it rains to-morrow, I shall 
 stay at the hotel, I think." 
 
 " In the meantime, don't make that blue so fence. See, 
 here is a blue I like. Don't you ? " 
 
 She brought him from between the leaves of another port- 
 folio, a shabbier and more used looking one, a little picture, 
 which contained the blue she meant to have him copy. It 
 was the top of a hill, of buckwheat in white flower ; over it 
 played several yellow butterflies, and this against a blue 
 sky. There were only three colors in it, the white of the 
 buckwheat flowers, the yellow, and the blue. 
 
 " Don't you like it," she said, leaning lovingly over it. 
 " How sweet the sky was that day, and how pure and 
 ardent was the light. I never shall forget it." 
 
 " Then you saw it ? " said Felix holding it in his hand, 
 and looking carefully at it, for there was a great deal in it, 
 to colder eyes than his. 
 
 " Yes, I saw it. But I cannot tell what it was I saw, nor 
 why it gave me such a sense of pleasure. That is where my 
 intelligence stops." 
 
 " Tell me about this picture," said Felix. " How long 
 since it was done ? " 
 
 " A month ago, in June." 
 
 " And do you know how true it is and how unusual ?
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 131 
 
 What has any one said about it ? Has any one else looked 
 at it?" 
 
 " Not a soul. Not a human eye." 
 
 "Well, may I have it?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, and a hundred more if you wanted them." 
 
 " This is mine then, remember." 
 
 " Yours, forever." 
 
 Of course Felix stayed to dinner. Old Mrs. Rothermel 
 was a little frightened and put on her best cap, and got out 
 the " good china." But Felix had the beautiful gift of being 
 at ease and putting others so wherever he might be. And 
 in a very little while she was quite comfortable about the 
 fricassee and the succotash, which had laid heavy on her soul, 
 and was thinking how well it was that her dear child had 
 some one to come in and amuse her on this dreary day. 
 The table looked very pretty, with Dorla's pretty silver, and 
 the old fashioned India china and some flowers ; and every 
 thing that came from the Rothermel kitchen was perfection 
 in its way. Felix thought of the cold scraps of meat and 
 vegetables hustled before the waiting crowd at the hotel 
 table, and was again thankful that he had made his sister 
 write the note. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel," he said, addressing the elder lady, 
 " what shall you say, if your daughter consents to leave you 
 this afternoon, if it should clear, to stay till to-morrow with 
 my sister at the hotel ? Harriet has sent me down for that. 
 She thought as Mr. Rothermel was away, and it was such 
 a dismal storm, she might be persuaded to come down." 
 
 "O, I could not think of leaving mother alone," said 
 Dorla, while at the same time said the dear old lady : 
 
 " It will be so nice for her. Yes, of course she must go 
 with you if it clears off." A little remonstrance necessarily, 
 and warm protestation on both sides. 
 
 " Well, don't let us quarrel about it, dear mother, till we 
 know whether it is going to clear or not," said Dorla, laugh- 
 ing, as they left the table.
 
 132 4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 After a little while, the clouds began to break away in 
 ever so small a degree. " There is hope," said Felix, going 
 out upon the porch. Then it began to darken again, and a 
 pouring shower came on. But soon that passed, and the 
 clouds began to lighten again, and more than one great break 
 of blue appeared in them. And about three o'clock the sun 
 shot great rays of gold across the mottled sky and dripping 
 earth. They opened doors and windows, for suddenly the 
 room seemed dull and dark and close, and the fire was an 
 impertinence. 
 
 " Now it is settled," said Felix. " How soon shall we 
 start, and is Jenny to be got ready ? " 
 
 " Why cannot I walk with you ? That is, if I conclude 
 to go. And Tim can come down for me in the morning." 
 
 " Why not let rne bring you back with my horse, when 
 Harriet is willing to let you go. I believe there is some- 
 thing on hand for to-morrow morning. Do not promise to be 
 back -at any time precisely." 
 
 While Dorla went up to dress, Felix set himself to finish 
 the border of anemones. But that was too much like work, 
 and after a while he laid it down, and hunted through her favor- 
 ite books, which lay about the room, and wrote his name on 
 a page of one of them, and the date ; which she found a year 
 after, on a very different day from this, and read with very 
 different eyes. When they started from the house, it was 
 nearly five o'clock ; the air was clear and fresh and almost 
 cold. The sun was shining brilliantly in one half of the 
 heavens, and in the other, there were still masses of black 
 clouds. The foliage was fresh and shining from the rain, 
 and the earth was black with the water that had not yet 
 sunk away. It was an inspiriting kind of afternoon : the 
 wind that was driving the black troops of cloud away was 
 in their faces as they walked along. The walks and drives 
 of the last few days had all been delightful to Dorla, but 
 this seemed the most beautiful of all.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 133 
 
 "Think of the people shut up in close dull rooms this 
 beautiful afternoon," she said. 
 
 " If they can't be out, I pity them but if they don't 
 choose to be, I hold them in contempt," he answered, send- 
 ing a stone after a bird which of course he did not hit. " I 
 should like to be a boy, fifteen my next birth-day, with a 
 fishing-rod upon my shoulders, and a pocketful of worms for 
 bait." 
 
 " How about Latin grammar when the holiday was over, 
 and six hours in a hot school-room out of the twenty- 
 four ? " 
 
 " Latin grammar to the squirrels. I should be Tim ; 
 nothing above that you may be sure." 
 
 " Well, then, you would be a bound boy." 
 
 " Bound to Mrs. Rothermel." 
 
 " Oh, yes. How kind I would be to you. I would teach 
 you to spell on winter evenings by the kitchen fire." 
 
 " ' While the girls are weaving baskets 
 And the boys are shaping bo\vs.' " 
 
 " Yes : how pleasant it all sounds, but I'm afraid six even- 
 ings in the week of it would be a trifle dull. Country life 
 has two sides I suppose." 
 
 " Seriously, Mrs. llothermel," said Felix, abruptly, " how 
 do you think you are going to endure the winter here. 
 I've been wondering whether you have ever thought about it." 
 
 " Oh, what is the use of thinking," exclaimed Dorla, with 
 a sudden half-smothered sigh. " I have my books. I like 
 to be alone better than people generally do. Oh, I shall get 
 on very well. Don't be sorry for me. I've made my ar- 
 rangements to be extremely happy." 
 
 " But you will come to the city, perhaps, for a month or 
 two?" 
 
 " I don't know about that. I have not been very happy 
 in the city. My life there was very dull."
 
 134 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " But it need not be so always. You know a married 
 woman can have many more liberties than a young girl can ; 
 though I know that is not your way. You are very much 
 afraid of having a good time." 
 
 " I am afraid you don't know me. This for instance." 
 
 " Oh, you don't call thisa. good time! " 
 
 " A good time! Why, it is the outside limit of enjoy- 
 ment. I never wanted to do anything so much in my life. 
 I was so afraid Mrs. Rothermel wouldn't make me come, I 
 could hardly breathe. And if it hadn't cleared away, I am 
 sure I should have cried." 
 
 That certainly ought to have satisfied Felix. They did 
 not go to the hotel by the straightest, shortest way, but they 
 went down to the Bluff, and down a steep, muddy, unneces- 
 sary path to the river. They waited a little while to see if 
 they could get a boat and have a row ; but they could not 
 get it and so went up the steep path again, and rested after 
 their scramble, on the Bluff, well wrapped up, with the wind 
 blowing freshly off the river, and the lowering sun shining 
 sti-angely on the parti-colored landscape. There were beau- 
 tiful cloud effects and all that, and they talked a little artist 
 jargon, but laughed about it, like two honest amateurs. 
 
 " Really, we must go," said Dorla, starting up, as the 
 town clock struck six in the faint distance. " It is tea-time 
 at the hotel, and Harriet will be much displeased if we keep 
 her at the table." 
 
 When they reached the hotel steps, the people were just 
 collecting ready to go in. Felix began to have some misgiv- 
 ings as to their reception. If Harriet dared to be uncivil, 
 he would make her sorry. (But that would do justice more 
 good than Dorla.) He caught sight of her in the hall, and 
 leaving Dorla for a moment, hurried in to meet her and give 
 her a word of warning. 
 
 " Here's Mrs. Rothermel," he said in a low voice, " and 
 I hope you'll make it as pleasant for her as you can." 
 
 " O, I'll leave that for you," returned Harriet, with a
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 135 
 
 sniff of high contempt as she put her eye-glasses on her nose 
 to look about for the unwelcome visitor. 
 
 " Well, then, you'll put an end to the fete." 
 
 "The fete! Whatfrte?" 
 
 " At the Rothermels ; but mind you don't say any thing 
 about it." 
 
 " O, nonsense, I don't believe it will come to any thing. 
 I've heard of such plans before." 
 
 But she was a little mollified and a little interested, and 
 she also enjoyed having Felix obliged to ask a favor of her. 
 
 " Mind you don't say any thing about it," he whispered, 
 as they went towards the visitor. And Harriet, though a 
 little less demonstrative than usual, Dorla thought, gave her 
 no occasion to doubt her welcome. They went in to tea to- 
 gether, Dorla as bright as a rose from her long walk, and her 
 happy day, and looking a greater contrast then ever to the 
 emmye crowd. 
 
 " What a dull day it has been ! " said Mrs. Bishop, who 
 was their vis-a-vis at the table. 
 
 " A dull day ! O, I don't think so. And the afternoon 
 has been so splendid." 
 
 " Too wet to go out, and a little chilly in the house," she 
 said, pulling a knit shawl a trifle closer round her shoulders. 
 
 Dorla had thrown off her wrappings, and looked warm 
 and radiant. 
 
 " One never has any appetite in such weather," said Miss 
 Davis, pushing away the pallid slices of cold lamb on the 
 little oval delf dish in front of her. 
 
 " O, let me have it, if you don't want it, won't you ? " said 
 Dorla. " For I am so hungry." 
 
 "This meal is always insupportable," said Harriet. 
 " Dorla, I really wonder that you came before you had your 
 tea." 
 
 " O, for a cup of tea that was not all tepid water and 
 sugar," sighed Mrs. Whymple, from the other end of the 
 table.
 
 136 -A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " And toast that did not taste of smoke," said her daugh- 
 ter fretfully. 
 
 " Really this cake was made a week ago to-day. I rec- 
 ognize three of those cookies. They have been on the table 
 every night since my arrival." 
 
 This was a wail of Master Davis, who was still of an age 
 to be interested in cake, as Felix whispered to Dorla, while 
 he put sugar in her tea. 
 
 " I certainly think we ought to speak to the proprietors," 
 said Mrs. Varian. " The biscuits are always yellow with 
 soda or some such horrid preparation." 
 
 " O, my dear mother," cried Felix, " you seriously affect 
 my spirits. I am sure everything tasted very good to me. 
 I began my tea at peace with all mankind ; and now I am 
 throughly embittered. Truly, I do not see how I am to sat- 
 isfy my appetite. There is nothing left uncondenmed upon, 
 the table. And yet everybody is eating." 
 
 " Everybody must eat," said Davis, stoutly, helping him- 
 self to a large piece of cake. 
 
 " I should die without my cup of tea," said Mrs. Whym- 
 ple, sending her cup away to be refilled, while her daughter 
 took the opportunity of ordering more toast, and Mrs. 
 Varian having broken open five biscuits and found two of a 
 complexion that suited her, ate them to a running accompa- 
 niment of complaint. 
 
 " I suppose it's because I am so hungry, but everything 
 seerns nice to me," said Dorla, meekly, a little ashamed of 
 eating so much of things that were so disapproved. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad you like it all," cried Miss Whymple 
 spitefully. " I think you must be feeling very happy." 
 
 " Oh, I am. No doubt that is one reason." 
 
 " Maybe we should all be happier if Mrs. Rothermel 
 were oftener at the table," remarked Mr. Bishop, with gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 " We'd better speak to the proprietors about it, and make 
 it an inducement for her to come, if it is going to put a stop
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 137 
 
 to the complaining, " said Harriet, with a little venom. For 
 it was not always that Felix found everything so satisfactory 
 as to-night. 
 
 After they had left the table, Dorla, feeling unconsciously 
 the coldness of Harriet and the ill-nature of Miss Whymple, 
 took refuge with Mrs. Yarian. This lady, for some reason, 
 was a little more interested in her than usual. She put her 
 arm around her in a motherly sort of way and said, " My 
 dear, I didn't know you were so good looking ! " Kothing 
 could have pleased the young woman better. She turned her 
 head about and kissed Mrs. Yarian's hand which lay upon 
 her shoulder. Then they went and sat down on the piazza 
 by themselves. 
 
 " It's nice having Felix home, isn't it ? " said the mother. 
 
 " O, yes ! how happy you must be," said Dorla, " and so 
 proud of him. Mrs.Varian, I often have wondered since I 
 saw him, how you could ever let him be so much away." 
 
 " My dear, he doesn't ask me." And the selfish, easy- 
 tempered mother gave a little sigh. " Our children don't 
 live for us, you know. We are only part of the furniture of 
 the nursery, and they think they have the world before 
 them, when they once get out of it." 
 
 " O, Mrs. Varian, it must be hard for a mother to feel 
 that. I do not think I ever could." 
 
 " I think you will some day. It is part of a woman's lot, 
 to be left behind." 
 
 " Yes, but not forgotten ! It would be hard to be left 
 behind, but it would be death to be forgotten, to feel you 
 had not made yourself a part of your child's life, that you 
 were not a constant influence." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, we all have these ideas when we begin 
 life. We have to give them up as we go along, one after 
 another. When you are as old as I am, you won't have 
 much sentiment left, I am afraid. Yes, I went through all this 
 sort of feeling when Felix and Harriet were babies partic- 
 ularly Felix, for he was the first, and you know we always
 
 138 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 feel as if the world had began again when our first baby- 
 comes. And Harriet was a cross little torment, enough to 
 take the sentiment out of Mrs. Die-away herself. But Felix 
 was such a perfect piece of flesh and blood, and so coaxing 
 and good always, there was some excuse for thinking he 
 would always do exactly as I wanted him to do." 
 
 " O, one can't expect that, can one ? " said Dorla, un- 
 easily. " Children have their own lives to live and can't think 
 our thoughts, and just live ours. But if they love us, .and 
 are affectionate and tender always " 
 
 " Yes, that's something. But you'll find it's full of dis- 
 appointment, and that the less you expect of your children, 
 the less chagrin and sorrow you will have." 
 
 " Mrs. Varian, you to say this, of all women ! " cried 
 Dorla, coaxingly, following Mrs. Varian's glance towards the 
 group, among whom Felix stood a Prince. 
 
 " He is handsome, isn't he," said the mother, with another 
 little sigh. " But he isn't much to me, my dear. To-morrow 
 I couldn't get him to go there or to stay here, if he didn't 
 feel like it. Some foolish pretty woman could take him to 
 the ends of the earth if he fancied the color of her eyes, 
 while I might storm and scold and plead without the least ef- 
 fect. No ; Felix is not a bad son ; he has never given me 
 any real anxiety, and 1 suppose I ought to be very thankful. 
 All the trouble is, he has had too easy times, too much 
 money, too much liberty, too many people after him. No 
 wonder that he won't mind me. There's more ' to him ' as the 
 Yankees say, than has come out. He wants a good sharp 
 trouble, Master Felix does. And I sometimes wish it would 
 come and settle him." 
 
 " O, don't wish that ! " said Dorla, wincing. <( Things 
 come soon enough." 
 
 " Well, maybe I need it too, as well as he. Yes, my 
 dear, if anybody ever says to you, I am a worldly woman 
 and have brought up my children badly, you can tell 
 them I know it, and have known it a good deal longer
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 139 
 
 than any body else. It was too late, though, before I 
 found it out. And what with good health and prosperity, 
 and the power to enjoy my easy life, I am just going on as 
 I have always gone ; and heaven knows when my reforma- 
 tion is to come. It's hard not to wish things different for 
 the children, but for myself I can bear whatever chances. 
 I'm not a coward when the time comes. But this is idle 
 talk. Here comes Felix for you, and I must be going in." 
 She gathered up her yellow covered book and her fan and 
 her shawl, and lumbered away into the house by the nearest 
 door. Her voice had. been husky and Dorla had seen tears 
 in her eyes. It was so sudden and unexpected a manifesta- 
 tion of feeling, that she was silent and abstracted even after 
 Felix joined her. She had, more than is usual at her age, the 
 power of entering into the feelings of others; and even while 
 the son talked to her, she was going back into the life of 
 the mother, who had shown her for one moment her real 
 heart. 
 
 " What has my mother been saying to you," asked Felix, 
 in*a little while, quick to perceive her abstraction. 
 
 " Notlung," returned Dorla, coloring. " Nothing of any 
 moment." 
 
 " But something you will not tell me," he said. 
 
 " There is no reason I shouldn't, but it was nothing." 
 
 For if the mother had sworn her on the Four Gospels, 
 she could not have felt more bound than she did to keep 
 that half -in voluntary confidence sacred. She wondered 
 whether Mrs. Varian had ever in her life said as much as 
 that to any living being, and she had judged her rightly 
 when she felt that she had not. That keen light, flashed for 
 a moment into the depths of the worldly woman's regret and 
 disappointment, troubled her imagination. How was it pos- 
 sible, she thought, to live comfortably, nay, even with jollity, 
 over that dark abyss. Disappointment, she knew we all 
 have to live through, but remorse, self-condemnation, that 
 was insupportable. " I have been a worldly woman, I have
 
 140 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 brought up my children badly." That was a failure. Who 
 could bear such retrospect. And then she thought of the 
 comfortable easy matron, with her novel and her foot-stool, 
 her sharp tongue and her lazy wit, taking an interest in 
 everything that was going on in the floating world about her, 
 exacting about all her comforts, absorbed in the present 
 moment ; and the stricture at her heart relaxed ; there 
 must be some mistake, she could not have understood her 
 woi ds. 
 
 " We are going over to the cottage bye and bye, for some 
 stupid game or other. Harriet insists," said Felix. 
 
 " I am sure you do not mean to call Twenty Questions 
 stupid, and I suppose that is the game, for it is Harriet's 
 great delight just now." 
 
 "Do you like it?" 
 
 " Better than any way we could have spent the evening, 
 except perhaps, dancing." 
 
 " And you would have liked dancing ? We will dance. 
 Harriet shall give iip for once." 
 
 " I beg you, please do not speak to her about it. Let me 
 tell you, I had rather play the game, really. I ain too tired 
 to dance." 
 
 Felix sat down reluctantly. " She is so self-willed," he 
 said. " Why could she not have asked you, before inviting 
 those people, and making all the plans." 
 
 " We are all self-willed I think, as far as that. Who 
 doesn't like to entertain in her own way. And besides, 
 it is always so difficult to get people to play for dancing. I 
 don't wonder Harriet hates to be asking favors of those 
 she doesn't like particularly." 
 
 Felix looked at his companion as if he thought she were 
 an angel, while she made these excuses for his trying sister. 
 
 " 1 will tell you," he said. " We will make up for it to- 
 morrow evening ; we will have a ball, and you shall dance 
 whatever you please and as much as you please." 
 
 " Whatever Miss Grayson pleases, and as much as we
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 141 
 
 can get music for, you mean. I have been at these balls 
 before," said Dorla, rather languidly. 
 
 " No," said Felix, " not that manner of ball. I will 
 telegraph down to-night for music ; we will have some extra 
 lamps put up in the ball-room ; and who knows, some mild 
 decorations. Fauchere shall make our ices, and all shall 
 wear their finest clothes. You shall invite whom you think 
 best, and it shall be your ball." 
 
 Dorla gave a little exclamation of pleasm*e, (she was only 
 twenty.) " Now that will be delightful. You are sure 
 nothing else is going on ? " 
 
 " Nothing. But if there were forty things, they should 
 all give way, and you should have your ball." 
 
 " Will Harriet take kindly to it ? " said Dorla, who 
 always had misgivings. " You know she doesn't care for 
 dancing." 
 
 " I know. But she must learn to like what other people 
 do, at times." 
 
 " The fact that she ought to, won't help us, if she gets a 
 prejudice against it." 
 
 " O, I will manage Harriet, never fear." 
 
 (l But please don't say anything disagreeable, don't make 
 her annoyed at me ; I would rather never dance again." 
 
 " O, never fear ; now let us see what we must do. We 
 shall want seventy-five people. No, a hundred. Better 
 make it pretty general, had we not? " 
 
 " O, yes ; don't hurt anybody's feelings." 
 
 " I can see Fauchere in the morning. I will speak to- 
 night about the ball-room, and I ought to send the telegram 
 at once." He took out his memorandum book, and wrote 
 the telegram while he talked. Then tearing it off, he said, 
 " Now let us decide who shall be invited." 
 
 It took them a great while to do this, and while they were 
 dcop in it, a messenger arrived from Harriet, asking them if 
 they would come over to the cottage at once, as the Twenty 
 Questions' party wero ready to begin their game.
 
 142 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Bother their twenty questions," said Felix, irreverently, 
 getting up. 
 
 "But I like it," said Dorla, following him. 
 
 " Only you like dancing better." 
 
 The parlor of the cottage was long, and low, and narrow, 
 and a trifle damp. Several stains on the ceiling above ac- 
 counted for this ; and one of the guests tumbled over a foot- 
 tub placed in a corner to protect the carpet from a leak. 
 
 " One more such storm as this, and we should have to 
 leave," said Mrs. Variau, who was established in the easiest 
 chair in the room, with a foot-stool under her feet, and a 
 screen behind her back. " What people put up with in 
 their summer quarters ! " 
 
 The dampness and want of fire were atoned for by plenty 
 of lighted lamps, and the scene was quite brilliant to Dorla 
 and Felix as they came in from the twilight. The people 
 were all arranged for the game, on each side of the room ; 
 Harriet was restlessly moving up and down between them, 
 and met Felix with a reproach for his tardiness. 
 
 " I can't imagine the pleasure in keeping people waiting," 
 she said, tartly. Dorla colored and looked uncomfortable, 
 but Felix did not seem to mind at all. 
 
 "You two go to that side," she said, going to the opposite 
 side herself. ' Xow ice are going to give the subject." 
 
 Dorla and Felix had seats at the upper end of the room, 
 (in the neighborhood of the foot-tub.) Felix's chair was a 
 little behind Doi-la's, and he talked to her sotto vice a good 
 deal of the time. This was not particularly objectionable as 
 every one else was talking. Oliver and Miss Davis were on 
 their side, and rather led the game, and Dorla and Felix 
 took very little interest in it. " Animal and vegetable king- 
 dom," " yellowish-brown and white," " to sustain life," 
 "poetic fiction," "present century," rolled rueauiuglessly 
 about their ears for some time. They were talking about 
 who they should invite to-morrow. Finally, Dorla saw they 
 were needed in the game, Miss Davis was getting fretful,
 
 A PERFECT ADOSL3L 143 
 
 and the other side triumphant. So she whispered to Felix, 
 to please attend to the game, and to get her the list of 
 answers from the umpire. He got them for her. 
 
 ** It doesn't sound like much," she said, u but let us try 
 to dunk." Then after a moment, she whispered to him to 
 please ask what person or persons were principally connected 
 with this yellowish-brown and white object. (For she had 
 a great objection to hearing her own voice in an assemblage 
 of over four persons.) Felix had not this objection, and 
 asked aloud, after getting permission of the psrty. The 
 answer after an *****" discussion, and much consultation, 
 
 "Two men." 
 
 " O, I think I know," she whispered, all excitement. 
 
 Then Felix grew interested. " Tell me what you think it 
 is," he said. 
 
 O, I am afraid it isn't right." 
 
 ** You're given to misgivings, Fve remarked." 
 
 ** I know it; but just ask this question, and it win decide. 
 Ask the rank of these two men." 
 
 After a hot battle of rights over the matter, Harriet con- 
 tending that the answer should be given separately respect- 
 ing each man, so m*krng two questions, and Oliver main- 
 taining that they were bound to tell it all at once, the 
 answer was given. 
 
 " One man was in the lower rank of life, the other 
 in a higher." 
 
 " Now I do know,** whispered Doria, with enthusiasm. 
 " It is the * One Fish Ball' " 
 
 ** Shall I roar it through the hall," cried Felix, starting to 
 his feet. 
 
 There was dismay and confusion well concealed, in the 
 
 --".- . '.''. 
 
 "Roar what through the hall," said Miss Grayson, 
 stoutly. 
 
 Your One Fish Ball," returned Felix.
 
 144 -A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Do you make that as a guess," said Davis, with hypo- 
 critical eagerness. " Do you all agree ? Remember you 
 have but three." 
 
 11 We all agree," said Oliver. 
 
 Well, it is," said Davis. 
 
 " At the sixth question ! " cried Felix, tauntingly. " O, 
 it was pitiful." 
 
 " It wasn't the sixth, it was the seventh," returned 
 Harriet, angrily. " And somebody told. I know you 
 didn't guess it." 
 
 "Of course somebody told! Mrs. Rothermel told." 
 
 " Don't be angry, Harriet," said Dorla. " I think it was 
 easy to guess, don't you ? But very funny, and you played 
 it very well." 
 
 Harriet turned away from this soft pacifying, with a 
 supreme contempt. " If you're going to play on your side 
 you had better choose a subject." 
 
 " It's early yet," said Felix, provokingly. " You didn't 
 waste much time, you know." 
 
 " What shall we have," said Dorla, all excitement. 
 There were about nine people on each side. The nine on 
 their side huddled together in close consultation. Mr. 
 Oliver, who always approved of the hilarious, was in favor 
 of the wax on Ah Sin's fingers, or the Sour Apple Tree on 
 which the honored head of the late confederacy was to hang. 
 " Too easily guessed," said Mrs. Bishop. Miss Davis and 
 the younger Miss Whymple wanted Jack and Gill's pail, or 
 the malt in the rat's stomach ; and Mrs. Whymple, who 
 read historical works of a weak cast, proposed the dagger 
 that somebody was killed with in the eleventh century. 
 
 " Stupid," whispered Dorla. 
 
 f( I never heard of him," said Felix. 
 
 " Well you ought to," said Mrs. Whymple, seriously. 
 
 " That may be," he returned, " but I protest against 
 having my mind improved, or my ignorance exposed, in such 
 a mixed assembly."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 145 
 
 " We are tired of waiting," cried the other fclde, 
 
 " We must decide on something," said Mr. Oliver, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " The mirror of the Lady of Shallot," whispered Dorla, 
 in her companion's ear. 
 
 " The very thing," he said. So he went among the others 
 and told them that must be the subject, and it was accepted 
 without much demur. 
 
 " I thought you would like some ' sweet thing ' out of 
 Tennyson," she said, when he had come back and they had 
 settled themselves into their places. The first questions 
 went off rapidly and amicably. It was of the mineral 
 kingdom ; it never really existed ; it was probably of an 
 oblong shape ; it was probably two feet by a foot and a half 
 in SLze ; its use was to convey intelligence ; it was heard of 
 in poetic fiction ; the person principally connected with it 
 was a woman. 
 
 " We are lost," said Dorla, trembling with excitement. 
 " I can see Harriet has caught the idea of it." 
 
 " We will put her off," said Felix, confidently. Then the 
 color was asked. 
 
 " Steel grey," the younger Whymple had begun to say, 
 when Dorla, uttering a cry, flew down the room and stopped 
 her. 
 
 " Don't be such an idiot," she whispered, forgetting 
 decency ; " they almost know now ; you would just be 
 telling them." 
 
 " I shall play a fair game," said the young woman much 
 affronted. " It is steel grey." 
 
 " It isn't," said Dorla, warmly, under her breath. " It 
 isn't any more steel grey than any other color. It reflects 
 all colors; it is one color one moment, another another." 
 
 In a moment the line was doubled up, and there \\:ss u 
 hot discussion, heads all together. Felix of course main- 
 tained DorhTs rutlier <|ii<'sti<>u;il>le position; so did Mr. 
 Oliver and Mrs. Vuriun. But the others declared them-
 
 146 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 selves unable to see it in that light. Dorla argued, her 
 eyes flashing she went on her knees beside Mrs. Bishop's 
 chair, and coaxed and reasoned as if her life depended on it. 
 She put her hand on that of the stubborn Miss Whyruple, 
 and said " Dear Miss Whymple," in a tone that might have 
 melted a heart of steel-grey granite. She finally conquered, 
 and went back breathless to her seat, while the answer 
 was given, " all the colors of the rainbow." 
 
 " After all, it won't help us much, " said Oliver. 
 " They'll be very stupid if they don't see through it." 
 
 " We will at least die game," said Felix. Then the other 
 side, convinced of foul play, were very rancorous and bitter, 
 and would put no further question. 
 
 " It was very easy to see they would get no honest 
 answers." 
 
 After they were mollified, and persuaded to go on, 
 there was a forced peace, during one or two unimportant 
 questions and responses. Then came the decisive one, " At 
 what date was this poetic fiction written? " 
 
 It was Mrs. Bishop's txu*n to answer ; she was beginning 
 to speak, when Felix and Dorla flew upon her. 
 
 " The fifteenth century," they put into her mouth. 
 
 " Now, upon my word, this is trampling on the rights of 
 conscience," she exclaimed below her breath. "It is bad 
 enough to make us consent to say that black is white, and 
 steel grey all the colors of the rainbow. But to say that 
 Tennyson wrote in the fifteenth century ! that is a step too 
 far." 
 
 tf I did not know we had anything to do with Tennyson," 
 said Felix, loftily. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Bishop," whispered Dorla, sinking down on 
 her knees and putting her arms in Mrs. Bishop's lap, " Mr. 
 Varian knows all about it. Just trust him. This legend is 
 part of Sir Thomas Mallory's book ; he was a Welshman you 
 know, and he wrote in the fifteenth century. Tennyson 
 only used it, like all those Round Table things. As he says,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 147 
 
 we haven't anything to do with Tennyson that I can 
 see." 
 
 " But how do I know some Welsh fellow wrote it ? " 
 said Mrs. Bishop, dubiously, " and not Tennyson ? " 
 
 "Why, you know it because Mr. Varian tells you so." 
 
 " Are we to believe everything that Mr. Varian tells us 
 then?" 
 
 " I am sure I hope so," said Dorla, with emphasis. " I 
 know I do, and I think it is a very little thing to ask of 
 you, dear Mrs. Bishop; don't be obstinate. Just say this, 
 and it will save us. They will never guess." 
 
 " I should think not," said Mrs. Bishop with a groan. 
 The scruples of all the others had to be overcome, and at 
 last the answer was delivered. A damp chill fell upon the 
 other party. They were more than half-way through the 
 game, and had not the faintest clue. Harriet particularly 
 was much out of temper, for she had been pretty sure that 
 she had guessed it, and now she was quite at sea. As 
 answer after answer put them further from the mark they 
 became exasperated quite beyond good manners. They 
 grew reckless, some lost interest, while the leaders lost 
 temper. They grew very wild in their guesses, and wasted 
 half their questions. 
 
 " I have no patience with this sort of playing," said 
 Harriet. " I never lost a game before." 
 
 " There must be a beginning," said her brother. 
 
 " But I have never played against this combination," 
 and she shot an angry glance at Dorla, who was held 
 responsible for all the trouble. 
 
 It is very amusing to be on the winning side of a game 
 of twenty questions, and Dorla and Felix, and Miss Davis 
 and Mr. Oliver were as merry as their opponents were 
 irritable. The clock struck eleven ; the lust question had 
 been answered, only one guess remained. The elders began 
 to grow uneasy, and Mrs. Bishop actually put on her cloak. 
 Harriet refused to give up ; the rest of the party were for
 
 143 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 giving in. Matters became serious ; Harriet was very 
 angry, Felix most exasperating. It had narrowed down to 
 a family quarrel. 
 
 " I beg you," said Dorla, getting frightened, aside to Felix, 
 " do try to pacify her. I am sorry we have gone so far." 
 
 Then Felix began to fear she might say something that 
 would wound Dorla, and he ceased his gibes, but did not 
 help her with her guess. 
 
 " Make haste, we must go," said Mrs. Whymple, who 
 was getting sleepy. 
 
 " We give up," said Davis, who was very tired. Then 
 Felix called out the subject, over Harriet's protest, which 
 was loud and sharp. There was of course a shout of deri- 
 sion and rage, and a perfect clamor of voices upon this. 
 Every question was declared unfairly answered, and the 
 sleepy ones woke up to wrath, and for ten minutes no one 
 could be heard above the clamor. Davis and Oliver closed 
 in single combat as it were, over the list of questions. 
 Mrs. Bishop forgot how late it was in her eagerness to 
 defend herself from the many accusations rained upon her. 
 The younger Whymple almost cried at her older sister's 
 reproaches, and said it was all Mrs. Rothermel. Even 
 Mrs. Varian forgot ho\v damp the floor was, and stood for 
 many minutes by the door convincing Mr. Davis pere, 
 how perfectly correct they were. 
 
 " Let us escape," said Felix, putting Dorla's cloak on. 
 " I think it is hardly safe for us to say a word." 
 
 So they went over to the hotel, and waited for the arrival 
 of the others, hoping time would heal their wounds. Mrs 
 Varian came first, and told Dorla to come up with her. 
 She was to occupy a room next Harriet's, and opposite to 
 hers. Dorla waited till she heard Harriet come up, and 
 then she opened her door, and said softly " Harriet, you'll 
 forgive me, won't you '? " 
 
 " No, I won't," cried Harriet, in a fury, and slammed her 
 door shut in poor Dorla's very face.
 
 A PERFECT ADOXIS. 149 
 
 " There, there," cried the mother, laughingly, and kissed 
 the visitor good-night apologetically. 
 
 Certainly for damage to good manners there is nothing 
 equal to a game of twenty questions. 
 
 After breakfast, at which Harriet did not appear, and 
 Mrs. Rothermel breakfasted between Felix and his mother, 
 it was arranged that Felix was to drive to Port Jervis for 
 something that was needed for the " balL" Mrs. Varian 
 entered into the plans for this festivity with some interest, 
 and promised to see that everyone was invited that should 
 be, and said Harriet should help. Dorla looked doubtful at 
 this, and Mrs. Varian said they wouldn't tell her it was in 
 Dorla's honor. 
 
 "No, for I'm afraid she is my enemy for life," said 
 Dorla. 
 
 " Oh, nothing is for life with Harriet, except her temper," 
 said her brother, tenderly. 
 
 " Hush, Felix," said his mother, " you always provoke 
 your sister. She's ten times as self-willed when you are here." 
 
 " Well, that isn't very often. She has time to become 
 very lovely while I am away." 
 
 " She is a great deal nicer when you are not here, how- 
 ever you may laugh it off," repeated Mrs. Varian. 
 
 " Yes, that is quite true," said Dorla, very low, with a 
 great look of soft reproach in her eyes. 
 
 " Well, I'll reform," said Felix. " I am in earnest. You 
 will see." 
 
 Mrs. Bishop was sitting in the sun on the piazza, trying 
 to get warm, and Dorla went to her for a few minutes. 
 Felix took that occasion to ask his mother to get Mrs. Roth- 
 ermel to go to Port Jervis with him. 
 
 " She'll be apt to think she ought to stay here with you 
 and Harriet, if you don't propose it to her." 
 
 " Felix, what are you about," said his mother, lay- 
 ing her hand upon his arm. " You know every one is talk- 
 ing of this matter."
 
 150 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Nonsense, mother. At your age to take such a thing as 
 this so seriously. One would think you had been living in 
 the woods." 
 
 " Well, well, I suppose she is old enough to take care of 
 herself," said the easy-minded elder, smothering a move- 
 ment of her sluggish conscience, but giving a little sigh, as 
 she called Dorla to her. 
 
 " Why don't you go down to Port Jervis with Felix ? " 
 she said. " I shall have to go over and sit with Mrs. Bishop 
 for awhile at the cottage, as I promised her, and it will 
 make it rather dull for you. Felix seems to think you will 
 enjoy the drive." . 
 
 " It is such a cool, fine morning," Felix said. 
 
 Dorla brightened. She had had rather a depressed an- 
 ticipation of a hotel morning, worsted-work and gossip. " I 
 should like to go, but would not Harriet enjoy it ? and let 
 me stay with you and Mrs. Bishop." 
 
 " Oh, Harriet would not think of it. She abhors my 
 trotting wagon, and besides she has an engagement for cro- 
 quet ; I heard her speak of it last night." 
 
 So Dorla went to drive. " What is the girl thinking 
 about," muttered Mr. Bishop, somewhat troubled, as he saw 
 them drive away. 
 
 " She is thinking of having a good time," said Mr. Davis 
 pere, who was sunning himself in the same corner of the piazza. 
 
 " She has not stopped to think," said Mrs. Bishop, with 
 more insight, and a sensation of compassion. 
 
 " Do you think it will make any difference when she 
 does ? " asked Mr. Davis, with a cynical little laugh. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Bishop, thoughtfully. " I think it will, 
 a great difference. But of course I can't be sure." 
 
 The Whymple girls ran to look out of the parlor windows 
 at her, and were much chagrined. They hated her. 
 
 " How absolutely brazen, " they said to Mr. Oliver. 
 
 " That young Varian is a reckless fellow, I'm afraid," said 
 Oliver, for he must say something.
 
 A PERPEC.T ADONIS. 151 
 
 "Oh, I don't blame him," they cried in a breath. " He 
 really could not help himself. She has not left him a moment 
 to himself since he arrived." 
 
 Pretty soon, Mrs. Varian came and told them about the 
 dance, and that diverted their thoughts from Dorla for a lit- 
 tle while. Every one was glad there was to be a dance, even 
 Miss Grayson, who was above it ; for it was something to 
 look at and to talk about, if not to join in. 
 
 The drive to Port Jervis was charming. Dorla buttoned 
 her jaunty little driving sacqiie very close up in her throat, 
 and even shivered a little when they started. But soon the 
 sunshine grew warmer. And at Port Jervis they got out of 
 the wagon, and walked a little to get warm. Then they did 
 their shopping ; that was very amusing, picking their way 
 about the grimy little town, and going into shops where 
 there was nothing that they wanted ; getting, principally, 
 caramels and some wizened looking peaches, though they 
 had come with a long list of other and more necessary things. 
 
 " We shall have to give up Mrs. Varian's worsted," said 
 Dorla, pausing before a shop door. f{ I don't believe they 
 have it here." 
 
 " No, I should think not," returned her companion, " as 
 it is a druggist's." 
 
 " O, well, they confuse things so ; such mixtures. I am 
 sure it is not strange that I mistook it for a milliner's." 
 
 " I am not blaming you," said Felix. 
 
 " No, but you are laughing at me, which is even worse," 
 returned Dorla, coming down the steps in some confusion. 
 
 The people in the shops looked after them ; it was not 
 often they saw any two so gifted with health and youth and 
 beauty, and with fortune too. A poor girl sewing at a 
 heavy machine, in a close, dark room, had come to the win- 
 dow for a moment to breathe, and caught sight of the plume 
 in Dorla's hat that had caught the sunlight. She leaned 
 forward and saw her beautiful face, and her tall lithe figure, 
 and her happy look.
 
 152 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I am no older than she is," she thought bitterly, " and 
 see the difference." And she went heavily back to her work 
 when they were out of sight, and thought of her all day with 
 envy. 
 
 There was a parasol to be mended, and a watch to have a 
 crystal on, and for these they had to wait, but the time did 
 not seem long. It was somewhat after twelve when they 
 were ready to go back, but the day was still so cool that it 
 was pleasant driving. 
 
 " You will not be too tired for this evening, I hope ? " said 
 Felix, as they drove across the bridge. " I ought not to 
 have brought you here, perhaps." 
 
 " O, I shall not be tired. I shall rest to-morrow ; for 
 these last few days I have not stopped to think or breathe. 
 Do you see! 1 have been always on the go. And I am not 
 useJ to this sort of dissipation, and I shall stop to-morrow." 
 
 " O, it is good for you," said Felix, rather uneasily; " do 
 not stop to-morrow. We shall have something new for 
 then." 
 
 They reached the hotel just in time to go to dinner with 
 Mrs. Varian, who hadn't waited for them, but who happened 
 to be just passing through the hall. Harriet was decidedly 
 cold, but less offensive than they had dared to hope. 
 After dinner, they sat awhile on the piazza, with a 
 number of others, talking of the evening's entertainment. A 
 favorable answer had come in the matter of the music ; the 
 ball-room was being put in order even while they talked. 
 
 " Now I must go home," said Dorla, getting up as the 
 clock struck half-past three. " Mr. Varian, am I going to 
 walk, or are you going to drive me ? " 
 
 11 Exactly as if she owned him and his horse, and every- 
 thing that belonged to him," muttered Miss Grayson, sotto 
 voce to her nearest neighbor. 
 
 When the horse had been brought ai-ound, and Dorla had 
 come down stairs with her hat on, ready to go, Mrs. Vaviaii 
 patted her on the shoulder, and gave her a motherly kiss,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 153 
 
 and said she must look her prettiest for the evening. Mr. 
 Bishop put her in the wagon, and Mr. Davis paid her some 
 old-gentlemanly compliment as they drove away ; and poor 
 Dorla was very happy, quite ignorant of all that was being 
 said and thought about her. 
 
 Felix tried to persuade her it was just the time for a lit- 
 tle drive along the river, but this she resisted, only consent- 
 ing to go the longest way, which was more than double the 
 length of the ordinary i-oute, because it was more shady 
 (which it wasn't). The horse was as fresh as if he had not 
 gone sixteen miles in the morning, and Felix thought Dorla 
 was too. 
 
 " But there will be no dancing for me if I do not rest," 
 and then Felix consented to drive directly to the farm. 
 
 At the gate she said good-bye to him, and went in the 
 house. 
 
 " Why, George," she cried in surprise, meeting him \ipon 
 the stairs, " you here ! I thought you were not coming till 
 the evening train." 
 
 He kissed her, and told her his business was over sooner 
 than he thought, and now he was to be at home for a week 
 or two, at least. " Tell me all you have been doing," he 
 said as they went up the stairs together. 
 
 " George," she cried, clasping her hands over his arm, " I 
 have been having such a lovely time. And what do you 
 think we are going to do to-night. Mr. Varian has tele- 
 graphed for music, six pieces, and we are to have a dance 
 and it is really to be my ball, though we don't say so, for 
 Harriet is such a perverse thing, we can't depend upon her 
 not to spoil it all." 
 
 "Why, I thought you were great friends." 
 
 " O, we were, but some miserable pique about playing 
 twenty questions has put her in such an odious temper, 
 you'd be ashamed of a child of ten years old that acted so. 
 But no matter, she can't stop the dance."
 
 154 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 (e What are you going to wear ? " said George, interested, 
 but feeling a little as if he were out in the cold. 
 
 " My pink dress, don't you think so ? It is the prettiest 
 thing I have, and the most dressy." 
 
 " Did you miss me very much ? " said George, sitting down 
 by the window, and keeping Dorla' s hand. He was yearn- 
 ing for a little sentiment, and something that belonged to 
 him more than these high spirits. 
 
 " O, yes that is," said truthful Dorla correcting her- 
 self, " I should have done so if I hadn't gone down to the 
 hotel. I thought I was going to have a dismal time all by 
 myself in such a pouring storm. It was very kind of Har- 
 riet to send for me, even if she did quarrel with me after- 
 wai'ds." 
 
 " It seems an age since I was away," said George. 
 
 " It does seem a good while, doesn't it ? so many things 
 have happened." 
 
 " I travelled all night," said George. 
 
 " You did ? " said Dorla, " you must be tired to death. 
 Go and lie down, and take a rest, or you will not enjoy 
 yourself to-night. That's what I am going to do myself." 
 
 But George would not lie down ; he closed the shutters 
 for Dorla, and kissed her, and left her alone to sleep. She 
 was really so tired that she fell fast asleep, and did not 
 waken till half-past seven o'clock, when dear old Mrs. Roth- 
 ertnel came up with her tea; then she lifted herself upon her 
 elbow, and looked around the darkening room bewildered ; 
 but eveiy thing came back in a moment in a rush of pleasure. 
 She threw her arms around Mrs. Rothermel, and exclaimed, 
 " You dear, good mother, to bring up my tea ! This is my 
 last dissipation. I am going to be quiet to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Rotherrnel kissed her, and told her she hoped not, 
 that nothing pleased her so much as to see her happy. 
 George came up, and buttered her toast for her, and put the 
 cream upon her berries. " Everybody is so good to me," 
 thought Dorla, and she was so sweet and affectionate that
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 155 
 
 George was supremely happy, and forgave her for being in 
 such good spirits while he was away. 
 
 The servants ah-ed and oh-ed when Dorla was dressed. 
 Old Mrs. Rothermel almost cried with excitement and joy, 
 that such a beautiful creature should belong to them. 
 George himself was full of elation. He belonged to that 
 small and almost extinct class of men who delight in hav- 
 ing their wives admired. All the amiable ambition of his 
 heart was to be of some importance socially, and the short- 
 est way to this was through the applause that Dorla's beauty 
 would obtain. One great element in his happiness was the 
 knowledge that he had married the most noticed girl that 
 had come within his sphere (this was \mconscious ; he 
 thought his happiness was all made up of love). He had no 
 idea of being jealous ; he should as soon have thought of 
 being suspicious of the Madonna in the picture that Dorla 
 kept hanging above her bed. He was so content with his 
 fate, he could not conceive that she could need anything 
 beyond him ; he had not much imagination. 
 
 Certainly, she was something to be proud of, as she came 
 down stairs in her pink dress, with roses in her hair. He 
 put her in the rockaway, and drove her to the hotel as if 
 she were a very valuable possession. There they found 
 Felix waiting for them a little restlessly on the piazza. Tim 
 was given in charge of the horses, and George followed them 
 into the little parlor. 
 
 " My mother is waiting for you," said Felix, as they 
 entered. Mrs. Yarian was occupying the time in a game of 
 cards at 'a little table. 
 
 " There, there, Mr. Bishop, I suppose we must go," she 
 said nodding to the Rothermels, and getting up with the dif- 
 ficulty peculiar to stout, elderly persons, and taking Mr. 
 Bishop's arm. " It's our ball, and I suppose we must go 
 and open it. Dorla, my dear, you are quite magnificent. 
 Harriet, isn't her dress lovely ? such good style." 
 
 " Quite too handsome for such a place as this," said Har-
 
 156 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 riet, who looked shabby, and was not in a good humor yet. 
 But she was a little consoled by the weight which her words 
 had with George, who always looked to her with reverence. 
 She took his arm and gave him some social maxims, which 
 were listened to with much respect, as she followed her 
 mother and Dorla into the room. George wished that Dorla 
 had saved her beautiful French dress, which held the front 
 rank in her wedding outfit, as Harriet said this wasn't a 
 proper place to wear it ; but all the same it was very nice to 
 see the people gaze after her, and to hear the murmurs of 
 admiration which followed her. She looked like a queen 
 among the flimsy summer muslins of the others. 
 
 " Quite a beauty, quite a beauty," said the elder Davis 
 nodding approbation, eye-glass and all. " She would be 
 noticed anywhere. I have seen a great many pretty women 
 in ray day, but upon my word, I should be at a loss to say 
 where I had seen a prettier." 
 
 " Imagine all that elegance shut up in a Pike County 
 farm-house," said Miss Grayson, from a height. 
 
 " Poor Rothermel, I'm sorry for him ; he has a life be- 
 fore him," said young Davis, with an irritated laugh. 
 
 As for Oliver, his withered old heart hadn't got over the 
 tenderness for his sweetheart of last summer ; he could not 
 bear to look at her, and turned his back upon the cloud of 
 pink when it appeared, and danced Miss Davis out of breath, 
 to keep himself from thinking. 
 
 " Do you think that I am too much dressed," asked 
 Dorla, with a shade of trouble on her face. " Harriet says 
 my dress is too handsome to wear here." 
 
 " It isn't," said Felix. " Harriet knows nothing about 
 dress. You should always be magnificent. You know I 
 think you ought to be a queen." 
 
 She laughed a happy, innocent laugh, and the shade was 
 all gone from her face. They went gliding away in a waltz, 
 with the smile yet on her lips. The nuisic was so delight- 
 ful ; it was such a pleasure to dance to it. The room was
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 157 
 
 not crowded, there was plenty of space ; the air was fresh 
 and good, from many opened windows ; the lights were 
 bright ; the dancing did not drag. 
 
 " There is but one way for me not to have to give you 
 up ; it is to keep you dancing all the time," said Felix, 
 watching jealously the movements of young Davis, who had 
 been thwarted in many efforts to get near her. 
 
 When the evening was half over, Mrs. Whymple communi- 
 cated to Mrs. Bishop, sitting by her side, in the matrons' 
 row along the wall, that Mr. Varian had not danced with 
 any other person all the evening ; she had counted, and had 
 not missed a dance. Once Mrs. Rothermel had danced with 
 Mr. Davis, and once with that young cousin of the Morrises, 
 and Mr. Varian had stood aloof and watched her, and then 
 darted up and claimed her the moment they had stopped. 
 
 " What do you think of such a state of things as that," 
 Mrs. Whymple said, with suppressed virtue in her voice. 
 " At least they might regard appearances a little.'''' 
 
 " O, nonsense," said Mrs. Bishop, good-naturedly. 
 " They're young and thoughtless ; it's just the amusement of 
 the moment. A month hence and they'll have forgotten all 
 about each other." 
 
 Still she looked a little troubled and wished in her heart 
 that her favorite had had more discretion. " It's a tempta- 
 tion to have such an amiable piece of insignificance for a 
 husband," she reflected, making an excuse for the young 
 beauty, as she watched her, still on Felix's arm, walking up 
 and down the room, while George, radiant and satisfied, 
 walked up and down it too, with Harriet, or some other per- 
 son who was not in demand. 
 
 The evening was half over. Dorla loved dancing so, and 
 was so entirely happy, she wished it had just begun. The 
 music seemed to coax and woo her on from one dance to 
 another and to charm away all feeling of fatigue. They 
 were gliding dowu the room in one of the softest, sweetest 
 waltzes.
 
 158 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " "What a nice partner you are," she said, like a child 
 who has found a play-fellow to its mind. " I had rather 
 dance with you than with any one else I ever saw in all my 
 life." 
 
 Perhaps it was her own words, perhaps it was the too 
 eager look in Felix's eyes as they met hers : but at that 
 moment there flamed through Dorla's heart and conscience, 
 the first knowledge of what had befallen her, and where she 
 stood. It was so sudden, o full, it came like a deadly 
 shock. Before they had reached the end of the room, Felix 
 felt the change in her movement. 
 
 (( You are tired," he said, in a low voice. Then, as he 
 caught sight of her face, " you are ill," he said, alarmed, for 
 she looked strangely different. 
 
 " No, but I don't want to dance any more," she said, in 
 an unsteady voice. Then they walked once more through 
 the room. To the end of her life, Dorla reinembei'ed that 
 walk through the room, while the world seemed reeling 
 around her and everything looked unnatural and terrifying. 
 The eyes of people said such horrible and cruel things to 
 her. It had not seemed warm before, but now she felt 
 suffocated by the light and heat. When they neared the 
 door, Felix said, in a low voice : 
 
 " Let me take you out where it is cooler." 
 
 She said " yes," hurriedly, for she did not dare to trust 
 herself longer where she was. She had left her cloak in a 
 little room of Mrs. Yarian's on the second floor, and there 
 through the outer ball-room circle of maids and errand boys, 
 he led her. He got her cloak and put it about her, and said, 
 " Let me take you to the balcony ; it is cool there and quiet, 
 and you can rest awhile." 
 
 She hardly knew what she did, but followed him out into 
 the air. There was no one on this upper piazza, which was 
 not much used except by the children in the morning, and 
 an occasional solitary reader or seamstress through the day. 
 Felix perhaps remembered this. Dorla remembered noth-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 159 
 
 ing. Her mind was surging and foaming with the tempest 
 that one thought had raised. She sat down mechanically 
 where, he placed her chair, and drew her cloak about her ; 
 the air was chilly after that of the ball-room, but she did 
 not think about the cold. Felix stood near her, leaning 
 against a post that supported the piazza. Neither of them 
 spoke ; her face was white and fixed ; he could see that, 
 partly by the grey shrouded moonlight, and partly by the 
 lamplight from the hall, for on account of this festivity the 
 lamps had been put about abundantly. He knew very well 
 why she looked so. He knew what his eyes had said to her, 
 and that she had awakened from her dream and knew she loved 
 him. His heart was full of passion; he could not speak ; his 
 words would have choked him ; he could only stand and watch 
 her face in silence. He was not even composed enough to 
 wonder what would be the result ; he did not speculate upon 
 her feelings. He was not glad or sorry that the moment had 
 come that had revealed her heart to him and to herself ; he 
 did not feel triumphant or alarmed ; he felt nothing but a 
 hot passion that had risen above thought and apprehension 
 and had covered everything. 
 
 Dorla did not look at him ; you might have thought she 
 did not remember he was there. With one hand holding the 
 cloak about her throat, the other grasping the rail of the 
 balcony, she sat perfectly still, gazing before her with a 
 strange look that was both intent and vacant. But the 
 hand that held her cloak rose and fell with the deep breath 
 she drew. 
 
 The street was very silent ; the village all asleep : a faint 
 breeze stirred the trees, faint sounds of the music from the ball- 
 room came up to them where they were. This poor young 
 woman had unusual power to suffer. When another would 
 have seen only her love, or only her sin, or only the present, 
 she saw all, past, present and future the sin, the danger, 
 the hopelessness. Her imagination was so intense in its 
 power, there was nothing left unlighted by it. At one
 
 160 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 instant she was hard and bitter at the thought of the 
 sacrifice that she had made so honestly and so fatally ; at 
 another she was thrilled to the heart's core by the memory of 
 the innocent happiness that had an hour ago been hers. She 
 was going back into her childhood one moment into her 
 bruised, wounded, tiubright days ; at another, she was 
 reaching forward to gaze at the cruel and impossible path 
 that lay before her in the future. There was a great cry 
 of reproach to Heaven, mingled with many cries for help. 
 And foremost, and before all other things, stood the horrible 
 form of sin. The purity of her nature, the whole teaching of 
 her life, made a great white background for this awful shape. 
 And all this in such stunning quick succession. It was such 
 a moment since she had been happy ; it was such an abyss 
 of sin and sorrow into which she had been plunged. More 
 than half her soul was conscience. " It was not my fault! " 
 she cried in her agony. " O, Save me ! Save me ! How- 
 came I here? How can I get out? Kill me ! anything to 
 stop this pain save me ! save me ! save me ! "' 
 
 She was a coward in one way ; she was afraid of pain ; 
 and to look forward to suffering set her brain on fire. Felix 
 could not see all this on her ashy face. He was not think- 
 ing of the sin, he was not thinking of the future ; his whole 
 soul was filled with her, and it seemed, without the help of 
 thought. How long it was they thus were there, neither of 
 them ever knew ; bye and bye the near silence and the dis- 
 tant sounds were broken by the approach of voices, people 
 speaking as people speak in every-day life. Dorla started 
 and half arose as if she had been suddenly awakened from 
 sleep. Felix moved uneasily and turned his glance from 
 her to the door through which the voices came. Presently 
 two persons appeared in the doorway. 
 
 " What are you two doing here by yourselves ? " cried 
 Harriet, shrilly. And then Dorla saw George beside her. 
 She got up quickly and went to his side, as if for protec- 
 tion.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 161 
 
 " I do not feel well," she said, speaking like a pei-son 
 roused from night-mare. " I want you to take me home." 
 
 " Nonsense," said George, who seemed unusually ani- 
 mated, " no one is going yet. They want a German, or a 
 reel, or something to wind the evening up. Every one is 
 asking for you." 
 
 " Please don't, George," said Dorla, faintly, while Harriet 
 exclaimed above her : 
 
 " It's nonsense to talk of a German, of course ; you ought 
 to have been at that an hour ago, if you had wanted it. 
 But we'd better all go down and have a Lancers, or something 
 short, and let it be understood that that's the end, and send 
 the music off. You're very thoughtless, Felix ; you go away 
 and leave no one to manage anything." 
 
 " Yes, come, that's the best thing to do," said George. 
 " Miss Harriet has promised to dance with me, and we want 
 you two for our vis-a-vis." 
 
 " I really don't feel well enough," said Dorla. " The 
 room is so very warm." 
 
 " O, we've had several more windows opened, and some of 
 the people have gone, and it is very cool and nice," said 
 Harriet, who meant to have her way. 
 
 " But I will sit in the parlor and wait for you. I do 
 not think I'd better " urged Dorla, with a last effort. 
 
 " Why don't you excuse Mrs. Rotherrnel," said Felix, in 
 a low voice. " I don't think she feels well enough to 
 dance." 
 
 The color rushed in a great flood over Dorla's face. It 
 was the first time he had spoken since she knew the full, 
 full truth. Then the blood went back again, and she felt 
 faint and giddy. " Will it be always so when I hear his 
 voice ? " she thought, in that cruel anticipation on which 
 her mind was bent. 
 
 " Why, my dear, you know it's only for a few minutes, 
 and excitement always agrees with you," said her husband. 
 " But still if you are not really able "
 
 162 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 "O, come, Dorla, don't be sentimental," cried Harriet, 
 starting forward. " You can generally bear as much as any 
 one, if you want to do it. Come, let us wind up this pre- 
 cious ball respectably, and then never have another." 
 
 She pushed Dorla before her, and they all went down the 
 stairs. When they reached the ball-room door, Harriet told 
 Felix to go and tell the men to play a Lancers, and then she 
 and George went in the room, and told the people what to 
 do, leaving Dorla alone in the entrance. Mr. Bishop seeing 
 her look very pale, came and took her to a seat, and talked 
 to her till the music began. He saw that there was some- 
 thing amiss, but he was a good, kind man, and did not 
 speculate ; and being unused to tragedy, thought it likely 
 Harriet had been saying something disagreeable. Harriet 
 was equal to anything when she wasn't pleased. The set 
 was forming, and Felix came up and said, with his eyes on 
 the ground 
 
 " I believe we are to dance." Again the blood swept 
 over her face, and back again to her heart. It is to be hoped 
 that no one saw it, but Mrs. Whymple was sitting just be- 
 hind them. Felix offered her his arm, but she did not ap- 
 pear to see it, and they made their way to the top of the 
 room, where their places were. The dance began. Very 
 soon Felix saw his companion had need of all the help that 
 he could give her. The eyes of all the room were on them ; 
 the people sitting en spectateur around the wall, and the 
 dancers in the set before them ; and Dorla saw and felt them 
 all. Her poor face was pale ; the blood had settled in great 
 spots about her throat and neck, her hand shook, and her eyes 
 fell before the gaze that met her on every side. She could 
 not command herself at all ; she forgot the figures in the 
 dance ; she forgot to try even to speak to her companion. 
 " This way ; you are to go over there now ; see, you must 
 take Harriet's hand." This was all the sort of conversation 
 that he attempted with her in that ghastly dance. He had 
 but one thought that she would swoon before them all and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 163 
 
 make a cruel scene. The necessity for taking care of her 
 brought him to his senses, as perhaps nothing else would 
 have done. He looked round upon the people with a defi- 
 ant, easy air ; he chatted with his neighbors as he joined 
 them in the dance ; he even asked Miss Whymple for a 
 waltz, when the set was over. But there was a flush upon 
 his cheek, a restlessness in his eye, a constraint in his niah- 
 ner, that he could not quite conceal from those that looked 
 \ipou him critically. His mother knit her brows, and 
 divided her solicitude between his affairs and a pain in her 
 left shoulder. 
 
 " Poor lad," she thought. " He takes it a little hard. 
 It's a miserable complication. She needn't have married 
 that Rothermel at all. But maybe he wouldn't have cared 
 for her if she hadn't." Then she wondered with equal ear- 
 nestness if that pain were the result of those damp rooms, or 
 if these late hours had upset her digestion in some degree. 
 In any case she meant reform, and should apprise Harriet 
 and Felix to be ready for a move, if in a day or two she 
 found herself no better. " Health comes first," she thought, 
 " and I shall try the sea." 
 
 " What on earth's the matter with you, Dorla ? " cried 
 Harriet, screwing up her eyes. " One would think you'd 
 never danced a Lancers in your life." 
 
 This shocked George, who heard it, quite beyond expres- 
 sion, and he looked anxiously at Dorla, and said low, 
 " Pray, look what you're about. You're making such mis- 
 takes, and every one is noticing." 
 
 This did not lessen her agitation. It seemed to her this 
 horrible scene was to be gone through as a punishment for 
 the vanity and joy with which she had been dancing all the 
 evening, and she was to be a spectacle now because she 
 had desired to be admired before. She need not have 
 blamed herself so much ; it is hard not to feel some pleasure 
 when every one is gazing after you, and whispering, " What 
 a beauty ! " It lies all back of that ; not to put on your
 
 164: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 French dresses, and not to go to places where there's danc- 
 ing and temptation. Finally, the set was over ; and some- 
 how she got her husband's arm, and made him take her from 
 the room. He wished very sincerely he hadn't made her 
 dance, for it was evident that she hadn't done him any 
 credit. He left her with Mrs. Bishop, while he went to see 
 about the horses. 
 
 " You poor child ! " said that kind lady, putting her hand 
 on Dorla's. " You looked tired to death ; these late hours 
 are too much for you." Dorla's voice choked, and she gave 
 a kind of low, hysteric sob, as she clung to her companion's 
 hand ; the voice of kindness touched her so. But that was 
 soon counteracted by the tone of Mrs. Whymple, who 
 pressed up to her side, and made a similar remark. Mrs. 
 Bishop answered for her, and managed to save her till she 
 could command herself. Then George came, and she went 
 away with him, saying faint goodnights to both. Felix 
 went down to the carriage with her cloak, which he handed 
 to George, but he did not go any nearer her, and only bowed 
 to them as they drove away. 
 
 It seemed to Dorla that they drove very slow, that the 
 carriage was close and hot ; only of one thing she could not 
 complain, and that was of the darkness. George was full of 
 interest in the events of the evening ; told her of the envy 
 of this one, of the admiration of that, what he had over- 
 heard, what had been said to him, of that contretemps, of 
 this success. She tried to listen to him, and to make some 
 sort of answers. At last they were at home. She went into 
 the house and up the stairs before him. When he entered 
 the room, she was tearing off the ornaments from her neck 
 and arms, fiercely, as if she loathed them. He caught sight 
 of a fracture in the lowest flounce of her beautiful dress, 
 and stooped, with many lamentations, to examine it. She 
 almost kicked him away with her foot ; at least, she kicked 
 the flounce away, and with it went his hand. He stepped 
 back, looking much annoyed, while Dorla flushed deeply
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 105 
 
 and said in a softened voice, " I beg your pardon, George, 
 only I hate the dress so. You can't think how I hate it." 
 
 Of course, George entered a remonstrance, and then she 
 ceased to listen, and forgot to speak to him till she did 
 something else to hurt him, and had to be humble and speak 
 him fair again. In a little while she . said, pushing her 
 jewelry away into the box, and taking a candle in her hand, 
 while her pretty dress dragged disarranged about her, 
 " My head aches so, George, and I feel so restless, I am 
 going to throw myself on the sofa in the spare-room, and 
 sleep there to-night. It is so much cooler than in this 
 room." 
 
 " Cooler ! " cried George. " Why, it is cold to-night. I 
 don't know what you're talking of." 
 
 When she was fairly in the room, she slid the bolt ; she 
 longed to barricade the door, to pile the furniture before it, 
 to make sure that no one ever could get in. Then she 
 walked restlessly across the room a few times, pushed up 
 the window and leaned out and tried to get some relief from 
 the fresh cold air. But though the night was grey and chill 
 it did not ease the pain she felt. She drew back and pulled 
 the blinds shut after her. Then with a sudden, fierce, low 
 cry of pain, she threw herself upon the sofa and hid her face 
 in her hands. 
 
 There is no use in analyzing such conflicts as these ; it 
 does not take much imagination to follow one so placed 
 through all the windings of her prison house; one could 
 hardly suffer more and be alive. She thought of the dread- 
 ful time when the news of George Rothermel's illness had 
 been brought to her. That had seemed a conflict, but it 
 was nothing when compared to this. Then the bitter clays 
 before her marriage, when she was resolving on the sacrifice. 
 Cut she had never known what happiness was, and the 
 s;icriiic(; looked small; it is so easy to resolve to live for 
 duty when you do not know what pleasure is. She lutd 
 never fancied that she loved any one before; had not wasted
 
 166 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 her heart in that miserable plagiarism of true passion that 
 occupies so many minds in youth. The full sense of surren- 
 der to another, the perfect satisfaction, the complete feeling 
 of companionship these had taken possession of her before 
 she dreamed that they meant love. If she had not been so 
 pure she could not have been so deceived ; if she had been 
 looking out for emblems of that passion of which so many 
 dream incessantly, she would not have been at a loss to find 
 them. But she was like those children who learn their les- 
 son in a play. The play was over ; in bewilderment she 
 finds that written on her heart which all time, cannot efface. 
 
 It is so hard to be just to yoiirself in moments such as 
 these, and to be just to fate. Dorla was apt to accuse her- 
 self, was prone to think her own wrong-doing at the bottom 
 of every trouble ; she tortured herself to .know what she 
 had done to bring this on her. She looked back to the 
 moment, sweeter from the first than all the moments that 
 had gone before in all her life, when she first saw Felix. 
 She went through all the hours that they had spent together, 
 step by step ; a dangerous retrospect, if she had not been 
 bent on self-accusation and remorse. She found herself 
 guilty of vanity, of misspending her time, of shortened 
 hours of devotion, of too much pleasure in the admiration 
 excited by her beauty ; but more than this, even she could 
 not find. 
 
 " How deadly a sin vanity must be," she thought," when 
 it can bring one to such a strait as this." And then she 
 could not help contrasting her life with those of the young 
 women who surrounded her. It did not require much im- 
 agination or much presumption to find them fuller of such 
 sins than hers. " But that is not my business perhaps 
 God means to help me to a higher place, through all this 
 bitter chastisement." But this little bit of saintly wisdom 
 did not at all comfort poor Dorla in her pink dress, and 
 with her fleshly heart all wild with love for Felix. The 
 touch of his hand, the sound of his voice, was more to her
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 167 
 
 than all the palms and crowns of heaven. " Oh, why 
 why ! " she cried with incoherency, going back to the prob- 
 lem of temptation. " I would have been good without it. 
 I meant to be good with all my heart. I did not bring him 
 here. I never asked to see him. I had not a thought but 
 to serve God and to be a faithful wife to George." It is 
 very hard to be coherent when you are frantic with pain. 
 The next moment she was thinking of the yellow curl of 
 hair in the locket Harriet had lent her. She longed for it 
 to have it in her hands, to keep it, to wear it evtjr. " But 
 I must never touch it. 1 must never even look at it again," 
 she moaned. Then she thought that he had nothing that she 
 had ever given him, nothing that she had touched, to keep 
 and wear, in this long lifetime of separation that had come. 
 Yes, there was a rose that had fallen from her hair to-night, 
 that he had claimed and kept. Perhaps at that moment he 
 had it in his hand, had held it to his lips ; for was not this 
 hour to him what it was to her? She covered her face with 
 her hands as she felt the blood rushing through her veins 
 with the bare thought of this. Then, starting up with 
 shame and horror, as she remembered her husband, she tore 
 from her hair the sister rose that clung there still, and 
 threw it from her with a sense of fear. " My God ! " she 
 saicl, kneeling passionately with her forehead on the floor, 
 " let me die if this cannot end. I ask, I pray to die, for 
 there is not any other end." 
 
 Poor child ! She could not believe that any other way 
 could be made for her to escape ; it is diificulfc to have faith 
 when temptation is upon you. 
 
 Whoa she was not fighting away the thought of this 
 unholy love, it seemed to her she was falling into the sin of 
 cowardice, of want of trust in Heaven, of absolute and blas- 
 phemous reproach. She thought of all her prayers, of the 
 hours upon her knees in church ; of all her supplica- 
 tions to be guided, that had resulted in her nuin-ia^u, 
 and she felt her heart grow hard. Then she felt lu:r
 
 1G8 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 helplessness, her utter ruin if she lost her faith, and she 
 melted into tears and prayers again. But in all the tumult 
 of thoughts that came to her, this thought came not : namely, 
 that she might go on in this sin in ever so disguised and 
 subtle a form ; that she might be George's wife, and keep 
 even in thought, even in the whispers of her secret heart, 
 a place of love for Felix. This thought was impossible to 
 her ; it did not even come into her mind. How to cast out 
 this sin, and to free herself forever from its bondage, was 
 her problem and her prayer. She found herself caught, 
 trapped, in a deadly snare ; as she writhed in the sudden 
 torture her whole nature concentrated itself in the effort to 
 escape. If she could have blotted Felix out from her mem- 
 ory and from the future, she would have done it eagerly. 
 
 She did not dally with the thought of him ; she feared 
 him too much now ; she feared herself too much, " her evil, 
 evil heart " poor child. She had that keen and terrible 
 imagination though, that taught her it was not a work that 
 could be done in one moment, at one will. 
 
 " I shall have to meet him, I shall have to hear his name. 
 I shall have to feel that he is alive and walking the same 
 earth with me, and suffering perhaps the same misery that 
 I do." It was this thought that she found herself least able 
 to endui*e : the companionship in Buffering. It always gave 
 her the same thrill and rush of feeling that she had had 
 when she first thought of him cherishing the rose that had 
 fallen from her hair. " I must pray that he may be happy, 
 and that he may marry ; maybe it would help me if he did." 
 But a long space lay between that possibility and now. 
 
 After fancying the poignant and suffering to-morrow, after 
 groping blindly in the blank and dreary future years, sho 
 came back pitifully and humbly to say her evening prayer 
 her evening prayer, while the dawn was struggling 
 through the shutters, and the birds were twittering about 
 the vines outside. It was in keeping with the disarrange- 
 ment and discord of her life, no more out of joint and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 169 
 
 strange than everything looked to her now. She got up 
 and lit another candle from the dressing-table (for the one 
 she had brought in with her had long since burned away 
 without her notice), and kneeling down with her book of 
 devotion in her hand, she said the prayers that she always 
 said at night. This was the room to which she always came 
 for her devotions, for it was seldom used, and on a little 
 table in the corner stood a cross, and by it, her books of 
 prayer. She was worn out and quieted by the excess and 
 length of her emotions ; and everything she did now seemed 
 commonplace, yet strange, by the comparison. She turned 
 over the pages of her book, and i-ead a prayer " For 
 Patience," and then one " In Temptation," and put a mark 
 in at the place, with a humble sigh, knowing this must be 
 daily praying now. Then she got up from her knees and 
 took off her bright dress, and putting on a wrapper, brought 
 a pillow and a blanket from the bed, and lay down on the 
 sofa, putting out the light. She felt as people feel who have 
 seen their dearest die, and yet live ; and who, after a few 
 hours of passion, resume the dull and fettering routine, and 
 go despairing on again. 
 
 HE next day Harriet came ; and the next, the Bish- 
 ops and some other visitors from the hotel, but all 
 they heard was that Mrs. Rothermel was ill, and did 
 not leave her room. And on the third day Dorla came 
 down-stairs, and walked strangely and dreamily out into the 
 open air again. It seemed to her a lifetime since the night 
 she had gone panting up those stairs in her pink dress, with 
 such a tumult of passion in her heart. Everything seemed 
 old to her, old and worn out. Her limbs even ached and 
 made her think of them, as she moved about. Her eyes had 
 a sore, dull pain in them, as if she had shed all the tears that
 
 170 4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 a woman could shed while she lived. Her hands and feet 
 were cold, and she pulled a cloak about her shoulders, which 
 were so chilly she could not understand the brightness of the 
 sunshine and the softness of the air. She looked into the 
 parlor and wondered vaguely how she could ever have seen 
 anything to please her in that cheerless and nncolored room. 
 Ann was dusting it, and putting it in heartless order. She 
 told her to take the flowers away, for they were faded ; and 
 no flowers after that went into those empty vases. 
 
 Then she strayed out into the garden, hoping to get warm. 
 The flowers that she had loved were blooming gorgeously 
 along the path ; but she did not put out her hand to gather 
 one. She saw them, but they gave her no pleasure, raised 
 no feeling of interest in her mind. She passed the bed of 
 ferns that she had watched and sheltered for so many weeks. 
 They were withering and parched for water, but she did not 
 go to get it, or send any one to bring it to them, as it was 
 nothing to her whether they died or lived. All things 
 seemed old and dull and lifeless. She had been patient 
 when George caressed her, but vaguely glad when he had 
 gone away; gentle when his mother busied herself by un- 
 necessary cares about her, but tired, tired of everything. 
 She went into the porch, and sat down awhile, where the 
 sun shone on the step. But presently she heard the 'sound 
 of wheels, and that gave her a vague sense of fright and she 
 got up and crawled away, down among the trees in the 
 orchard. That was all the interest she seemed to have left 
 in life, to hide herself, to get away from people. 
 
 There was a seat in the orchard under one of the old trees. 
 She went through the grass, and reached it and sat down. 
 A favorite kitten followed her and sprang into her lap. 
 " Poor little cat," she said and took it in her hands, more 
 because it warmed her lingers than because she cared about 
 it. The day was beautiful, soft and sunny ; it gave one the 
 sense of the full bright flood of the summer rushing swiftly 
 to its close ; there is such misery in being out of harmony
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 171 
 
 with nature ; in being frozen and chilled and heartless in the 
 midst of such wealth of warmth and sunshine. Presently 
 the kitten saw a moth fluttering above the grass and leaped 
 away to get it, making a pretty play in her pursuit. Dorla's 
 weary eyes followed but a few minutes and then tired. The 
 orchard was at the very foot of the cliffs, the seat at the edge 
 of the cliffs themselves ; a path led down from them about a 
 stone's throw from where she sat, but it was little used, 
 being very steep and rough. It was not long before she 
 heard a stone rattling down from above, and then another, 
 then steps and voices. Some one was coming down the path, 
 was almost upon her. She rose to go, then sat down irreso- 
 lutely. She could not escape except by running, and even 
 then must be seen. And she really felt too weak to walk. 
 Besides it was not likely to be any one she knew ; some stran- 
 ger perhaps, who had been at the Peak, and had stumbled 
 upon this path and followed it down, only knowing that it 
 would lead him to the valley. It was not likely to be any 
 of the hotel people, any of those who knew about her, for 
 they were all gone to-day, according to George's report, on a 
 distant expedition, from which they could not return till 
 night-fall. George had wanted to go himself, had bewailed 
 her illness, and seemed to be really disappointed. His inter- 
 est and pleasure in the small gayeties of the place were on the 
 increase. He could not talk of anything else, and was al- 
 most boyish in his gossip. " I want you to get well, Dorla, 
 and we will have a fote. They are all expecting something, 
 and we must make the effort." He was so much more 
 endurable when he was quiet and grave. Dorla wished 
 Harriet would leave- him alone, and not get him wild about 
 society. It made him seem so small and so provincial. 
 
 The steps approached rapidly ; the voices were those of 
 men ; in a moment she recognized George's, and sat down 
 quieted, for she had a second time arisen to get away. " I 
 thought he went to the village," she thought languidly, and 
 did not even turn her head.
 
 172 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Why, Dorla, are you here," he said, coming up to her. 
 She turned as he spoke and looked up. With him was 
 Felix Varian. She got upon her feet, somehow, and her 
 thought was flight. Impotent, silly thought. She grew very 
 white again and sat down, not having opened her lips to 
 speak, nor having looked a second time at him. 
 
 " You're ill again," said George, in a disappointed, almost 
 a vexed, voice. " I thought you were really better when I 
 left you. I've been promising for you that we'd go to Brink 
 Pond to-morrow. Here is Mr. Varian." 
 
 " Yes," said Dorla, and she panted as if she could not get 
 her breath, looking down upon the grass below them. He 
 stood before her with a deprecating, humbled, almost penitent 
 look, that was mixed with an expression of alarm and dis- 
 tress at her appearance. 
 
 " I met Mr. Varian in the village," continued George, not 
 at all abashed by Felix in these times, for he did not look 
 anything of a swell, " and we concluded we'd take a stroll 
 across the cliffs, and get our guns and go off for the day into 
 the woods." 
 
 " I am afraid we frightened you, coming down so sud- 
 denly," said Felix, when he could command his voice, for he 
 was, in his way, as agitated as poor weak Dovla was in hers. 
 Satisfied and small-souled George went on and filled up all 
 the gap with his discourse. He told Dorla how he had found 
 Felix wandering about alone, having refused to go on the 
 excursion, and by what steps they had been led to settle on 
 the gunning expedition. It was plain he was a little elated 
 with having Felix as his guest and companion for the day. 
 
 " And now sit down," he said, motioning him to the seat 
 by Dorla, " while I go on to the house and get the guns. 
 For I'm sorry to tell you, we've got to go up that path again ; 
 it's the shortest way into the woods." 
 
 " I don't mind the climb at all," said Felix, sitting down, 
 for what else could he do : "but I am afraid we are disturb- 
 ing Mrs. Rothermel."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 173 
 
 " O, no, we're not," said George, comfortably. " She's 
 very glad to have somebody to talk to ; aren't you,Dorla ? 
 I won't be gone five minutes " and away he started for the 
 house. 
 
 Dorla's very hands, as they lay helpless on her lap, were 
 tinted with the crimson that had spread over her face and 
 throat. Felix could hardly look at her ; he had no effrontery 
 now; but he knew that she had turned from pallid white to 
 red, and that her breath was quick, and her lips parted. 
 She was turned a little from him, as she had been sitting 
 when he came, but she did not move an inch, did not stir, 
 except as her breath came and went. He could hear the 
 rustle of the silk lining of her cloak against the back of the 
 seat on which she leaned, as these heavy, quick breaths came. 
 It was a sound almost imperceptible to the sense ; but Felix 
 heard, and felt it, even though his own pulses were rushing, 
 and his hand unsteady. There was such a silence. Felix 
 tried to speak, but his voice would not clear itself ; he sat 
 looking before him, his straw hat in his lap, and in his hand 
 a stem or two of wheat that he had pulled up in some field 
 that they were passing. In the grass at their feet played 
 the kitten ; she caught sight of the yellow wheat moving 
 slightly in his hand, and she jumped at it, and fell, and 
 jumped again. He stooped and put his hand upon her, 
 stroked her, and lifted her up to his knee. 
 
 " Poor little cat," he said, unsteadily ; and then he found 
 his voice. Three minutes of the five that George had said 
 he would be gone, had passed ; and he had not forgotten it. 
 
 " I am sorry that you are not well," he said, and then he 
 looked at her for an instant. Her eyes were on the ground ; 
 she seemed to try to speak and failed, and then she said, not 
 unlike herself, but with agitation : 
 
 " It is nothing ; I think 1 am. quite well." 
 
 " I wanted to know Harriet could not see you that 
 made me think you might be really ill things always seem 
 worse when you cannot hear the truth about them "
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 This was incoherent, but Dorla imderstood it well enough, 
 only too well. The kitten struggled out of his grasp and 
 sprang down and gambolled about the grass, then came back 
 to his feet, and rubbed herself against them to attract his 
 notice. He stooped down and stroked her, and said, 
 without changing his attitude, as he continued absently to 
 fondle her. " lam afraid you had got over tired ; I've been 
 ashamed of myself for being so thoughtless ; but I hope 
 you're not going to be any the worse for it any time." 
 
 " No," said Dorla, almost steadily, as she drew a quick 
 breath, and looked away over the wide, sunny fields. " I 
 hope I shall not be ; but I am not very strong, somehow, 
 and 1 must be more quiet. I am going to be." 
 
 " Of course," he said, glancing half frightened at her, for 
 there was a depth of resolution in her tone, of which she 
 was unconscious. " But it is good for you to be in the open 
 air. You surely are not going to shut yourself up in that 
 house." 
 
 " No I always am a great deal out of doors, but I can- 
 not go on excursions and such things and I hope that 
 George that Mr. Rothermel will not promise for me that 
 I will, for I cannot go. Indeed I am not strong enough. 
 And I hope they will not be sending down for me." This 
 she said hurriedly and almost inaudibly. 
 
 " I will not let Harriet bother you any more," he said, in 
 a low tone. " But I am very sorry. I shall miss that is 
 I mean it was very pleasant all those days " 
 
 That terrible scourge of blood flamed again all over poor 
 Dorla's face and throat ; and a deep dark flush mounted to 
 her companion's very brow, and suffocated his voice. Not 
 another word was said, and it was several minutes before 
 George came back from the house ; unsuspecting, poor small 
 soul, the demon that his absence had called up. He was 
 not very quick in reading faces, and he saw nothing in those 
 before him to excite unusual interest. Dorla indeed, made 
 a movement as if relieved and glad to have him come. But
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 175 
 
 that was no more than was natural, surely. She got up as 
 he approached with the guns in his hand, and so did Felix. 
 
 " Sit down," he said. " Varian, I've told them to bring 
 us out some sherry and a biscuit, for we won't get back to 
 dinner at the ordinary time." 
 
 " I will go in and see about it," said Dorla, faintly, turn- 
 ing towards the house. 
 
 " No, no, stay," he said, pointing to her Iseat. " Stay and 
 see us off. Mother is attending to it. There's nothing you 
 can do." 
 
 " But I was going into the house anyway," said Doi-la, 
 hurriedly. " I am feeling tired good-bye." She tried to 
 glance back at both of them as she said this, but her eyes 
 never reached beyond the level of the seat on which they 
 had been sitting, and she looked so faint and giddy and her 
 movement was so unsteady, that Felix could not help start- 
 ing forward as if to offer her his arm. Then he drew back 
 and half turned away. 
 
 George said, " Don't you feel well, Dorla ? Shan't I go 
 in with you ? " 
 
 " No," she said, hurriedly, already several steps away ; 
 and George, for the moment much more interested in his 
 guns and in his guest, began to talk about them. 
 
 " This is a Manton that my father had when he was a 
 young man ; and this is a gun I bought before I went to 
 college, both fair pieces in their way. You must take your 
 choice. I'm sorry we haven't any better." 
 
 George felt very conscious of the importance of the fact 
 that his father had had a Manton, and that he had been to 
 college, and he could not be expected to know that Felix 
 was not listening to him, but was watching covertly the 
 progress of Dorla to the house. On her way she passed the 
 servant carrying the tray of luncheon ; to which she did not 
 seem to give a glance, and Felix saw her disappear into the 
 house. Then he wished the guns and the luncheon and the 
 host at the bottom of the sea, and raged inwardly at the bon-
 
 176 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 dage he was in to them. But soon he reflected it was part 
 of the matter that he should come back there to dinner, and 
 so he managed to be as " mild mannered a gentleman " as 
 was befitting and was wise. 
 
 At four o'clock that afternoon, old Mrs. Rothermel came 
 bustling into Dorla's room (a faint bustle to be sure, for she 
 was always gentle and unoffending), and said, " Come, my 
 dear, they have got back, and the dinner is going on the 
 table, and George is asking for you." 
 
 " I can't go down, dear mother, really I cannot. Make 
 some excuse for me to George." 
 
 " I am afraid, dear, it will hurt his feelings if you don't. 
 He seemed to think it odd you weren't down looking out 
 for them." 
 
 " He has forgotten that I am not well. Say that to him ; 
 and that I am lying down to rest." 
 
 " He's so afraid of offending this young gentleman," said 
 the mother, doubtfully. 
 
 " He needn't be afraid," returned Dorla, turning her 
 scornful face down on the pillow for an instant, then raising 
 it, kissed her mother-in-law. " You know I would, if it were 
 possible, dear mother. Tell George so, if he asks about me." 
 
 " Do you think he will expect me to be at the table with 
 them ? " asked the mother, hesitatingly, still in awe of the 
 city people when called upon to meet them. 
 
 " No, I should think not," said Dorla. " They know 
 we've had our dinner hours ago. Only see that Ann takes 
 them everything in order." 
 
 " O, I'll see to that," said the mother. " Everything 
 is very nice; but I never know about city people's ways." 
 
 "Don't be afraid," said Dorla. "Your ways are good 
 enough for any one." 
 
 Then the mother, comforted, went down stairs, and Dorla 
 heard her going softly to the dining-room to make sure that 
 nothing was out .of order or wanting to the comfort of her 
 beloved George. The dinner at which she had been at work
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 177 
 
 for hours, was going hot on the daintily spread table ; and 
 soon Dorla heard George and Felix enter the room. She 
 got up and crept to the door, and shut it ; she did not want 
 to hear, nor to remember who was in the house. She went 
 back to the bed, and lay down, and tried to read Scupoli's 
 book. It had been dear to her, and sacred in the times past, 
 but now it failed to touch or reach her. She turned back 
 to the little memoir in the front of it, and read that ; and 
 something in it swelled her heart with something like feeling. 
 She thought of that dear servant of God, in his frightful 
 combat of twenty-five years' length, and of the reality of 
 his victory, and of the patience with which he had lain 
 down beneath the rod, and given up all earthly hope and com- 
 fort. Here was something tangible ; what seemed so impos- 
 sible to her had been done. 
 
 " This is what I must do I must read people's lives that 
 have conquered ; I am too hungry and wild to bear with 
 maxims and sentiments ; I must see what has been done." 
 And sitting up, with eager, feverish hand, she wrote out a 
 list of books that she meant to read. Some she had, and 
 some she meant to send for. She wrote the letter ordering 
 them ; then searched for the ones she had ; then went back 
 to the bed, and at last, tired out by the effort, fell asleep for 
 a little while. 
 
 When she waked, it was almost twilight ; she started up, 
 uncertain of the hour and place ; she went to the window ; 
 a sound of voices on the porch below, and the scent of cigars, 
 told her that Felix was not yet gone, and that she had not 
 out-slept temptation. Then she went away, and threw her- 
 self upon her knees, and wept and wondered when it would 
 ever, ever end. Bye and bye her mother-in-law came up, 
 and Dorla clung to her almost piteously in her loneliness. 
 She longed so to speak to some one ; she was one who could 
 have really lightened her burden by speech. But here was 
 the kindest, tenderest soul, and she must never ask her to 
 pity her, and must never let her know what she endured.
 
 178 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Stay up here a little while," she said, for she was grow- 
 ing afraid of herself, '*' and let us talk a little, I'm so 
 lonely." 
 
 " My dear ! " said the mother, with solicitude, " I've been 
 wanting to come up, but I was afraid of troubling you. I 
 thought you wanted to be alone." 
 
 " I don't want to, now," said Dorla, restlessly. " It's so 
 weary to think the same things all day long. Let's talk 
 about what we're going to do. Mother, I want to tell you 
 something. I feel I shall be happier if I have something to 
 do. I want you to teach me to do something useful, to be 
 busy in the house. You see it is my duty." 
 
 " O, my dear ! You are not fit to do this sort of thing. 
 You had better leave all that to me. You know I can't do 
 anything better." 
 
 " Nor can I," said Dorla. " I am of no use to any one 
 in the world, and am a torment to myself. O, don't say no 
 to that ; you don't know. But I am going to learn to be use- 
 ful. You shall teach me to cook things. Let me see. To- 
 morrow morning we'll begin. You'll show me after break- 
 fast, just how, to the very least thing, you get everything 
 made for dinner, and I'm going to have a blank book I'll 
 take my new journal I'm never going to use it any more 
 and write down everything. Yes and we'll look .over the 
 towels, and sheets, and all the linen and make lists. It's 
 very good to have lists, isn't it ? I think I've heard it 
 was." 
 
 " I never had any," said Mrs. Rothermel, meekly. " I 
 always remembered." 
 
 " O, I am sure I couldn't, and now I'm going to help 
 about the housekeeping ; don't you think it would be 
 better ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it would," Mrs. Rothermel said, with a little 
 sigh, very much bewildered. 
 
 " Then we will have regular sets of everything, and 
 give them out just so often. And don't you want me to
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 179 
 
 keep the accounts for you, mother ? I could do that, you 
 know." 
 
 " O, my dear, George does that ; he always has done it 
 siuce his father died." 
 
 " But I could relieve him, maybe." 
 
 " He likes it, my dear ; I think it would trouble him 
 to give it up, and he hasn't very much to do, you know." 
 
 Dorla sighed ; she did not see that she was very much 
 needed in the household, but she determined to keep up 
 her effort, and talked and made plans till her mother, 
 poor lady, was much oppressed by it. All this time she 
 was trying not to hear the voices in the porch below : 
 trying not to think that Felix was watching for her. 
 When at last she heard the gate shut, and knew that he 
 was gone, the relief was so great she could have cried. 
 She had felt his nearness, and had held herself in such 
 sharp tension, it was like resting after suffering. 
 
 The next morning she went about her plan of work. 
 But, poor child, she had not much heart in it. She was 
 so weary, and alas, so easily irritated. It seemed to her 
 she hated all who came near her, even her dear, old 
 mother. The details of her work were endless ; she had never 
 dreamed there were so many steps to be taken, so much 
 work to be done about one paltry, simple, country meal. 
 Six things to be remembered about making an insignifi- 
 cant custard, and ten, twenty, about stuffing and roasting 
 a pair of fowls. And all the time her mother looked 
 troubled, and the servants were quite thrown out of their 
 course, and she knew she was very much in the way. But 
 she persevered for several hours, and wrote down all the 
 uninteresting details in her memorandum book, and made 
 her head ache cruelly. She went to bed, and of course, could 
 not eat any of the dinner, and it was so much less good than 
 usual, owing to the many cooks, that George was a little 
 out of temper. 
 
 In the afternoon, he took her to drive ; when they got
 
 180 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 back, Tim told him Mr. Varian had been there to take him 
 out with his " fast horse." Tim thought it a great pity he 
 was out ; he shared in George's admiration for the fast horse 
 and Mr. Varian. Felix had given him some money, and 
 Tim was not accustomed to the gifts of fortune. In the 
 evening, George went to the village, not quite reconciled to 
 the idea that Dorla was not well enough to go. He came 
 back in high spirits, having evidently been patted on the 
 back by the gay people, aud full of messages for Dorla, 
 inquiries and regrets. He was replete with gossip and plans 
 of gaiety. 
 
 " Really, Dorla, you must exert yourself a little ; we're 
 falling all behind, my dear. You know you're always better 
 for excitement. All you want is the energy to make the 
 effort. I never saw you look better than you did last week, 
 and you kept going all the time." 
 
 He had made an engagement to go out with Varian gun- 
 ning in the morning ; Yarian would be down at nine o'clock, 
 and they would be back to dinner, probably, at four. 
 George was talking, as he pulled off his boots, about what 
 had better be made for dinner, as if it was a very important 
 matter. 
 
 " Something better than we had to-day, I hope," he said. 
 " I'd never hold up my head again, if Yarian chanced on 
 such a wretched failure." 
 
 In the morning Dorla did not get up, and had a cup of 
 tea brought to her room. The two men went away at half- 
 past nine ; she heard all the preparations, all the talking in 
 the hall below ; for everything was so still about the place, 
 and the door would not keep out the sound. After they had 
 gone, she got up and dressed, and went down to her weary 
 lesson in the kitchen. This time she only looked on, and 
 did not ask to give any practical assistance. At one o'clock 
 she had a light dinner with her mother-in-law, the strength 
 of the kitchen being reserved for the four o'clock repast, and 
 at half-past three, according to a plan she had formed the
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 181 
 
 night before, she got into the pony-carriage, and drove her- 
 self towards Dingman's. George's last command had been 
 that they should be ready for him at four. Mrs. Rothermel 
 looked doubtful and unhappy at Dorla's going out, but that 
 could not be helped. She should make the best of it to 
 George, but she could not think what it all meant. To be 
 sure Dorla was going on an errand of mercy, so to speak ; 
 but why she should not have chosen some other day and 
 hour troubled her extremely. 
 
 Dorla got into the little carriage, shaking all over with 
 fear. She was a coward, and she had no confidence in 
 Jenny. Her lips were white, and her hands and feet were 
 cold. She longed to take Tim at the last moment ; but Tim 
 had orders from George to be " on hand " at four o'clock, 
 and besides the carriage held but two, and her present busi- 
 ness was to take a sick girl out to drive. " If I break her 
 neck it will be doubtful charity," thought Dorla, as she 
 started down the hill, hardly seeing the way before her for her 
 dazzled fear. But Jenny went very soberly, and before she 
 reached the small house by the roadside, where the girl lived, 
 she felt more steady in nerve. 
 
 This girl was the only object of charity poor Dorla could 
 find in all the country. She had been faithful in her visits 
 to her, rather over-doing the matter in fact ; but what are 
 people to do when the poor appear to have ceased out of the 
 land ? Nobody wanted anything ; it was very hard on her. 
 She was very glad there were so many ferns ; but she would 
 have liked a few poor people. These were her reflections 
 when she was first acquainting herself with her new home. 
 Melvina, as a sole object of her sympathy, was miserably un- 
 interesting. She was very ill to be sure, but very wearisome 
 in talking of her illness, very selfish, and possessing no fine 
 feelings. She would not read the good little books Dorla 
 brought her, but preferred illustrated papers and very com- 
 mon ones at that. Sho did not appreciate the bouquets 
 Dorla made for her, and would eat things that were very in-
 
 182 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 digestible. She did not dare to sing her hymns, for some of 
 the family were always in the room, and were very unde- 
 votional. She finally gave xip all attempts upon her soul, 
 and confined herself to bringing her good things to eat, and 
 taking her out to drive occasionally. This drive Avas a long 
 promised and important one ; many times it had been planned 
 but the invalid had not been well enough to go. To-day 
 was one of her good days, and she had sent word by the mes- 
 senger that she would be ready. They were to go to Ding- 
 man's, cross the ferry, and spend the afternoon at the house 
 of a married sister of the girl's in " Jersey," returning before 
 evening. 
 
 It was quite an event in the family ; poor Melvina had not 
 been to her sister's in two years, and would in all probability 
 never go again. She was feverishly excited (and rather 
 cross) when Dorla drove up to the door. Her sharp-voiced 
 mother, and her idle half-grown brothers and sisters shared 
 in the excitement and the crossness. They did not treat 
 Dorla with any particular courtesy or respect, after the man- 
 ner of Americans on their native heath, and she always felt 
 much abashed in their presence and not at all comfortable. 
 She was very glad to get away. 
 
 " Now, Melvina, we are going to have a nice time," she 
 said, cheerfully, as they started off. 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the girl, ungraciously. 
 " If the sun comes out hot, it's sure to make my head ache 
 awful ; and I never liked those ferries." 
 
 Dorla laughed ; Melvina must have such a funny code of 
 manners, it amused her to think of persons who could as a 
 rule, say such things to those who were bestowing favors on 
 them. It grew rather tiresome after awhile, but there was, 
 amid her fretfulness and the trouble occasioned by her really 
 suffering state, an occasional touch of pathos in her eager in- 
 terest in some land-mark, familiar and forgotten by those 
 that passed it every day, in her evident strangeness to these 
 scenes immediately surrounding her poor home. For three
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 183 
 
 years she had been bound to a bed of pain, in that "wretched 
 place, and had forgotten many details in all that weary time ; 
 how wide the river was at one point, how " scant " the 
 brook seemed as they crossed the bridge over the Conne- 
 shaugh, how close the trees grew to the road. It gave Dorla 
 a pang to think this was, with scarcely a doubt, the last 
 earthly journey that the poor soul would ever go, and so 
 unready for the unearthly one, alas. In her present state 
 of feeling, Dorla could not think with sorrow of going, if 
 only one were ready ; a bitter tangled conflict, she was sick 
 with fear of its results. 
 
 When they reached the river, and crossed on the rope 
 ferry, she had to master her fears and stand by the horse's 
 head, for poor Melvina was aghast at all the perils of the 
 way, and wished herself home, without reserve. Jenny was 
 much quieter than usual, and the duty of extending protec- 
 tion to Melvina had in some way strengthened her nerves ; she 
 was quite assured. 
 
 " Now that was not so bad," she said, as they drove up 
 the green bank under the trees. " No accident ever has 
 happened there, and you won't mind, going back, I'm sure." 
 Melvina wasn't sure and said so. The road was very heavy, 
 and the sun was very hot, but in the course of twenty minutes, 
 they reached the farm house where the sister lived, and 
 were made duly welcome by an irregular battalion of un- 
 combed children and a yellow dog. Before Melvina was 
 out of the carriage, the sister appeared, a hollow-chested, 
 heavy-eyed, yellow-skinned woman, who was thirty, and 
 looked forty-five. She devoted her life to the making of un- 
 wholesome pastry, and the copying of patterns out of fash- 
 ion books, so that the lean kiue who called her mother 
 might go to the white meeting-house on the hill once a week, 
 clothed with merino intricately braided, with Marabout 
 feathers in their hats, and their stomachs filled with buck- 
 wheat cakes and doughnuts. 
 
 The children, in all stages of shabbiness, stood around, and
 
 184 4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 distracted their mother's attention from the poor sufferer ; 
 she could do nothing biit apologize. They went into the 
 house, into a wretched, damp, shut up " best room." 
 
 " O, don't," said poor Melvina, with a shudder. " Let's 
 go into the sittin' room ; she ain't one that minds." 
 
 Dorla urged this, and they went into the familiar well-used 
 and not over-tidy room, where the sewing machine stood, at 
 which the poor mother woi-e her life out in the manufacture 
 of spurious finery for her ill-taught children. Then Dorla, to 
 leave the sisters together, went out with the children to the 
 orchard, and strayed on to the woods, and did not come back 
 till the horn was blown for supper. This meal was so ill- 
 cooked, and viciously evil, she could only pretend to partake 
 of it, but Melvina ate voraciously and indiscriminately, and 
 there were packed into the pony-carriage, for her further de- 
 lectation, two jars of pickles, a bottle of maple syrup and some 
 hideons fruit-cake. 
 
 There were many delays in starting ; it was a good deal 
 later than Dorla meant when they got off; and they crossed 
 the much dreaded rope ferry in the grey of the twilight. It 
 was about this time Melvina began to feel the reaction from 
 the excitement of the visit, and possibly some protest of na- 
 ture against the outrage that had been put upon her in the 
 matter of the tea. She began to cry, and to say she felt 
 sure that she was going to die. As nothing was more 
 probable than that she would die soon, and suddenly, Dorla 
 was in terror ; it was a strange experience, driving along the 
 dusky, lonely road, perhaps with Death as her companion. 
 They met no one ; and whenever anything was said about 
 stopping for assistance at one of the straggling farm-houses 
 near the road, the poor girl moaned and begged her to go on, 
 to get her home before she died. She was plainly in great 
 anguish, enduring one of those strange, nameless agonies, 
 which seem to the sufferer like death, and are perhaps more 
 terrible. Dorla was very inexperienced in sickness, and very 
 sympathetic ; she seemed standing at the very threshold of
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 155 
 
 the tmknown, as she held the poor child in her arms, and 
 tried to reassure her. 
 
 " It is so awful," moaned the sufferer, as she gasped for 
 breath. 
 
 t( What is so awful ? " said her companion, longing to get 
 the clue to her sensations. 
 
 " f don't know everything it's like going down down 
 sinking away it's a dark, dark place." 
 
 " And where is the pain you suffer most ? " said Dorla, in 
 her healthy ignorance. 
 
 " I don't have any pain," cried the girl, in a horror. " It's 
 my feelings it's something in me it isn't my back and my 
 head and all that. It's like being frightened, only there's 
 nothing happened, and I never can get used to it." 
 
 " Were you ever so before," said Dorla. Yes, she had 
 been so before, only this was worse. But then she said 
 honestly, she always thought it was worse, and it never 
 seemed just alike. Poor creature ! The doctor being a strong 
 healthy man, held these attacks in great contempt, and left 
 chloral and other poison to be given to her, not because he 
 thought her sufferings worthy even of this treatment, but 
 to prevent the possibility of his comfortable sleep being 
 broken up some night by a summons to her bedside. Her 
 mother soon lost patience with her, never having had any 
 experience that way herself; the children even ceased to 
 mind when she was moaning and crying in her nameless 
 agony, clutching some one by the wrist, and praying that 
 they would not go away and leave her by herself. As she 
 said, she never could get used to it. It was as awful now, 
 as when it first came ; there was always a fresh fearfulness 
 spread over the old experience ; she promised herself next 
 time she would not be so frightened ; but next time it was 
 as bad or worse. She was unimaginative and ignorant; a 
 very clod ; if she had been a fine lady, she would have been 
 counted full of affectation, and a hypocrite, trying to play 
 on the sensibilities of those around her. When it came to
 
 186 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 bearing a sharp pain, she was as good and dogged as any- 
 body, and wanted to be " let alone ; " but she cried out for 
 human help when these attacks came on. That might have 
 shown to any one of common sense that they were more real 
 than reality itself, but it was her misfortune to be surrounded 
 by very blunt, coarse people. Dorla, perhaps, was the first 
 person who had entered with her into the cloud, and pitied 
 her with all her tender soul, though as ignorant as they of 
 the mysterious visitation. There was something in the close, 
 firm grasp of her hand, the pity and gentleness of her voice, 
 that gave her as much help as could be given by any one. 
 She asked her no more questions, but acquiesced iu the dire 
 conflict, and assured her that she would stay by her till it 
 was over, and that they would soon be home. 
 
 All this time, Jenny was going steadily and irreproach- 
 ably, Dorla driving with one hand, and not always that; 
 the twilight was long, but the road was very lonely. Bye 
 and bye they met a wagon-load of men, laughing and shout- 
 ing in drunken hilarity; there, was still light enough to see 
 them when they came side by side. Strange to say, they did 
 not notice the little carriage, being in a tipsy wrangle about 
 a seat. Dorla breathed freer when they were out of hear- 
 ing. She was not afraid as she ordinarily was, but oppressed 
 by some vague and mysterious dread, that made these more 
 prosaic dangers dim. Still, the deepened twilight, and the 
 solemn silence, and the distance from human help, all had 
 their effect in awing her. 
 
 It seemed very, very long before the welcome light in the 
 window of Melvina's home appeared. The poor girl was re- 
 lieved by the sight for the moment, but her nervous suffer- 
 ing was too great to be forgotten long, and when they reached 
 the gate, the little sister on the watch for them called out 
 the unwelcome news to her mother, that Melvina had one 
 of her bad "attacks." These "attacks" always roused a 
 spirit of rebellion in the tender mother ; she flounced and 
 jerked a good deal, for a Florence Nightingale, and put her
 
 A PERFECT ;1DON18. 187 
 
 lips together in a steely manner. After the delinquent had 
 been got into the house and into her bed, she tossed some 
 chloral into a glass, which she had to drink " at her peril." 
 Thou she warned Mrs. Kothermel she'd better go, as Melviua 
 needed quiet, and Melvina told her briefly that she had, be- 
 ing quite cowed by her mother. When she got to the door, 
 however, the poor tiling called her back and whimpered a 
 good deal, but the mother was peremptory. She did not 
 want to be kept up all night ; it might be the case if the 
 blessed chloral was not allowed to do its work. So Dorla 
 had to go, with the consent again of Melvina, who called her 
 back the second time to make her promise in a whisper, that 
 she'd come to her if she sent for her any time when she was 
 " bad," even if it were at night. 
 
 A small urchin, with tan-colored hair, no color now in the 
 dimness, had been holding Jenny's head. When Dorla got 
 into the carriage and took the reins, she called him up close 
 to her, and asked him in a low tone if he wouldn't be very 
 good to his poor sister, who was so sick and suffering ; and 
 he laughed and seemed to think it was a good joke, and 
 said " that wasn't much ; " but maybe he was impressed. 
 
 Dorla shuddered, and drove away. They all seemed 
 brutes to her, and poor Melvina's strait a frightful one. 
 She forgot how irritable and unlovely the creature really 
 was ; all her heart had gone out to her, since she had been 
 the companion of her sufferings, and since she had clung to 
 her so pitifully. The reality of the great end, the strange 
 nearness and yet distance of the unknown life to come, filled 
 her with solemn thought. She forgot the lateness of the 
 hour, the loneliness. 
 
 The horse was going on at her own pace. Just at the as- 
 cent of a little hill, from the path beside the road, some one 
 seemed to come out from the darkness, almost upon her, 
 before either were aware. Dorla started, and repressed a 
 low cry. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel," said a voice, and Felix stood by the
 
 188 -4. PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 side of the carriage. Jenny halted, maybe it was because 
 she was glad of any excuse going up the hill ; maybe her 
 mistress' start had reacted on the reins ; maybe she thought 
 it was good manners to stop when any one came up to talk 
 to people in the carriage. 
 
 " I'm glad to find you safe," he said, hurriedly. " It is very 
 late for you to be out all alone." 
 
 " Is it," said Dorla, strangely, coming back into her 
 world. " I do not mind it now. I wasn't thinking about 
 being frightened." 
 
 " But you ought to mind it is not right, it is not safe," 
 he said, in a sort of wrath, as people worked up by suspense 
 and search are apt to speak. " It should not be allowed I 
 am astonished I it is wild, this sort of carelessness you 
 don't know the danger yourself, but others ought to know it 
 for you. Promise me you won't do this again." 
 
 " I can't do that," said Dorla slowly, thinking of her 
 promise to poor Melvina to go to her " any time " if she was 
 very bad. She thought it not unlikely she might be called 
 to her again this very night, and she should surely go. 
 
 " You cannot ! " he said under his breath. " Then it is 
 because " 
 
 ''It is because," she said quickly, taking the words from 
 him, "it is because I have promised a poor sick girl to go 
 to her when she needs me. And she might send at night." 
 
 " But you need not go alone." 
 
 " No, only it might happen." 
 
 " But you don't know the danger. A crowd of drunken 
 men passed down this road not half an hour ago." 
 
 " They did not even look at me," said Dorla with a little 
 scorn. 
 
 " You are almost like a child," said Felix, hotly. And 
 the sight of his anger, which had come of his solicitude and 
 suspense, smote Dorla with a terrible and dangerous pang. 
 A strange spasm came about her throat; she was fright- 
 ened now. Felix stood close by the carriage step. She
 
 A PERFECT AD01TI& 189 
 
 knew in another moment he would get in beside her and be 
 her companion through the two miles that lay between her 
 and her home. With a sudden resolution, she touched the 
 reins. 
 
 " Good-night, if it is so late," she said, in a smothered 
 voice, and drove away, leaving him standing bewildered by 
 the roadside. She could almost see the fire that leapt from 
 his eyes as he drew back. 
 
 " It is best," she said to herself, again and again, " it is 
 best that I should offend him that I should seem rude and 
 ungentle to him, hardly like a lady." But all the same it 
 left her heart as sore and wounded as if it had not been 
 best. 
 
 When Dorla reached the house, she was met by George, 
 who seemed to be waiting for her at the gate. He met her 
 with much mild affection, and said she was very late and he 
 had begun to be uneasy. 
 
 " Didn't you meet Varian ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why didn't you bring him back with you ? He went to 
 look for you." 
 
 " Why didn't you come for me yourself? " said Dorla, 
 almost fiercely, as she got out of the carriage. 
 
 " I ? Why Tucker had just come in to see me about the 
 winter wheat, and I had to attend to him, and Varian said 
 he'd go, he seemed so restless walking up and down the path, 
 and so he went. I knew of course you were all right." 
 
 Dorla went into the house, her brain in a tumult ; she 
 did not stay to listen to his justification. " He will be com- 
 ing back," she said to herself, " and George will watch for 
 him, and speak to him, and bring him in. Where shall I 
 hide myself?" 
 
 But she need have had no apprehension. Felix was 
 striding across the fields, as far from the house as he could 
 go, angry and bitter, trying to make himself believe he 
 never would speak to her again.
 
 190 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 The next day was a long one ; Dorla had one of her 
 frightful headaches. She lay on the bed with the room 
 darkened till you could not see your way across it, and 
 nobody must speak a loud word, or shut a door in less 
 than five minutes. She hated acutely and viciously every 
 one in the world, Felix included. The highest virtue that 
 she could set for herself was to be silent when any one 
 came near her. Every vein ran fire ; she felt as if liquid 
 pain circulated through her entire body once in every two 
 minutes. She did not care what went on outside her room ; 
 people might smoke their cigars now and wait for her ; 
 might live and love and die, and she was indifferent and 
 more. But she was young and vigorous, and these head- 
 aches lasted a less time than they did with older women. 
 At night she almost always slept, worn out by the horrid 
 battle, and the next morning awoke, pale and languid and 
 depressed, but in no suffering. As the day wore on, she 
 would gradually regain her tone of nerve, her appetite, her 
 interest in what went on around her, recovering in a day 
 what would have been the work of a week with a less 
 healthy woman. 
 
 It was on the third day; she had gone out about five in 
 the afternoon, to sit under the trees near the gate, still pale 
 and weary, but as it were awakening. She had almost for- 
 gotten Felix, she had been EO occupied with herself, poor 
 thing. She had not heard his name, and did not know whether 
 he had been at the house. She had a book in her hand, but 
 she could not read ; her eyes had a sore hurt feeling, from 
 the pain of the two days past, and so she sat idle, with her 
 hands in her lap, two fingers between the pages that she had 
 not energy to read, her head leaned back against the tree 
 under which she sat. She heard the sound of wheels, 
 and looking up, along the road not ten feet from her, passed 
 what, for her peace, she had better not have seen ! It was 
 Felix, in his high wagon, driving his fast horse ; and beside 
 him sat a young woman, one whom Dorla had never seen
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 191 
 
 before, as young as Dorla herself, and prettier perhaps. 
 She had light hair, and wore a charming sort of French hat, 
 all white chip, and blue bows and pink roses. She looked 
 as if she had come down off a Dresden vase, to dazzle 
 poor sick Dorla's sight, and to carry away Felix from her. 
 It is surprising how much you can see in a minute ; but 
 if you are looking with all your senses as Dorla was, you 
 can carry away a pretty strong impression. Felix was lean- 
 ing towards this pink and blue divinity; she had all the co- 
 quetry and complacency imaginable in her face as she half 
 turned from him, but only half. During the moment in 
 which they had flashed before her gaze, she felt that she 
 had read the whole story. They were so absorbed that 
 the young lady did not see her at all. Felix as an after 
 thought, an interruption, turned his head in the direction 
 of the house, saw her, and lifted his hat. The gesture 
 caught his companion's attention, she started and turned 
 to look at whom he bowed, but it was too late, for they 
 were already past the house. 
 
 Dorla started up, and in a sort of anger hurried to the 
 house, trembling all over. 
 
 " They will be coming back in a few mimites, and they 
 shall not see me," she cried to herself. These headaches 
 leave one petulant and childish. Dorla flung herself upon 
 her bed and cried. " I only want to be left alone," she said. 
 t( Why did he come this way ? I want him to be happy, 
 but I want to be let alone myself. I don't want to see him, 
 I don't want to hear about him. I don't want to be tortured 
 in this way forever. O, if George would only take me away 
 from here awhile ! " Then she wished the headache back. 
 If it had only been yesterday, she would not have cared. 
 
 Bye and bye they came back; she heard the wheels a long 
 way off down the road, and she sprang up and started to 
 the window, and then went back as suddenly, and pressed 
 her hands before her eyes. For she had bound herself by a 
 vow never to look at him voluntarily. If she had looked,
 
 192 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 she would have seen he gazed intently towards the house 
 this time, and that he drove slowly while he passed it, and 
 that his companion looked a shade less radiantly happy. 
 But she did not look ; poor, frantic, petulant child, she 
 tried to say her prayers, but she did not feel much like 
 praying. Fortunately, to have our prayers heard it is not 
 always necessary to feel like praying ; else the devil would 
 only have to stir us up with some temptation and take our 
 prms away. 
 
 The next day at dinner, George said, " I've heard a piece 
 of news." And Dorla knew what the news was as soon as 
 he had said the words. She turned rather white ; but she 
 had gone a long way since Felix drove by with the pink and 
 blue enchantress in the afternoon sunshine of yesterday. 
 She was not jealous any more, only a little bitter, and very 
 much ashamed and humbled. 
 
 " Varian has plunged into a violent flirtation, and they 
 think it is in earnest now. This is an old flame ; somebody 
 he met in Europe. They say she has followed him up, and 
 doesn't mean to let him slip. Harriet is quite excited." 
 
 " Does she like her? " Dorla said, quite calmly. 
 
 " Yes, I believe so. At any rate she seems much pleased, 
 and Mrs. Yarian has quite set her heart upon it. She has 
 a good deal of money, and it is altogether just the thing for 
 him." 
 
 " I shouldn't think the Yarians needed money urgently," 
 said Dorla, coldly, putting some sauce upon the plate of 
 pudding that she handed to her husband. 
 
 " I don't suppose they do, but the more people have the 
 more they always want, I've noticed." And he said it as if 
 nobody had ever said it before him. Seeing Dorla some- 
 what interested, he went on to tell her her rival's name, her 
 age, what people said about her, how Felix had shown his 
 devotion, how the family were showing theirs. 
 
 " And we ought to do something for them," said George,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 193 
 
 deeply convinced that he owed a duty to society. " That 
 f&te now ; something to make it pleasant for her." 
 
 " O, spare me ! " cried Dorla, with a hard ring in her 
 voice, pushing back her chair, and making a little gesture of 
 protestation with her hands. She could not help thinking 
 this fortunate young woman had enough to make it pleasant 
 for her already. George resigned his plate of pudding (he 
 was something of a gourmand, and it cost him quite an 
 effort), and got up and followed Dorla, who had arisen from 
 the table. He wanted to get her up to the point of doing 
 something in the way of entertainment. 
 
 " The Varians have done a great deal for you, Dorla," he 
 said, insinuatingly. " I can't help thinking it would be 
 well to make them some return." 
 
 " I am not overwhelmed with gratitude for what they've 
 done ' for me," she answered, standing in the door of the 
 hall with her back to him, and looking moodily out into the 
 sunny yard. 
 
 " Well, I am, if you are not," he said, with a little feeble 
 pomp. '* They have shown me great courtesy ever since 
 they knew me ; and I feel a desire to offer them some 
 hospitality. This is just the occasion; here is this young 
 lady who, in all probability, is engaged to Felix, or soon 
 will be. She is a stranger here ; of course, it's very dull 
 for her in this quiet little place. She has just come from 
 Newport, and must feel the difference." 
 
 " Why did she come then, if she objects to quietness and 
 littleness ? She must like it, or she would not stay." 
 
 " I didn't say she didn't like it ; but that is not the point. 
 The point is that the Varians want to entertain her, and 
 help the thing along, and we have it in our power to give 
 them some assistance. Now, I am not speaking from conjec- 
 ture ; Harriet said as much to me this morning." 
 
 " She did ? " cried Dorla, quite virago-like, turning round 
 upon him. " She did ? then you may say to her, she may 
 wait a long while for me to ask her here. I have had
 
 enough, of Harriet Yarian. She had better leave me alone. 
 That is all I ask." 
 
 George essayed to look profoundly shocked, but did look, 
 in reality, very angry. 
 
 " You are talking very strangely," he said with dignity, 
 " and I do not understand you." 
 
 " I do not expect you to," she said briefly. 
 
 " You are quarrelling with your best friends," he resumed 
 stiffly, " and that does not look well for you." 
 
 " Heaven knows I haven't so many that I can indulge 
 in quarrelling for the pleasure of it," cried Dorla. bit- 
 terly. 
 
 "Well, that is just what you are doing," said her 
 husband. 
 
 " No," she said suddenly, with a softening of her voice ; 
 " no, George, I find no pleasure in it, and I do not want to 
 quarrel with you ever. Harriet "Varian is not my friend, 
 and has only done me injury. If I had never seen her I 
 should be a happier woman. She is dangerous, self-willed 
 and capricious. She only lives for pleasure, and uses reck- 
 lessly all who will be used by her. She has no depth of 
 feeling, no refinement; she would sacrifice anybody's hap- 
 piness for an afternoon's amusement. All that gives her 
 any power or consequence, is her strong self-will, and her 
 abundant money. Why should we have anything to do 
 with such a woman as that ? She is below us, George ; it 
 is a degradation." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said George, uncomfortably, 
 a little overwhelmed with his wife's force of speech. " The 
 world would not agree with you." 
 
 " Why should we care for that ? I hope we are not 
 living for it." 
 
 George, who was profoundly, smally, worldly, winced a 
 little and said of course they were not living for it. Still, 
 people had their duties to society, and so on, back to the 
 cherished subject of the fete. He had an uncomfortable
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 195 
 
 consciousness that he was not having the best of it, and 
 that added a shade of acrimony to his tone. 
 
 " Ask me anything else, George," cried Dorla at length 
 with entreaty. " I will do anything else ; but to go through 
 all that preparation to have them here for hours upon my 
 hands, I think it would almost kill me ; indeed you don't 
 know what you ask." 
 
 *' Well, then," said George, a little mollified, " I won't say 
 anything more about it now, if you will promise me one 
 thing. And that is, to go out, as you did before this 
 strange fit came upon you." 
 
 " How do you mean ? How often ? " said Dorla, falter- 
 
 " As often as I may desire it," returned her husband, 
 loftily. " I should think a wife's duty was plain enough 
 in such a matter." 
 
 Dorla flushed and was silent awhile ; then she said in a 
 low voice, " I am willing to go whenever I have no head- 
 ache whenever you think me well enough." 
 
 " It is for your own good," said her husband, now feeling 
 the balance turning in his favor. " It is because it is best 
 for you. I myself care very little for these things." 
 
 Dorla was silent; she was not angry, only ashamed of 
 him, now, and it is so much easier to control your speech 
 when the case is such. 
 
 He resolved to put her sincerity to an early test ; but in 
 the meantime as business called him to go away for a night, 
 he contented himself with telling her he wanted her to drive 
 him to Port Jervis for the 5.30 train, if she had no objec- 
 tion. She had an objection, a bitter one. The only way 
 lay through the village, the cruel little village, and she 
 hated the sight and thought of it. Couldn't Tim take 
 him? 
 
 No," coldly, " Tim was off in the fields with the men." 
 
 " Very well," said Dorla, feeling she had not begun her 
 walk of submission gracefully.
 
 196 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 George was beginning to relish the sweets of sovereignty. 
 It is truly a luxury to make a person yield to you, who in 
 your heart you know is your superior. Doria was so con- 
 scientious ; he began to see what a beautiful string it would 
 be to harp upon, " a wife's duty." It was a hook in her 
 nose and a bridle on her jaws. " Ha ! a wife's duty ! " 
 Still he was very fond of her. But he was very small, 
 and Harriet had sneered a little at him for not doing 
 more as he thought fit himself. 
 
 The drive to Port Jervis was not a very happy one. 
 George was lofty, and loftiness is not becoming to insignifi- 
 cant people. He was full of his new resolutions and of the 
 necessity of taking a stand. 
 
 The village at half-past four in the afternoon is quite 
 deserted; but Doria breathed freer when they were out of 
 it. They had left some orders at a shop, but had seen no 
 one save the clerk there, and only stable boys and maids 
 and children as they passed the hotels. It was fifteen 
 minutes past five when they reached the bridge at Matamo- 
 ras. 
 
 " You won't want me to drive you any further ? " she 
 said, taking it for granted he would cross the bridge on foot 
 as he had often done, and walk the trifling distance to the 
 station. 
 
 " I think I should prefer your driving me across," he 
 said, with unwonted decision in his voice. " It's a hot 
 afternoon and my valise is heavy." 
 
 " Couldn't you get a boy to carry it," said Doria. 
 " There is one playing by the bridge. It will be so late for 
 me to get home ; and besides I am always afraid of Jenny 
 near the train." 
 
 " There is not the slightest danger," answered the 
 supreme gentleman. " I wish you to get used to driving ; 
 I should not have bought a horse for you that was not 
 entirely safe." 
 
 Dorlu bit her tips, and drove up on the bridge. That
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 197 
 
 was just one thing she could do ; she could obey him, if 
 she could not love him. But it is surprising how intolerable 
 apparently harmless people grow to be when you are mar- 
 ried to them. George had seemed to her four months ago, 
 grave, quiet, handsome, anything you please ; and here he 
 was small, meddling, tyrannical, contemptible. What was 
 she to do about it ? It was maddening to owe him obedi- 
 ence, loyalty, love, and to think of the long years to come. 
 
 The river as you cross the bridge at Matamoras is some- 
 times very pretty in the afternoon ; it looks calm and deep 
 and the hills make a dark corner to the picture. Dorla was 
 saying to herself, I wish I were lying at the bottom of it 
 among the stones and slime. And George was saying aloud, 
 he wished her to call upon the "Varians the next day without 
 any fail. Somehow between her teeth she gave a promise 
 that she would ; and George felt comfortably elate. 
 
 Port Jervis is a grimy, miserable place, at least the 
 portion of it that the wayfarer from Milford traverses. 
 There are all sorts of evil smells and a vile sort of city 
 squalor that is sickening to look upon in summer, just cros- 
 sing the river from such verdure and sweetness. It sickened 
 Dorla's very soul ; she longed to get away from it, but she 
 must go on. Bye and bye came the hotels, and the rail- 
 ways, and beyond, the station. 
 
 " Shall I leave you here ? " she said, pulling up Jenny by 
 the side door of the Delaware House, where he generally 
 alighted. 
 
 " No," he said, with affected nonchalance. " You may 
 drive me across to the depot." 
 
 Now the depot lies across the street, two or three hun- 
 dred feet wide ; and this street is laced and threaded by 
 railway tracks ; and there is hardly a moment, day or night, 
 when an engine is not puffing and snorting up or down it, 
 or a sharp bell ringing, or a whistle blowing, or a red flag 
 being waved in warning. To be accurate, one hundred and 
 forty-two trains go out of Port Jervis every day ; and they
 
 198 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 are making ready to go always. Dorla felt her heart give a 
 great plunge ; was not this more than she could do ? This 
 street was her terror ; she had often dreamed of it at night. 
 And though she had, eight minutes before, wished herself 
 among the stones and slime of the river-bed, she was mor- 
 tally afraid of Jenny and the engines. So contradictory is 
 human nature. She would have gone down on her knees to 
 George to get him to let her off from this ; she even began 
 to whimper, and to tremble, and to plead, for she was a 
 thorough coward. But it is possible George did not hear 
 what she said, for there was a good deal of noise and clatter 
 all around them, and besides, he saw in the distance, on the 
 platform of the depot, a rival counsellor-at-law, before 
 whose envious eyes he wished to make parade of his pretty 
 wife, and his natty little pony carriage. 
 
 " Quick, Dorla, quick ; drive on, don't you hear what I 
 say ? " 
 
 Dorla heard ; and what her courage wouldn't do, her 
 conscience did do for her. She must obey him, if she died 
 for it ; that she never doubted. She managed to keep her 
 hands closed over the reins, but they had about as much 
 power in them as a baby's, and she saw absolutely nothing 
 from the white glare and light that excitement made before 
 her eyes. Somehow they crossed the tracks and reached the 
 platform, but not until George had snatched the reins and 
 guided the horse to where he wished to stop, with a sup- 
 pressed exclamation of annoyance. He had caught a sar- 
 donic smile on the lips of the rival counsellor. He got out, 
 swelling with wrath ; and took his valise, and bade Dorla 
 look what she was doing, and almost forgot to say good- 
 bye. 
 
 Dorla tried to look ; but alas, a wandering engine snorted 
 suddenly down the track ; Jenny gave a plunge and she 
 gave a scream quite simultaneously ; instead of holding the 
 reins, she clasped her hands before her face not to see the 
 destruction that -was coming and with reins flapping they
 
 A PERFECT ADONI8. 199 
 
 went flying across the track, to the great horror of all be- 
 holders, escaping the engine, but apparently bent on a 
 thorough run away. 
 
 Fortunately among the loungers on the steps of the hotel 
 was a man of nerve and good judgment. He caught Jenny 
 by the bridle as she passed, and hung on manfully till she 
 came to a stand-still. He was a stage driver and he knew a 
 good deal about horses, and he soothed her till she was quiet, 
 and then turned his attention to the young driver. Quite a 
 little crowd had gathered round her, on the outskirts of 
 which was her husband. He soon made his way up to her, 
 and reproved her mildly for her carelessness and cowardice. 
 
 " I know it," she said, " but George I am afraid to drive 
 her home. Please get somebody to go with me." 
 
 " Nonsense," returned George, " she is as quiet as a lamb, 
 and you were enough to frighten any horse, screaming as 
 you did. She has behaved better than I ever hoped." 
 This he believed ; but he wanted everybody to believe it 
 too, for he had pretty much made up liis mind to sell her in 
 the fall, and a rumor of this sort of business would be 
 money out of pocket. The bystanders agreed that it was 
 no fault of " the pony's." And so after a little chaffing and 
 chatting, they gradually dispersed, and the whistle blew 
 for George's train and he " dispersed " too, telling Dorla, as 
 he hurried away, that she must drive on alone, and that she 
 must look what she was about, and get used to all this sort 
 of thing. After he had gone, and she was preparing trem- 
 blingly to start, the good-natured stage-driver came up and 
 said there was a lad who was going up in the stage, who'd 
 be very glad to drive for her if she wanted him. That was 
 a great temptation ; Dovla would have given all she had in 
 the world to have had him do it ; but George had said she 
 was to go alone, and that made an end of it for her. She 
 tlun iked the man and shook her head, and started off on her 
 terrible journey. When she crossed the bridge she didn't 
 wish sir-- -.vas lying at the bottom of the river ; she felt more
 
 200 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 like clinging to life, with both poor weak hands : it didn't 
 seem to her there was anything else worth having ; George 
 and his hatefulness had faded out of sight, and the great 
 temptation of Felix. If she could only, get home safe ! that 
 was all she asked. 
 
 But before she got to the outskirts of Matamoras, it be- 
 came evident that there was something wrong with Jenny. 
 She fidgetted and put back her ears, and moved uneasily in 
 her harness, and finally appalling symptom began to make 
 strange motions with her hind legs. Dorla gave a piercing 
 shriek at this last gesture, and sprang out of the carriage on 
 the turf. Fortunately they were going very slow, and 
 Jenny had got used to " this sort of thing," and didn't 
 start. A boy and a man saw her, and came up. The man 
 examined the harness, and said it wasn't any wonder ; a 
 strap was broken, and the carriage was pressing on her 
 heels, and in a few minutes more she would have run no 
 doubt. Dorla shook all over at this piece of news, and 
 actually began to cry. The man was melted, and tried his 
 best to cheer her. His boj 7 should take the pony back to 
 " Port," and have the trouble remedied ; while she should 
 wait at his house, and his wife should get her a cup of tea, 
 and make her comfortable. This accordingly was done. 
 The tea was very poor, but the good nature was very com- 
 forting. But, alas, for the flight of time. It was half-past 
 six when the boy started on his errand ; it was a quarter 
 to eight when he appeared in sight on his return. Every- 
 one knows what harness-makers and blacksmiths are, in the 
 matter of delays; and perhaps the poor fellow got an unjust 
 scolding. But there was a travelling " show " across the 
 river, and it was his father's opinion he had spent full half 
 the time he had been gone in its vicinity. It is not quite 
 dark at a quarter to eight in August, but it is much nearer 
 to it than is sometimes pleasant. 
 
 "You're not afraid? " said the man, putting the reins 
 into her hands after she was seated.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 201 
 
 " No-o," she said with her teeth chattering. " You don't 
 think there's any danger, now the harness is all right ? " 
 " Not the least bit in the world," he said most assur- 
 
 And so she started on again. How fast it grew dark ! 
 And how many noises she heard, in the loneliest parts of 
 the road ; people driving behind her a long, long way, and 
 then passing her very suddenly ; men, horrid strange men, 
 laughing and smoking, and looking back at her. She had 
 never before known how few houses there were between 
 Matamoras and Milford ; great stretches of lonely fields, 
 and of lonelier darker woods. Jenny, however, behaved 
 better, and had ceased all aggressive action of her hind legs. 
 Dorla thought she would have liked a horse without those 
 horrible hind legs ; they came so near the carriage, and were 
 capable of so much. 
 
 It was as dark as midnight, when she drove into the 
 village ; the moon had not risen, and the sky was clouded. 
 It was very comforting to see lights streaming from houses, 
 and to hear people's voices, and to know you could make 
 somebody hear yours if there were any need. The things for 
 which she had left an order at the store, had to be called 
 for. This became a serious matter as she drew near that 
 place. For there was a dense crowd all about the open space, 
 between the stone building and the hotels, where the roads 
 cross ; and a great flaring light held high aloft, made quite 
 a startling spectacle. It was a vender of quack medicine, 
 who had adopted this method of attracting notice, and of 
 selling his wares, and getting his verses listened to. He 
 had counted wisely upon the unoccupied condition of the 
 minds in Milford ; gentle and simple, old and young, wise 
 and foolish, had gone running out to swell the crowd about 
 him. The hotel parlors were emptied, and the piazzas bare. 
 
 The effect, as has been said, was picturesque, the night 
 
 lark, and the crowd gay in clothing and varied, and 
 
 the great torch shed its waving light and smoke down on
 
 202 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 them, now doubtfully, now broadly. Dorla could neither 
 get up to the door of the store, nor past the crowd on her 
 way home ; she tried to approach the store, but Jenny 
 could see nothing picturesque in the effect. On the con- 
 trary she was very much put about by what she saw, and 
 began to start and rear and justify Dorla in a very fright- 
 ened scream. Somebody from the edge of the crowd 
 started forward and seized her by the bridle ; and led her 
 to the side of the road in front of the store and quieted 
 her gradually. This time it was Felix, and not the stage- 
 driver ; which was more appropriate. Dorla shook all over, 
 and tried to get out of the carriage, but actually could not. 
 Another person came out of the crowd and offered her 
 assistance. And this one was young Davis. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel ! " he cried, " out at this hour alone ! 
 What are you doing here, and what is there that I can do 
 for you ? " 
 
 " Get the clerk to bring out the things I ordered," was 
 all she could say, sinking back into her seat. Mr. Davis 
 went briskly into the store and gave the desired directions 
 and came back. During this time Felix stood by Jenny's 
 head, and engaged himself in keeping her quiet, not saying 
 a word to Dorla. Several others, having got enough of 
 the quack doctor's rhymes, and recognizing Dorla, came 
 about the carriage. For some reason, Harriet was not 
 among them ; Dorla caught sight of her a little wa}' off, 
 with the pink and blue Dresden china beauty ; they both 
 seemed to watch her but did not approach. . It was enough 
 for Dorla that she was there. She could not see anything 
 else. Felix had just left them, it was evident, and they 
 were waiting for his return. The torch of the quack 
 doctor seemed bent on illuminating her blonde hair if 
 nothing else. Dorla saw her and tried to look away and 
 saw her still, though all else seemed in darkness. 
 
 Mrs. Bishop kissed her and talked to her a good dual ; 
 Miss Grayson and Miss Davis made much lamentation that
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 203 
 
 they never saw her now. (She was no longer a rival and 
 they were quite affectionate.) Miss Whymple even had 
 come to Christian sentiments about her, and begged she 
 would conie down and play croquet sometimes. And worst 
 of all, Mr. Davis had quite an easy semi-flirtatious manner, 
 as if he knew she would be only too glad of some attention 
 from him now. It was all like a dream to her ; she hoped 
 afterwards that she had answered questions properly and 
 not said or done anything unwise, but she could remember 
 very little but that after the packages were stored away 
 under the seat, young Davis had said quite confidently, 
 " Now I'm going to drive you home," and Mrs. Bishop had 
 said, " Yes, my dear, I shall insist upon it," and Mr. Davis 
 had stepped into the carriage without more permission and 
 Felix had lifted his hat and walked away to join his sister 
 and her companion. 
 
 It was a great relief to see the reins in a man's hands, 
 and not be afraid of everything they passed ; but she was 
 so full of annoyance and regret at the meeting with Felix, 
 .<;he could not much enjoy the sweets of protection. It was 
 bitter to feel he must be angry with her, and despise her 
 too ; be angry with her for driving out alone at night when 
 he had been so vehement against it ; and despise her for 
 permitting young Davis' familiar ways. To be letting him 
 drive her home alone at night. She knew that he would 
 boast of it like a young simpleton as he was, and that 
 he would make it understood he was always most welcome 
 at the farm-house. And Felix would think that she was 
 jealous, and that this was her way of revenge. When if he 
 only knew how she had brought herself to feel about it 
 that she prayed for him all the time, that she had almost 
 felt thankful for her bitter mistake about him, since it had 
 humbled her so utterly ; and had left him unharmed, and 
 ready for his present happiness. If it only had not come so 
 soon ! These and other thoughts like it, were filling her 
 mind while young Davis 1 unmeaning prattle hurtled about
 
 204 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 her ears. When they reached the farm-house, they were 
 met by Tim and two men with lanterns, and dear old Mrs. 
 Rothermel in misery of spirit. Dorla reassured her, and 
 explained a few of her misfortunes to her. Young Davis 
 came in, as she knew he would, and stayed till half-past ten 
 o'clock. The weariness of it. What could he have found 
 to entertain him ? 
 
 He had his full reward, however, as in making his 
 entrance to the hotel at five minutes before eleven, he met 
 Felix, pacing moodily up and down the flags, with his cigar. 
 He was sure, from his manner, that Felix was enraged, and 
 this was as nectar to his youthful spirit. 
 
 HARRIET YARIAN, the next morning r was just 
 bustling out of the hotel, with an armful of books 
 and music and work, to go over to the cottage, 
 when she was confronted by Dorla, whom she did not see- 
 till within a few inches of her. 
 
 " O," she said, pulling herself up, a little confused. 
 " How are you ? Coming to see us ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Dorla, " and Miss Florence Estabrook." 
 
 " O," cried Harriet, rather more embarrassed. " That is 
 very good of you, Dorla, I am sure. We're all over at the 
 cottage. You'd better come straight over with me now." 
 
 While they walked across the dusty road, Harriet talked 
 a great deal, even more than usual, but Dorla did not even 
 hear her. She was approaching this dreaded moment with 
 the sort of feeling young martyrs carry to the stake. A 
 morning call, in a many-flounced white muslin dress ; but 
 she might have had a halo round her head. She was sub- 
 mitting humbly to the order of the poor tyrant to whom 
 she owed obedience ; she was going to pay her homage to 
 the woman who had .supplanted her, and to touch her hand 
 and to give her friendship if she would have it, and her
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 205 
 
 prayers always, always, whether she cared for them or not. 
 All this was the highest idea of duty that she could form. 
 She hoped it would be accepted as an atonement for her sin, 
 which looked darker and more shameful than ever to her. 
 She desired to humble herself to the very earth ; to punish 
 herself with a real punishment ; and it was in accomplish- 
 ment of this desire that she walked beside Harriet across 
 the dusty street towards the shady, shabby little cottage. 
 
 Harriet was manifestly ill at ease ; but the manifestation 
 was lost to Dorla ; she heard not a word that she was say- 
 ing, but followed her silently through the little gate. 
 
 The group within the parlor gave no idea of the paradise 
 that Dorla had been picturing ; but that, too, was lost to 
 her. She was in a sort of trance, as nearly as that state 
 can be reached by intense exitement long continued, arri- 
 ving at its climax. Felix sat in a lounging attitude, at the 
 door, which opened upon the little porch. He had a paper 
 in his hand, but looked moody and uninterested. At the 
 piano, opposite the door, sat Miss Estabrook with a very 
 discontented face, and at the farthest window was Mrs. 
 Varian, with a lap full of gay colored embroidery, but with 
 a novel in her hand. 
 
 Everyone was startled, and changed attitude and expres- 
 sion sharply, as Dorla entered. She passed Felix with a 
 movement of her head that showed she knew he was there, 
 but she did not look at him, and crossed over and spoke to 
 Mrs. Varian, who said, flurriedly, 
 
 " My dear ! This is unexpected. You haven't been here 
 in such a time, you know ! " Then, without answering, she 
 went across to Miss Estabrook, who had arisen and whose 
 face was a little flushed. She answered Dorla's salutation 
 and took her hand, but in a manner that was missish and 
 pert, in contrast with the action of the other. She hardly 
 knew what she 'said. There was not much to say, and she 
 had not meant to say much. But she had hoped to see 
 something in the face of this fancied rival that she could
 
 206 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 love that would show her capable of understanding that 
 she offered her her friendship. But that something was not 
 there, that understanding did not dawn. With all her long- 
 ing she could only see a very pretty woman, young, but not 
 soft and tender, rather hard and superficial, and withal ill 
 at ease and almost defiant. 
 
 All this she could not comprehend. And Felix sat beside 
 the door, with his moody now almost fiery eyes fixed upon 
 the group. Miss Estabrook sitting even on the piano stool, 
 looked petite and unimpressive opposite her visitor modish, 
 overdressed, contrasted with her. Dorla looked taller than 
 ever, and not so slight, in her soft white ruffled dress. The 
 '.ow room had seemed suffocating to her as she came into it, 
 and she had taken off her hat and held it by her side as she 
 sat on the old haircloth sofa, opposite her rival. 
 
 Slightly bending forward towards her, Felix saw her in 
 profile ; no color about her, even her hat was one of those 
 white chip affairs covered with tarlatan and without a flower 
 or ribbon. Her face was colorless, she was probably much 
 less beautiful than usual. 
 
 Harriet felt the thunder in the air when she glanced from 
 her to Felix; Madame even felt that something must be 
 done. Before the end of the short visit, and before Dorla 
 had arisen, Harriet had hurriedly reviewed the situation, 
 and resolving desperately to get Felix off, had said to him 
 sotto voce something about some bill or some business at the 
 hotel which she wished he could see about before she wrote 
 her letters. It is not certain exactly what he said to her in 
 answer ; the answer was sotto voce too. But it was some- 
 thing that made her redden very much and look as much 
 abashed as she could look. She had done her little possible, 
 and now the ship might go foundering on, she felt she could 
 not be responsible. 
 
 Dorla, strangely, saw and felt none of this murky and elec- 
 tric atmosphere, being too much absorbed in her own false 
 view of things.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 207 
 
 As she rose to go, Mrs. Varian rose also and said, hastily, 
 
 " Felix, I see James crossing over towards the stables, 
 will you just step over and speak to him about that harness, 
 and show him what you mean to have him do about it ? He 
 will be off to the blacksmith's, and no getting hold of him 
 again all the morning." 
 
 That was very weak ; but even sensible women do weak 
 things when they are driven into such a corner. " Mrs. 
 Rothermel will excuse you, I am sure," she added, flurriedly. 
 
 " I am sure she would if it were necessary," Felix said, 
 having risen also. '* But there will be ample time to speak 
 to James when he comes back for his dinner." 
 
 " At any rate," said Mrs. Varian, desperately, " tell him 
 I want to speak to him if you please. There have been no 
 arrangements made about the afternoon ; we shall be disap- 
 pointed in our drive. You know we want the horses fully 
 an hour earlier than usual." 
 
 <4 Certainly," returned Felix, touching sharply a bell be- 
 side him, and almost before the reverberation died away, the 
 maid appeared. "Tell James, Mrs. Varian wants to speak 
 to him." By this time Dorla had begun to feel the sur- 
 charged atmosphere ; she had said good-bye to Miss Esta- 
 brook, and looked frightened into Mrs. Varian's face, and 
 then put out her hand to Harriet. 
 
 " O," said the latter, hurriedly, " I'll go over with -you to 
 the pony. Where was it that you left her? " 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself to do that, the sun is very hot," 
 said Felix, " I will put Mrs. Rothermel in her carriage." 
 
 And Harriet, self- willed as she was, could do nothing but 
 stand back and say disjointedly, " Well, if you can, that is, 
 I won't go, of course, if you mean to ; I suppose it is warm. 
 Good-bye then, Dorla, you must come again/' 
 
 " Thank you," said Dorla, faintly, as she followed Felix 
 through the gate. 
 
 . Come again! O, if sh<- liiul not come this time. What 
 had she done. What strangely moving, changing world was
 
 208 -A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 she standing in. Why must she make such terrible mistakes. 
 What did it all mean? Something was very very wrong. 
 They crossed the dusty, hot little street in silence, Dorla 
 not lifting her white dress, Felix not putting up the um- 
 brella in his hand. I am afraid they were not thinking much 
 about such things. When they reached the sidewalk oppo- 
 site, Felix said, in a constrained, voice, 
 
 " I hope you got home safely last night ? " 
 
 Dorla rather caught her breath and said. " Yes, and oh, 
 that is what I wanted to say to you. It was an accident my 
 being out so late. I should have been at home by half-past 
 six, but something happened to the harness. It was not my 
 fault at all. I hope you will not think I meant that is I 
 never mean to do what isn't right. I was afraid myself. I 
 did not want to be out any more than you could want I 
 don't mean that you care but as you spoke to me I thought 
 you would think it very strange that I should do it just the 
 same at once." 
 
 Poor Dorla ! It would have been a great deal better if 
 she had not come. What troubles these people, all conscience 
 and emotion, do get into. She did not know exactly what 
 she had done, but she felt a strange unsettling of everything, 
 and a sense of danger. There was a silence. They had 
 nearly reached the hotel steps. 
 
 " Won't you let me drive you home ? " said Felix, in a 
 low tone, but such a tone. Then Dorla knew that the work 
 was all undone, that the battle was all to be fought over, 
 and that she had fallen back in the cruel toils again. How 
 much a tone can say how inconsiderable the words. Felix 
 said to her under cover of those seven trifling words, that he 
 had thrown away his mask, that the last few days had been 
 all deceit, that he was hungering for a word from her, for a 
 moment with her. That he never could forget, and never 
 meant to let her forget, what those few short gay days had 
 taught them. That he entreated her for this one respite ;
 
 A PERFECT ADONIR. 209 
 
 that he pleaded for this one morning's heaven. Poor Dorla ! 
 She was in no danger of not understanding. 
 
 " Tim is driving me," sh^e said, "when she could command 
 her voice. 
 
 The pony carriage stood a little distance down the street, 
 under the shade of some trees. They both saw it, and 
 walked down towards it without speaking again. But what 
 a thick, hot silence ; what a struggle that was not interpreted 
 by words. Tim was nodding over the reins, but he sprang 
 up when they came up by him, and turned the pony off that 
 Dorla might get in. She did not take Felix's hand when 
 she got in, but put her own on the side of the seat, and 
 stepped in quickly, and without looking at him. She said 
 something that might have been good-bye, as they drove off. 
 But Felix was not dissatisfied. On the contrary, he was 
 madly full of assurance, and of triumph. 
 
 And now began an epoch in his life, that his admiring 
 historian surely would suppress. He had, till this time, 
 kept before himself some idea of duty, some sentiment of re- 
 spect for what the world might think of her, if not of him. 
 He had striven to veil the feelings with which she had in- 
 spired him, with mistiness and vagueness in his own mind. 
 He had been very wretched, very moody ; but he had not 
 been definite. Now he was definite. Now he knew what 
 he craved. Now he stood on the border of the land that he 
 meant to enter. He knew that this woman loved him ; that 
 she could not escape from. He had never existed before, it 
 seemed to him. His whole life looked pale, and faint, and 
 like a play, compared to this. He put aside every con- 
 sideration of duty, of self-respect, of honor. He asked only 
 her. He knew all that stood between them. Not the pal- 
 try man, whom he disdained to associate in his thoughts 
 with her; not the ostracism of society that looked like 
 nothing to him at his mad height of passion. Not the law 
 of God. Alas, that had never had great weight in his decis- 
 ions. Nothing but this woman's conscience, her religion.
 
 210 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 This was standing between them, and this alone, as he 
 looked at it. How to overcome it ; how to reach her 
 through that panoply. He knew she was not a strong 
 woman, as strength is counted. She was very inexperi- 
 enced ; she was timid, she was very young. She had before 
 now allowed herself to be led, to be guided; she had made 
 great mistakes. He was too insane to care what he gave 
 up, what disgrace he brought upon himself by his pursuit, 
 either successful or a failure, and too selfish to reflect upon 
 the fatal injury it would do to her, in any case. He was 
 not new at selfishness. He had been taught all his life that 
 it was the thing he ought to be, and though he had resisted 
 it in small things, from a good nature and from amiability, 
 still it had governed him openly in the great matters of his 
 life. It would have been asking too much, that it should 
 not have been at the helm now. 
 
 A week followed this, a week of chagrin and alarm to 
 Harriet and Mrs. Varian, of scandal and eager gossip 
 among the lookers-on ; of terror and suffering to poor 
 Dorla. Florence Estabrook had been thrown over as reck- 
 lessly as she had been taken up. Felix made no disguise of 
 his indifference to her. Harriet dared not remonstrate, she 
 was afraid of him. One interview had been enough for her. 
 " This wretched complication " was what she called it when 
 she talked about it with her mother. She might have felt a 
 little remorse if she had been in the habit of the sentiment. 
 But she wasn't, and only felt out of patience with Dorla, as 
 the cause of all the trouble to their peace. 
 
 " What did she marry that fool of a fellow for ! " she 
 pettishly exclaimed. " If she had only waited another year 
 till Felix came back, she might have had him and welcome. 
 I don't care how he marries if he is moderately respect- 
 able." 
 
 " And doesn't interfere with you in any way," said the 
 mother, whose heart, what there was of it, was always with 
 her son,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 211 
 
 " Very likely he wouldn't have wanted her if he could 
 have had her though," Harriet went on. 
 
 " Very likely not. But that doesn't alter matters now." 
 
 " I only wish this Estabrook girl was off our hands. He 
 has treated her abominably ; what will people say." 
 
 " She brought it on herself. Who asked her to come 
 here ? " said the hard old woman. But for Dorla, she was 
 a little sorry ; the poor child was so pretty, and so gentle, 
 she had always liked her, and she knew very well that all 
 the fault was on the part of Felix. It was rather a chagrin 
 to think what a daughter she might have had in her. For 
 worldly as she was, she knew very well how comfortable and 
 sweet, good pious women make the home in which they 
 happen to abide. " A miserable complication," that was all 
 she could say about it. " Miserable and so unnecessary." 
 
 The week was drawing to a close, and Felix worn out and 
 baffled by his ill success in even seeing Dorla, was humbler 
 by many degrees, and less assured than when he parted 
 from her at the step of the pony carriage, in the hot little 
 village street. By this time, George came to his aid. He 
 had been away, and Dorla had been ill. But now he was at 
 home, and now Dorla was creeping about the house, pale and 
 dull, but still able to be out of bed. There were tickets ar- 
 rived for theatricals at one of the hotels. George said that 
 they must go. It was made a matter of obedience, and 
 Dorla went. 
 
 The evening was warm and damp, the room in which the 
 entertainment was held, was low and close. A great many 
 people were packed into it. In fifteen minutes after the 
 play began, Dorla was faint and frightened at herself. It is 
 very unpleasant to feel you are going to die, at any time, but 
 most of all, when you are the central atom of a closely 
 wedged multitude of people. And the weaker you grow the 
 more impossible seems the feat of getting past them, or 
 moving them out of their inertia. Dorla wasn't thinking of 
 Felix, or of what the people would think about her if she
 
 212 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 fainted, or died outright in their midst. She was ignomini- 
 ously and grovellingly thinking of herself, and of her horrible 
 sensations ; of the way in which her heart seemed stopping, 
 of the suffocating feeling of her chest; the cold sweat that 
 was breaking out around her mouth and forehead. She 
 began to feel a good deal worse, when she found that George 
 had moved away, and was beyond the reach of her voice, 
 and that she was surrounded by strangers. It was beyond 
 bearing to die this way, and she surely thought she was going 
 to die. (She was young, and had never fainted before.) 
 
 About this time some one forced open a window near her, 
 and the fresh air saved her for the time. The lady next her 
 offered her sal-volatile, seeing her look pale, and that did her 
 good for a little while. Beyond that, nobody took much 
 notice of her. They had come late and were in rather an ob- 
 scure part of the room, (if any part of it could be called 
 other than obscure.) At any rate they had taken seats 
 somewhat in the rear of the people who lived at the hotels 
 and were on tbe ground before them. The play was about 
 as vivacious as such plays generally are. Most people, look- 
 ing at it in cold blood, would have thought it rather an ill 
 measure, to pay two dollars, and sit for an hour and a half 
 in this stifling atmosphere, for the privilege of seeing Miss 
 Grayson with her back hair down, and being definitely as- 
 sured that Miss Whymple's ankles were very neatly turned. 
 Of course Mr. Davis was in tights and Mr. Oliver in a 
 powdered wig ; but that even the most enthusiastic did not 
 count. The back hair and the ankles were all that could be 
 reckoned seriously ; the acting was very poor indeed. 
 
 Dorla did not know at all what it was all about. She did 
 not listen, except to hope that it was nearly over. "When it 
 was about midway, and because of the opening of the window, 
 and the salts, she was feeling rather better, there came a 
 messenger to her, edging his way through the crowd, to say 
 that George had been called away for an hour or two by 
 some one on business from Port Jervis ; that he would be
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 back as soon as possible, and that she must wait for him if 
 he should be late. That was the last straw. She had been 
 counting the minutes till he should come back and get her 
 out of this frightful place. It might be hours ; she knew 
 what his " soon as possible " had sometimes been. She 
 might be dead before he came. She began to feel worse, so 
 much worse. This was the effect of her alarm in great de- 
 gree, but also the good air that had come in through the 
 briefly opened window, had all been used up, and the room 
 was growing very close indeed. Would nobody come to help 
 her out of the crowd ? She half rose, and gave a wild look 
 around. The seats were jammed as close as they could be 
 together. People were standing with their backs against the 
 wall. People were putting their heads in at the windows ; 
 all gaping at the mild pageant presented on the stage. She 
 saw no one that she knew ; but Felix, standing moodily with 
 his arms crossed, just behind her, his eyes fixed on her, 
 mounting guard, saw her and her look of illness, and made 
 his way quickly to her. When she saw him, she felt a great 
 deal nearer dying than she had done before, and sank down 
 in her chair so white and trembling, that the lady next her 
 thrust the salts again upon her, and tried to ask her what 
 was to be done. But Felix made a way fiercely for her 
 through the crowd, scattered the people without ceremony 
 from their chairs, and led her from the room. There was a 
 side door which he forced them to open, and so she was 
 spared making her exit with much publicity. Only two or 
 three persons who knew her, saw her go out, white and ill, on 
 Felix's arm. They elevated their eyebrows, and thought she 
 was doing it on purpose. Probable they had not tried to do 
 it ever, themselves, or they would not have thought it was 
 so easy. Whatever else people can do on purpose, they can't 
 grow white and yellow, and grey-green on purpose, at least, 
 not while you are looking at them. When they got outside, 
 in tiie cool uir and the dim starlight, Felix said, " Do you 
 feel bettor 'i "
 
 214 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " No, no," she said, struggling to speak. " Get me some- 
 where I want to lie down I am very ill ' 
 
 Then Felix drew her arm through his and took a firm 
 grasp of her hand, for he felt afraid she was going to fall 
 upon the grass, over which they were making their way. 
 
 " If you can get as far as that piazza, you will be all 
 right," he said. " See, take hold of my arm ; go slowly, 
 you will soon be better. Don't be frightened, it's only a 
 step more." 
 
 When they got upon the piazza, (that of an adjoining cot- 
 tage), Felix led her to a chair. She sank down in it, lean- 
 ing her head back. 
 
 " Can't you get somebody," she said. " I want water." 
 
 Felix hurried into the house, but everyone was gone to 
 gape at the mild pageant. * A pitcher of ice- water and some 
 glasses were in the hall however. He brought some water 
 to her in a glass, and when she had taken it, she was revived 
 a little. 
 
 c< It was the air of that place," he said. " I never felt 
 anything like it in my life before. I wonder all the people 
 are not carried out insensible." 
 
 " Yes," said Dorla, drawing a long breath, and leaning 
 exhausted back in the large chair. " Yes, it was a dreadful 
 atmosphere." 
 
 She began to feel a great deal better, but even then she 
 was too much occupied with her recent sensations and the 
 possibility of their return, to think a great deal about Felix. 
 The light from the window by which they were sitting fell 
 upon her face, and he watched her silently. This was the 
 first and only time, since they had danced together that last 
 night, that she had not shunned him and seemed frightened. 
 The change was a mystery to him, but he took it as a favor- 
 able sign. Though she did not seem to be thinking of him, 
 at least she was not fearing him. IJe made a feint of calling 
 for some one up and down the halls ; then coming and sit- 
 ting down, said nonchalantly :
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 215 
 
 " Some one will soon be here ; you will feel better if you 
 sit quietly and rest for a few minutes." 
 
 " Yes," she said, placidly. She was thinking what heaven 
 it was not to have that hideous, hideous sensation about her 
 chest and heart. 
 
 " It is surprising," said Felix in his coramon-placest tone, 
 "what people will endure, if they think they are amused. 
 That room has been packed full of human beings for the last 
 hour and a quarter, and they will endure the torture for half 
 an hour more at least. And all for what? " 
 
 " For what indeed ! " sighed Dorla, drawing another long, 
 long breath. 
 
 " Could you imagine anything more insipid than the act- 
 ing of Miss Whymple. And Miss Gray son was only a shade 
 better." 
 
 " I didn't hear what it was all about," she said. <( I don't 
 believe I even know the name of the play. I felt so ill from 
 the very first." 
 
 " You are better now ? " asked Felix, looking at her 
 keenly. 
 
 " Yes," she returned, uneasily. She was too much better 
 to be placid any longer. " Yes, I am better, and I think I 
 I will go back now," and she half rose. 
 
 l( May I ask where ? " said Felix in a cold voice. He had 
 been sitting between her and the window, and he did not 
 rise. She sat down again confusedly, and did not answer. 
 
 " Are you so anxious to see the end of the play ? " he said 
 cynically. " I have seen it better played a dozen times in 
 my life, and I will recount you the plot, and we shall haye 
 better air, if you will be contented to sit here." 
 
 " I don't care for the play," she said faintly (and not very 
 wisely ; but who can be wise always.) " But I think I had 
 better go." 
 
 This time she got up upon her feet, and pulled her cloak 
 around her, hardly knowing what she did. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel," said Felix in a low concentrated voice,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 11 will you sit down a moment ? I want to say one word, 
 and then I will take you anywhere you wish." 
 
 She sat down in her chair trembling all over. Felix in 
 his angry passion did not see this ; he went on speaking in 
 thick agitated tones. "I want to say this to you, if you 
 will listen to it ; I understand you perfectly ; it is not neces- 
 sary for you to show me any further how you feel, that is all 
 accepted. I only ask that you will cease to treat me in this 
 sort of way. What have I done ? My offence has been in- 
 voluntary. I am not happy that is not my fault. Need 
 I promise you I will never say a word you would not wish 
 to hear ? Only let this strange state of things be at an end. 
 I am human I am a man I cannot bear this any longer 
 you ask too much of me" 
 
 But this foolish incoherent speech came to an abrupt con- 
 clusion. Dorla had not looked at him. She only looked 
 away, but over her face passed such a frightful change that 
 Felix catching sight of it, started forward and stayed his 
 angry, unwise words. 
 
 " You are ill," he said, in a changed, awe-struck voice. 
 " What have I done ? I am a brute." 
 
 For that deadly, grey-green look came over her features, 
 and they looked sharp and thin, and her head was sinking 
 back upon the chair. 
 
 " Get somebody," she tried to say, " I believe I am very 
 ill," and then she said and thought no more, poor child, for 
 that hard time at least. 
 
 " Somebody " came by that moment ; and it was not the 
 work of many seconds to get a doctor and half a dozen 
 women round her. But in those seconds, while he stood 
 alone beside her, Felix learned the text of a great and search- 
 ing lesson. Not all that she could have said or done, could 
 have served poor Dorla so well, as that fainting fit. Such 
 object teaching reaches where words cannot. It is easy to 
 say, " this is killing me ; " but when you see that play of 
 death, you believe it. It was nothing but a fainting fit after
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 217 
 
 all ; though the doctor said it was a pretty serious matter, 
 and she would need much care. He stayed by her an hour 
 or two after she came out of it, and would not hear of her 
 being taken home that night. When George returned from 
 his business matter, he found Dorla established in a room in 
 tho cottage, with Mrs. Bishop sitting by her, Mrs. Vavian 
 anxiously pacing up and down on the piazza, uud the doctor 
 walking away accompanied by Felix. What did it all mean ? 
 They explained to him how hot the room was where the the- 
 atricals had been, reminded him how -delicate and prone to 
 faiut Dorla had been for the last few days ; and how serious 
 a matter the doctor had assured them it might be if she were 
 not kept from all excitement and fatigue. Still he did not 
 understand it, and went into the room unprepared to find 
 her looking as she did, and of course startled her by his 
 alarm. She was not thinking about him, or anybody or any- 
 thing save her own suffering, but it almost sent her back 
 into unconsciousness to see how shocked he was. Mrs. 
 Bishop made him go away, and stayed with her all night. 
 
 By the afternoon of the next day, she was well enough to 
 go home. Harriet came to the carriage and Mrs. Bishop 
 was putting her carefully in. it, while George stood by, look- 
 ing much troubled and a little inj urcd. It was a dull after- 
 noon, grey and chill ; it would have been much less dreary 
 if it had rained ; the weight of dampness in the atmosphere 
 oppressed one like a coming trouble. Harriet pulled her 
 cloak around her shoulders. 
 
 " It's like November," she said, " I hope you're well 
 wrapped up, Dorla." 
 
 " Very well," said Dorla, faintly, anxious to get away. 
 
 " Mamma sent her love to you. She thought it would 
 only trouble you, if she came over to see you. She thinks 
 you ought to be so quiet. But she will be down to see you 
 in a day or two. Felix is gone away," she said, turning to 
 George, " and we feel quite desolate."
 
 218 A PERFECT ADONTS. 
 
 " Your brother gone ? " said George. " Why, when was 
 that ? I thought I saw him here last night." 
 
 " O, yes, he only went this morning." 
 
 " Wasn't it i-ather sudden ? " George inquired. 
 
 " Well, I don't know exactly. Possibly it was." 
 
 " He is coming back again ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think very possibly, sometime before we go 
 away." 
 
 " And where has he gone ? " asked George with interest. 
 Felix was the object of his high esteem. 
 
 " Canada and the Lakes, I believe," said Harriet, with 
 sisterly indifference. 
 
 " Good people, it sti-ikes me while you are chatting, poor 
 Dorla is getting cold," cried Mrs. Bishop, anxious to make 
 an end of the matter, watching her patient's whitening 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Come, George," said Dorla, faintly, " I want to get 
 home as quickly as I can." 
 
 " By the way," cried Harriet, just as they were starting. 
 " To-day is the anniversary of our Brewery expedition. 
 Just a year ago to-night, since that memorable occasion. 
 Do you remember, Dorla?" 
 
 " Yes, I remember," answered Dorla. 
 
 " Ha, ha, how many things have come to pass since then ! " 
 cried Harriet, while Mrs. Bishop, with half-concealed impa- 
 tience, called out, " Mr. Rothermel, if you don't drive on, 
 Dorla must get out." 
 
 Animated by this recollection, that dreary afternoon, as 
 Dorla was lying on the sofa by the window of her room, 
 George brought to her a letter which he had taken from his 
 desk. 
 
 " Here's the first letter you ever wrote me, Dorla," he 
 said, with a little touch of sentiment. '? See, I had put it 
 away among my treasures." 
 
 " I don't believe it was worth it," she answered, with a 
 sickly feeling of contempt for him and for herself.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 219 
 
 " Yes, just a year ago to-day, as Harriet said," lie went on, 
 opening the letter. 
 
 " A year ago to-day ! " exclaimed Dorla, flushing and put- 
 ting out her hand for it. " I never wrote to you till till 
 we were engaged." 
 
 " O, you forget," said George. " The note you sent me 
 about going to the Brewery. I never shall forget it. It 
 was the happiest day of all my life." 
 
 Dorla took the note in her hand, recognizing the pearl 
 colored paper, and her own monogram ; and alas, her own 
 name too, and Harriet's large and commonplace handwriting. 
 
 Her eye passed over it again and again, and a hard and 
 bitter feeling came into her heart. This was the way in 
 which " young Rothermel " had been secured for the Brew- 
 ery festivity ; and the way in which her life's misery had 
 been begun. 
 
 At last she handed it back to George, and said coldly, 
 " don't trouble yourself to keep it any longer, for I didn't 
 write it." 
 
 " You didn't write it," he exclaimed surprised, looking at 
 it carefully. " Why, that is very true, I haven't looked at 
 it since I have known your writing. Who did write it, 
 pray? It's in your name, you see." 
 
 " Yes, I see it is," she answered with a languid scorn. 
 " But that is Harriet Varian's hand." 
 
 " Is that the way young women do, writing each other's 
 notes, and putting people on wrong scents ? " 
 
 " It seems it is the way some young women do," said 
 Dorla, turning her face down on the pillow, and pressing 
 her lips close together. 
 
 ANAD A and the Lakes. That was all very well ; 
 but Canada and the Lakes do not last very long if 
 you are travelling as if you were a fugitive from 
 justice. Felix had made up his mind what route to take in
 
 220 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 the first fervor of his generous resolution. Nothing could 
 have turned him from it ; he went to the furthest " point of 
 interest " that he had laid down for himself. But he had 
 not bargained with himself how he should do it. And 
 the further he found himself from the night of that gener- 
 ous resolution, the more did he neglect its spirit, while ad- 
 hering to its letter. He travelled day and night ; he turned 
 not to the right hand nor the left, save as the right hand or 
 the left was laid down in his programme. Like a man 
 blind and deaf to nature, he sped through its richest ex- 
 panses, moody, self-contained, unresting. 
 
 Aud at the end of ten days he found himself back in New 
 York, in the great vacant house, with heat outside and si- 
 lence within. Then began a miserable conflict with himself, 
 which he endured for just five days a long battle for a 
 man who had always done as he wanted to before. Why 
 should he not go to Milford ? At least for a day or two. 
 He need not go near the Rothermels ; he should not go near 
 the Rothermels. He would just run up and see his mother 
 for a day or two ; settle about their movements for the rest 
 of the season, bring away his horse, and go somewhere else 
 till the hot weather suffered him to come back to town. 
 
 And so at the end of the five days' battle, he found him- 
 self again in Milford. He felt as if he had been away for a 
 year or two. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived, 
 afte"r six o'clock ; no one was in the shabby, shady cottage. 
 He went to his room, and dressed himself, deliberately and 
 leisurely. It was the first time that he had done anything 
 deliberately and leisurely since he went away. Now he 
 began to feel as if there was a cessation of that desperate 
 driving haste. The evening was very warm. When he was 
 dressed, he walked about the premises till he found his 
 mother's maid. Mrs. Yarian was driving, she said. Miss 
 Harriet, with a party of ladies and gentlemen, had walked 
 down to the Bluff. All were well. They were not expect- 
 ing Mr. Yarian. Then Felix walked over to the hotel and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 221 
 
 got his tea, still leisurely, as a man who has reached the 
 " point of interest " in his journey and has no further need 
 for haste. 
 
 After tea he sauntered towards the Bluff. The rest of 
 Mil ford had sauntered thither too. The evening was lovely, 
 tin- sky full of beautiful sunset tints. He felt cool and 
 fresh himself; expectant, but not excited. He should not 
 sec Dorla, that was impossible ; but in some way he should 
 hear of her before he slept. Before he reached the Bluff, 
 he saw his mother's carriage standing by the side of the 
 roiid. Mrs. Varian, who never trusted herself for many 
 minutes on damp grass or in night air, was doubtless won 
 by the warmth and beauty of the evening, to one of the seats 
 that overlook the river, and he should meet her there. 
 There were one or two light shawls in the carriage, but no 
 person. Felix walked slowly across the jvide, grassy space 
 that tops the Bluff. How charming a scene he was approach- 
 ing. Gay groups of people stood and sat about. The river 
 far below, and winding away in the distance, was pink and 
 pearl with the reflection from the sky. The fields and woods 
 on the other shore were still yellow with the sunset ; the 
 point of headland where the river turned, was deep in even- 
 ing shadow. It was a wide, cairn, lovely picture. The air 
 came cool #nd soft from off the river ; there was a sound of 
 pleasant voices and of laughing. Some children were play- 
 ing about the edge of the bank ; the three or four benches 
 wore all occupied, but some people were sitting on shawls 
 upon the grass, and some were standing up. Felix ap- 
 proached, unnoticed by the various groups ; for the moment 
 every one was looking at a raft upon the river, guided by a 
 woman. Pausing a little back from the nearest bench, 
 Felix glanced about him. Not three feet from where he 
 stood, sat Dorla ; lovely, calm, and smiling, watching with 
 the others the movements of the raft. Beside her sat his 
 mother ; around her stood two or three gentlemen. 
 
 His iirst feeling, no, hib second (for his lirst was only the
 
 222 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 sudden intoxication of surprise), was angry chagrin that he 
 had stayed away so long, and that she was so soon restored, 
 and so surely cured by his most generous absence. She had 
 never looked lovelier paler, but without that harassed, 
 worn look that had pursued him so. " I might have saved 
 myself the trouble," he thought, biting his mustache. At 
 that moment some one spied him. 
 
 "Mr. Varian!" 
 
 "Felix!" 
 
 And he was the centre of all eyes. While he spoke to 
 every one, and kissed his mother, and answered Harriet's 
 hundred questions, he lost not one of the changes that took 
 place on Dorla's face. She grew steadily, surely paler for a 
 moment ; then the color came in spots and flecks about her 
 face and throat. She tried to answer the gentleman who 
 was standing by her, but her voice was not very steady, nor 
 her words very ready. The gentleman was a stranger, and 
 rather a distinguished looking man. Felix had no mercy on 
 her, and stood near her, overhearing and agitating her by 
 standing there. He was bitterly pleased to see her agita- 
 tion, and as bitterly jealous of the good-looking, unoffending 
 man. There was a good deal of chattering and talking on 
 all sides of him, but by some magnified sense, he managed 
 to keep up with it, and do his part in it, and yet not lose a 
 word of hers. Pretty soon a soft breeze from the river, a 
 little less warm than its predecessors, roused Mrs. Varian 
 to her duty. 
 
 " It is surely damp," she said, getting up heavily with 
 the help of Felix's arm. " Dorla, come, my child. This is 
 the first time you have been out for a fortnight. A pretty 
 piece of business, sitting here after sundown, as ill as you 
 have been. Mrs. Ilothermel will never let you drive with 
 me again, if I don't watch you better." 
 
 Dorla rose with a sense of much relief, and followed Mrs. 
 "Variim and Felix at a few paces distance. The distin- 
 guished looking man was only too happy to walk beside her
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 223 
 
 to the carriage. Many eyes followed them as they left the 
 bank, and many whispered comments, scarcely restrained by 
 the presence of Harriet Varian, who was a little silent for 
 once in her diffuse career. 
 
 " What a mercy Florence Estabrook has gone away," she 
 thought. That that young person was got rid of, gave her 
 cause to hope things might improve if one gave them time 
 enough. But what could have impelled Felix to come back 
 so soon. 
 
 Meanwhile, Felix had put his mother in the carriage, and 
 was waiting for Dorla and her companion to come up. 
 
 " It's such a nice evening," he said to Mrs. Varian, as 
 they waited, " you'd better drive a little further. It's all 
 stuff about the dampness, if you'll allow me to be frank." 
 
 " It's not stuff at all," said his mother, very seriously. 
 " That girl's extremely delicate, and needs the greatest 
 care." 
 
 Felix shrugged his shoulders, glancing towards Dorla, who 
 had stopped to speak to some one. " A little further drive 
 won't hurt her." 
 
 " Well, possibly we may go but mind, Felix, don't go 
 with us. You know as well as I, that this sort of thing 
 won't do. But here they come. Well, Dorla ! (mind, 
 Felix, what I say,) you shouldn't stop to speak to any one 
 on the damp grass. Who were those girls, my dear ? O, 
 the Whymples ? Think of my not knowing them. They 
 must have new dresses, I am sure. Get in, my child, get 
 in; the grass is damp, whatever they may say." 
 
 So Dorla got in, and her cavalier bowed himself off, and 
 Mrs. Varian saying carelessly, u I suppose, Felix, there's 
 no use in asking you," gave the sign to the coachman to go 
 on. 
 
 " No use, unless you wait for me," said Felix, calmly. 
 " Stop a moment, James ; there," shutting the carriage door 
 with a defiant snap, as he took his seat vis-a-vis to Mrs. 
 Variun, "now you may go on."
 
 224 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 Mrs. Yarian frowned darkly, but her son did not permit 
 himself to be affected by it. 
 
 " The river road ? " James would like to know, with two 
 white cotton fingers in contact with his hat. 
 
 " I don't know ; no, I think not. Dorla, my dear, you 
 can drive a little further, can't you ? " 
 
 u No, thank you, Mrs. Yarian," Dorla said, gathering 
 voice. " I am a little tired, I think. If you don't mind 
 leaving me at home." 
 
 So James has his directions, and the horses' heads are 
 turned. 
 
 " It is well to be prudent," says Mrs. Yarian, secretly 
 pleased that Felix has not had his way for once. 
 " And there is a sort of chill creeping through the air." 
 
 " The air is like velvet, and not a particle of dew will fall 
 to-night ; but if Mrs. Hothermel is tired, that is another 
 question." 
 
 " I think, Felix, you grow worse-mannered every day," 
 exclaimed his mother, pacified. She never seemed so well 
 satisfied with him as when he was a little brutal ; or, as they 
 say in novels, " masterful." 
 
 Felix bowed, and with the bow dismissed the subject 
 finally, " I am sorry you have not been well," he said to 
 Dorla. " I thought when I first saw you that you were 
 looking much improved." 
 
 " Oh, I am better," she said, uneasily, " I do very well if 
 only I keep quiet. Didn't you like your journey I mean 
 did you stay as long as you meant to stay that is I mean 
 I understood you were going to stay a month or two " 
 
 Poor Dorla did not know what she meant to say, and had 
 said what she did not mean to, evidently, but that was not 
 her fault, and no one could blame her ; for Felix, jealous 
 and angry, was wickedly self-possessed and bent on making 
 up for his mistaken generosity. 
 
 " Like my journey? Oh, yes, in a way. Your saints like 
 their hair-cloth, don't they ? I am sorry it has seemed so
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 225 
 
 short a time to every one but me. For my part, I don't 
 mind saying, it seems to me a long while since I went away 
 from Milford." 
 
 li Nobody said it had seemed short," cried his mother, 
 with impatience. " Only when a man bids his family good- 
 bye for a month, and comes back in a fortnight, it's natural 
 they should be surprised to see him." 
 
 " Well ; only let them be civil to him when he comes. 
 He is not to be blamed if he has overrated his strength. It 
 is not possible to be always what we'd like to be," returned 
 Felix, with a malicious determination to say -before his 
 mother what he would not have dared perhaps to say with- 
 out her. 
 
 " Felix, you are making a fool of yourself," she said, 
 hotly and bluntly. And then there was a silence. That 
 was perhaps the wisest thing that had been said that even- 
 ing ; nothing else could have ended matters better. Felix 
 could say nothing more ; Dorla was as wretched and uncom- 
 fortable before as it was possible to be ; and this added very 
 little to what was already a full cup. The carriage rolled on 
 for a quarter of a mile, and not a word was spoken. Then 
 Mrs. Varian forced herself to speak. What she said was 
 something about the scenery, some commonplace about the 
 river at this hour. Felix said nothing ; and Dorla, in a 
 humble, agitated voice that ought to have touched him, tried 
 to answer her and carry on the commonplace. 'The voice 
 and effort touched the mother, if they did not move the 
 son ; and after a moment she said warmly, and rather 
 abruptly : 
 
 " I shall come for you to drive with me soon again, my 
 dear, if you will go with me. I always like to have you ; 
 you're not like Harriet, forever fuming for a new excite- 
 ment. You suit me better than most people, with your nice, 
 quiet little ways. 
 
 " Thank you," said Dorla, looking down, with sudden 
 tears welling up into her eyes. For into her mind came,
 
 226 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 and into the minds of Felix and his mother came, as soon 
 as this was spoken, the thought of what might have been; 
 of what should have been. Strange that they could- touch 
 nothing but edged tools to-night. Another silence, during 
 which all these three people thought, in his or her own way, 
 of the companionship and pleasure which had been made im- 
 possible. 
 
 Not knowing that the others were thinking of the same 
 thing, Mrs. Varian said, following out her train of thought. 
 
 " You will not stay here all the winter, will you, Dorla ? " 
 
 " O, I don't know, I fancy so," answered Dorla, flushing. 
 She had been thinking a thought to which this joined so 
 fitly. And Felix said : 
 
 " I was just thinking it would be a savage place for you, 
 with your city habits and your natural delicacy; you don't 
 know what it will be ; you were never here in winter." 
 
 " Yes, once," said Dorla, with a scorching blush. Then 
 fearing lest they should ask when, she rushed on to say, 
 " she did not mind it and there was nowhere that she cared 
 to go." 
 
 " Mr. Rothermel ought to take you south for two or three 
 months at least. I shall speak to him about it. I am sure 
 he ought. He is you'll excuse iny asking such a question 
 he is quite well off, isn't he, my dear ? Able to do it, I 
 mean, if he thought it best ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Dorla, confused, " I should think 
 so ; but I am afraid I don't know much about it. I never 
 have asked anything about it." 
 
 "Ah," said Mrs. Varian, with an honest sigh, "you 
 were never very worldly-wise, my dear. Sometimes I get 
 sick of worldly wisdom, but I don't know but what it's very 
 necessary after all." 
 
 She was thinking that a girl of Dorla's looks ought to 
 have commanded almost any price, and it is quite a wonder 
 that she did not say so. Only having seen something of the 
 inflammable nature of her audience, she was wise enough to
 
 A PERFECT ;U)OXIS. '27 
 
 suppress this. It is difficult; to say which was most trying 
 during this trying drive to Dorla, silence, or this forced 
 conversation that always came out so badly. Whatever 
 they talked about brought them upon some rock. If any 
 one could imagine that there was any dangerous pleasure 
 to her in the presence of Felix, there never was a mistake 
 more utter. She felt such fear, such agitation, there was no 
 room for pleasure. She feared sin so much, it became im- 
 possible to her to be at ease, to be herself, when he was near 
 her. He was associated with so much that was most pain- 
 ful, she had come to dread unconsciously the mention of his 
 name. The thought of him, when he was far away, and 
 when there was no danger of this shock and terror, was the 
 worst temptation. He would have done himself much ser- 
 vice, by giving more time to Canada and the Lakes. The 
 exquisite evening, the thousand scents from field and way- 
 side, the soft luxury of the open carriage, were all destroyed 
 to her senses, by the agitation and alarm and discomfort of 
 her feelings. She looked eagerly at every familiar spot they 
 passed ; how slowly James was driving ; would they never 
 reach the farm. 
 
 Bye and bye they reached it. Felix, counting every mo- 
 ment with very opposite emotions, saw her relief with chagrin 
 and pain. This he could not understand; maybe, he told 
 himself, it was his mother's presence that made her so un- 
 happy. Perhaps she would give him one word, one look ; 
 so making his mother wait, he carried Dorla's shawl into 
 the house for her. 
 
 " I hope you are really better," he said at the door, as he 
 handed her the shawl, dropping the masterful-brutal tone 
 and the cynical one. He was so hungry for her favor, he 
 would have grovelled in the dust to get a word. 
 
 " Yes and thank you you need not to have brought 
 it in. It is too bad to keep Mrs. Variau. so long thank 
 you very much ; good-night." 
 
 " But I did not say good-night," said Felix, still standing
 
 228 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 in the door. " You know I have just come back. I want 
 to know if you are really better. Please remember I have 
 not the same advantages as those who are around you al- 
 ways." 
 
 All this time Dorla had not looked at him. Growing 
 alternately red and white, she stood inside the hall, looking 
 as if she longed to get away from him. It was well she had 
 not looked at him ; it would have been hard not to be moved 
 by his expression. 
 
 " At all events," he said, drawing a deep breath as he 
 turned to go away, " you will let me come to-morrow to see 
 you for a little while ? For I am going away again ; and this 
 time it will be long enough to please you." 
 
 " I I shall be away to-morrow that is, it is quite possi- 
 ble" 
 
 " Then I shall not come to-morrow. But some other day. 
 You know my going is not imperative. I might stay here 
 all summer." There was a threat implied in this, and her 
 face showed she understood it quite. 
 
 " But I shall hope to find you in when I come, and at 
 liberty to see me. I may hope so, may I not ? " 
 
 " Felix," called out his mother from the carriage. 
 
 " Good-night, then, Mrs. Kothermel," and he put out his 
 hand. At this moment, the dear old mother-in-law of Dorla 
 came into the hall. In turning to speak to her, Dorla 
 avoided Felix, and when he again came to say good-night, 
 she was standing several paces further from him, and Mrs. 
 Rothermel in some way was between them. 
 
 " I hope your son is well," Felix said, constrainedly to 
 her as he was leaving. 
 
 " I hope so ; when we heard, he was." 
 
 " He is away ? " asked Felix, looking up. 
 
 " Yes, hasn't Dorla told you? He will be gone a fort- 
 night. He was called away on business. It is quite a jour- 
 ney." 
 
 Then Felix lifted his hat and said good-nudit. and went
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 229 
 
 down to the carriage, where sat his mother, very seriously 
 disturbed. 
 
 " Felix," she began, as he took Dorla's place beside her. 
 
 " Mother ! " he said, as he leaned back, turning his face 
 away from her. " Don't you think I am of age, and can 
 manage my matters for myself ? " 
 
 " Yes, Felix, I know you haven't the excuse that you 
 would have if you were not of age. But you are manag- 
 ing your matters very badly, and I think a mother might 
 take the liberty of telling you the truth." 
 
 " I STippose I cannot help hearing it, as you have me ttte- 
 d-ttte. But I'd much rather not, if it is quite the same to 
 you." 
 
 "It isn't! " cried the mother, " it isn't; for I like that 
 girl. And, Felix, I haven't much to love in the world ; and 
 you stand first." 
 
 There was a huskiness in his mother's voice that he had 
 never heard before. It gave him a sense of emotion that 
 was quite new to him ; for he was of a more affectionate 
 nature than any of his family, and he had always found it 
 hard to live on the easy banter and occasional sharp skir- 
 mishing that sustained the family life. Caresses and 
 emotions were impossible to Harriet, and difficult to Mrs. 
 Varian. It rather alarmed her, and gave her a dread that 
 she must be breaking down, to know that twice, within 
 six weeks, she had felt like crying. She reviewed her 
 symptoms, and made up her mind that she must see the 
 doctor. Her nervous system must be giving way ; these 
 things are so insidious ; maybe it was something serious. 
 
 As a young woman, she had always been brave and cheer- 
 ful, not over sensitive, very healthy, very fond of the 
 world. She had prided herself on not coddling her children. 
 She had had her troubles, but they had not set heavy on her, 
 and she had never been in the way of letting any one into 
 her counsels. And if you do not talk about your feelings, 
 they certainly are less important matters. Feelings were
 
 230 4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 not much accounted of in the Varian family. Harriet never 
 had any to speak of, and Felix was bitterly ashamed of his, 
 and what the mother had were so overlaid with selfishness, 
 and &. habit of reticence, and good health, and love of ease, 
 that no one would have suspected her of their possession. 
 
 And so, when Felix heard that huskiness in his mother's 
 voice, he was thrilled with a new feeling. He was a man 
 that you could have done anything with, by his affections, 
 but no one had been at the pains to do anything with him ; 
 and so he had grown to be what he was. Maybe this had 
 been to the benefit of his manliness ; his mother thought so, 
 when she thought of it at all. She had feared he had rather 
 a tendency to the emotional when he was a little boy ; was 
 rather soft, and showed an aptitude for crying when he was 
 sent to boarding school, at the age of eight. This sort of 
 thing it had been her object completely to suppress. She 
 had quite succeeded ; and at nine, when he went away, he 
 had his cry in his own room, and hardly kissed his mother 
 when she put him in the carriage. From that time to this, 
 he had always kept his feelings to himself, and was a beauti- 
 ful success in the opinion of his mother. She would rather 
 he had been undutiful, ungodly, cruel, than to be unmanly, 
 and to show a readiness of feeling tha^t was against her 
 taste, and made her uncomfortable in all its stages. Cer- 
 tainly no one cooler, more self-possessed and unemotional to 
 the general eye, could be asked than her son had grown to 
 be; and it was so gratifying to her that she even enjoyed 
 being bullied by him, when she could provoke him to it. 
 
 It was a lowering of her flag, decidedly, when she told 
 him in that untrusty voice, that she hadn't much to love in 
 the world, and that he stood first. It was the novelty of it, 
 Felix thought, that shook him so. There hadn't been any- 
 thing like this, since that terrible eight-year-old going away 
 to school, when, he should always think, she looked as if she 
 wanted to cry too (but had made up for it by scolding and 
 ridicule, that had made his life detestable).
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 231 
 
 " Felix," she continued, after a moment, " Felix, what is 
 the use of going on in this foolish way. Heaven knows I've 
 given you liberty enough ever since you were a boy, and 
 never hampered you, and fretted you with questions, and 
 with womanish restrictions. But this is right under my 
 own eye, and I can't help seeing it, and you don't seem to 
 make much secret of it either. What you can be meaning 
 by it, passes me to understand. Here you are, spoiling the 
 girl's life, and making us talked about by every one, and 
 doing yourself no good in any way." 
 
 " I can't see how I'm spoiling her life. She seemed to 
 be enjoying herself as much as anybody, when I came down 
 to the Bluff this evening. ]f nobody is to speak to her, 
 maybe you will give some advice to that big English fellow 
 who was so close at her side all the time till you took her 
 forcibly away." 
 
 " Come, come, Felix, that is rather small, to be jealous of 
 a man who had not spoken to her twice before. She can't 
 help it that she is prettier than anybody else ; poor soul, it 
 hasn't done her any good so far. She doesn't care much for 
 all the big English fellows in the world. I wish she did, 
 and then you wouldn't have so much on your conscience." 
 
 " I saw how it was going from the first," she went on. 
 " Poor girl, she was blindly in love with you from the mo- 
 ment that you came. I was in hopes she'd take it lightly, 
 get to be a flirt, and amuse herself with the admiration that 
 she'll always have enough of. I don't see why she shouldn't, 
 or what else she'll get out of life, with such a small fool of 
 a husband ! But she's not that sort at all ; she takes it all 
 in such deadly earnest. I never can understand these pious 
 women. They seem to have the same feelings, good and bad, 
 that other women have. But they don't seem to have the 
 cleverness to get above them, and turn them to account. 
 They must know everybody has tight places to go through. 
 If such a thing had happened to me when 1 was her age, 
 nobody would have been the wiser. I would have danced,
 
 232 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 and flirted, and sung, and cured myself to my own satis- 
 faction. I wouldn't have given up, because I had made one 
 mistake. I would have got some pleasure out of my life, 
 small fool of a husband notwithstanding. But she, she is 
 ready to lie down and die ; she hasn't pluck enough to face 
 the facts. To be sure, no woman ever threw herself away 
 more foolishly. I really don't blame her for being pretty 
 desperate. It is a thousand pities." 
 
 " And whose work was it ? " said Felix, with set teeth. 
 
 " Whose ? I don't know. Some foolish scruple that she 
 had about his illness." 
 
 " Harriet has boasted over Milford all the summer that 
 she made the match." 
 
 " Well, yes well, I suppose she had a good deal to do 
 about it. But, dear me, it doesn't do to look into things 
 too closely. We might all be responsible for more things 
 than we'd like to be, going at that rate. For my part I 
 think if people mean well, that's all that should be asked 
 of them, and no further criticism. Harriet wouldn't hurt a 
 fly but, somehow " 
 
 f( Spare me any word of Harriet now." 
 
 " Don't be unjust to her at any rate." 
 
 " I feel as if I never wanted to look at her again," said 
 Felix, low between his teeth. 
 
 " She's your sister, and that's a frightful way to talk. 
 Don't, Felix, let this thing come between you, don't." 
 
 " Mother, we will not talk of Harriet." 
 
 " No, that isn't what we began about, and isn't what I 
 want to say to you. 1 may not have another chance ; and 
 I want to put it to you, seriously, Felix. Are you doing 
 right, and do you mean to go on this way any longer ? " 
 
 " I don't know, mother, what I mean to do. And at this 
 moment I don't care one atom whether what I do is right 
 or wrong, or who is hurt or who is pleased, or who may 
 take offence." 
 
 The tone was so abandonedly miserable and the manner
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 233 
 
 so different from his unmoved habit, that Mrs. Yarian felt a 
 sort of fear. " This wretched complication ! " she said to 
 herself again and sighed. 
 
 " But Felix," she said, presently, aloud. " This sort of 
 talk doesn't do any good. You know you do care whether 
 you do right or wrong, and what people think of her, if not 
 of you. One would think you were a boy from -whit you 
 say, a boy, and something of a coward too. Don't you 
 know people can't live many years without coming up against 
 some wall like this. Things you can't help, things you 
 can't get over, sometimes of one kind, sometimes of another. 
 What would it look like, if we all sat down and cried ? A 
 pretty crowd we'd be ! No, Felix. Be a man about it ! This 
 thing can't be helped and you'll have to do as better people 
 have done before you, go off and forget it. This time a year, 
 I'll ask you if I am not right. You'll be ashamed even to 
 remember that you talked to me about it. I know some- 
 thing of life, my son ; I know what people can do if they 
 make up their minds to do it." 
 
 Felix moved his hand with an impatient gesture. This 
 was not what he wished to hear. 
 
 " O, I know. You think I am not half as wise as you 
 are, and a woman into the bargain, and you don't care to 
 listen to my views of life. If you think so, I know there is 
 no xise in argument. But at least you'll let me ask your 
 mercy for another woman, who may be as ignorant as I am 
 of your s\iperior code, and who is much younger than I am, 
 and I am afraid a good deal weaker. Have a little pity 
 upon Dorla, Felix. Don't make things any worse for her 
 than they are already. Don't turn the world against her. 
 It wouldn't take many more scenes to do it. Don't torment 
 her with the sight and thought of you ; give her a chance to 
 get over this if it is possible." 
 
 " And if it isn't possible," said Felix, fierce and low below 
 his breath. 
 
 " It is possible ; it is possible. How many women have
 
 234: ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 to get over the same thing. Why is Dorla any different 
 from other women except that she hasn't any pluck. I am 
 sure she can get used to disappointment like any other, and 
 go on and lead her pious life if it comforts her, just as I 
 should have gone on and led a jolly one if it had been my 
 luck. It all comes to the same thing. She can get over it 
 soon enough if you will only let her alone." 
 
 " And how if I won't let her alone ? " asked Felix, with the 
 same suppressed vehemence of intonation. 
 
 " How if you won't? Why, then, I shall say you are a 
 worse man and a more foolish one than I had ever thought 
 you. Felix ! [By this time the mother was frightened and 
 gave up her arguments.] Felix, you haven't had the chance 
 to refuse me many favors, for I haven't asked you many. 
 Do this thing for my sake ; remember who it is that asks 
 you ; remember that I am your mother." 
 
 " Some very trifling thing to ask, no doubt," said Felix, 
 with a bitter laugh. 
 
 " Trifling or no, I ask it, and I don't believe you will 
 refuse me. You've been a good boy, Felix I'm not one to 
 say much but if I haven't you what have I ? Don't let 
 ine be disappointed in you ; don't ! I am an old woman 
 now. There mayn't be many more things that you can do 
 for me." 
 
 " Mother, you are hard upon me " cried Felix. 
 
 He was thinking, but he did not say, after all these years 
 of cold i-epression, just to use her words of tenderaess to 
 force him to give up to her. She had moved him deeply 
 though, and she began to see ifc. 
 
 " Do this one thing for me, Felix ; go away, go away at 
 dawn to-morrow. All will yet be right." 
 
 " No, mother, that is asking more than I will ever do. I 
 will not go away to-morrow." 
 
 " Then, Felix, you do not mean to listen to me. I might 
 as well have held my peace. My son, i have had many dis- 
 appointments ; you haven't heard much of them, for I keep
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 235 
 
 my troubles to myself; but I think this will be the hardest. 
 I did not think you would refuse me." 
 
 " I have not refused you. I mean to go away. But you 
 must not push me too hard, mother. I will make no prom- 
 ises. In three days, I mean to go away ; let that be enough. 
 I hope you can trust me for that time. I suppose I am no 
 better and no worse than most men of my generation ; you 
 needn't expect too much of me. But you needn't think I 
 am a fiend." 
 
 The words that Mrs. Varian said then were dear to Felix's 
 heart forever. Poor Felix ! He had had so few words from 
 her. She began to see she might have done anything with 
 him, and she had done so little. A sharp remorse was fill- 
 ing her world-filled soul. She saw luridly at moments what 
 she had been missing on her easy, merry road. * 
 
 That was the basis upon which matters were adjusted ; 
 that Felix should go away in three days' time, and that he 
 was not to disappoint his mother. The next day he cer- 
 tainly seemed to be behaving better, and a load was lifted 
 off her heart. He did not avoid the people who surrounded 
 them ; he even endured the presence of Harriet. He had 
 not seen Dorla as far as Mrs. Varian was able to inform 
 herself. 
 
 But it had not been for want of effort to do so. He had 
 driven in every direction in which he had supposed it possi- 
 ble that she might drive ; had passed the house more than 
 once, but all without success. He in his own mind had 
 fixed upon the following afternoon for his interview with 
 her ; that interview that she would not have the bravery to 
 refuse to him. What it would result in what he would 
 have the courage to say, or the generosity to suppress, he 
 could not even guess. He had a feverish interest in life, so 
 lung as that meeting was still to come. He did not look 
 beyond it. It was to be all blank. But it was not 
 blank yet. He could be patient, civil ; could talk with 
 people whom he met ; he wondered at himself. But in
 
 236 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 truth, though he thought he had made the sacrifice in his 
 heart, he was still counting like a madman on the issues of 
 that meeting. If she wavered, if he saw anything to make 
 him change his mind, his assurance to his mother would 
 have been but idle words. " Neither better nor worse than 
 most men of his generation." He would have gone away, ifc 
 is true, at the end of his three days ; but he would have 
 fulfilled but the letter of his promise in so going. 
 
 He said to himself that he was on the eve of parting for 
 ever from her, and yet so tenacious was the hope within 
 him, that he did not feel that what he said to himself was to 
 be the truth. And so baffled had he been in every attempt 
 to see her, so few words had he ever had with her since that 
 last night that they had danced together, that he was living 
 a false life of excitement in the prospect of that interview, 
 that half hoxir that he had demanded of fate, that he had 
 secured so that no one should take it from him. He tried 
 to prepare himself for not seeing her alone ; that might be 
 beyond him to prevent. But at least he should see her, 
 should hear her speak. It would go hard with him but that 
 he should have a few words with her by himself; he lived 
 over the interview in a thousand different shapes, and 
 planned a thousand different expedients. 
 
 About the chance of her refusal to see him he did not 
 allow himself to think. He sent her a note which said so 
 plainly and yet so blindly that till she saw him he should 
 not go away, he could not doubt her taking the wise course 
 of granting him the interview. "He should hope to find 
 her at home on the following afternoon at half-past five 
 o'clock." 
 
 The next morning had come, and he had received no 
 answer; which surely meant that she did not refuse him. 
 How to get through the long morning ! He felt that he 
 must do something to occupy himself. James brought his 
 horse to the door ; it was a close August morning, the sky 
 was clouded and no air stirring, but Felix could hardly
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 237 
 
 have told whether it stormed or shone. Oliver (he had 
 always hated Oliver for a priggish fool, but no matter for this 
 once) Oliver was standing near. 
 
 " Get in and drive with ine to Port Jervis, if you've noth- 
 ing else to do." 
 
 Oliver had nothing else to do, and was very glad to go. 
 He was getting tired, even he, of hammock and gleii and 
 worsted work and Tennyson. For the summer was draw- 
 ing to a close, and every one was feeling moderately weary. 
 The drive to Port Jervis was much better than sitting still ; 
 there was quite a freshness in the air when you were rushing 
 through it at the rate they went. It was quite a stimulant, 
 and revived Oliver while it was quieting to the nerves of 
 Felix. 
 
 When they trotted airily into the town and drew up be- 
 fore the railroad inn, the people were just collecting for the 
 New York train. It gave Felix a feeling of surprise to see 
 the Ro thermal horses and the rockaway standing before the 
 door of the hotel. A moment more, and Dorla got out of 
 it, dressed for travelling, and with some shawls strapped, 
 and a bag in her hand. She had not seen them, and went 
 up the steps and into the parlor of the hotel. Neither had 
 Oliver seen her, for he was busy lighting his cigar, and three 
 matches had failed to produce the coveted result. 
 
 I'Vlix sat for an instant stupefied; then throwing the 
 reins to Oliver, (putting out, alas, the fire out of the fourth 
 match) said, <{ Sit here a moment, will you. I've got to go 
 to the telegraph office just across the street." 
 
 He hardly knew what he did, or how the plan came so 
 ready-made to his hand. He was steel-cold in all the fury 
 of his disappointment and chagrin. It was so that he was 
 to be cheated of his half hour of farewell ! But she had not 
 triumphed yet. 
 
 Oliver sat waiting for him tranquilly; in about four min- 
 utes he came out of the telegraph office and approached the 
 wagon, tearing to bits and throwing to the winds a yellow
 
 238 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 envelope. It was addressed to the Honesdale Manufacturing 
 Company and had been lying opened on the floor of the office 
 for the last three days, but it served equally the purpose of 
 this wily person. 
 
 " I find I'm called down to the city," he said, folding up 
 and putting in his pocket a sheet of telegraph office paper, 
 (blank, but Oliver was not near enough to see.) " I'll have 
 to get you to drive my horse back for me, if you will. And 
 say to my mother, that I've gone down on business, and 
 that I'll be back in a day or two, just as soon as ever I 
 get through with it. I'll write her if I am not back to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " All right," said Oliver. " 1 hope it's nothing of an un- 
 pleasant nature." 
 
 " O, no," returned Felix, " hardly of importance enough 
 to be unpleasant, but just one of those things that must be 
 attended to on the spot if it is attended to at all." 
 
 " You haven't much time to lose," said Oliver, looking at 
 his watch. So after a few words the two men parted, the 
 elderly mouse-colored Oliver, much deceived, back to Mil- 
 ford, not without some misgivings as to his personal safety 
 behind that fleeting steed ; and Felix, with a storm of 
 passion under good control, into the waiting-room of the 
 hotel. Dorla was sitting listlessly near an open window. 
 She did not see him till he stood beside her. He feigned 
 surprise. Was she going to the city too ? Was she all alone ? 
 Then he should ask the pleasure of taking care of her while 
 they were en route. And with that he took possession of 
 the travelling-bag beside her. She was very pale and hardly 
 answered when he spoke to her, but that did not surprise 
 him. He took a seat beside her. There were two or three 
 people, strangers, on the other side of the room. Felix took 
 out his watch. 
 
 " We have just eleven minutes. I need not have hurried 
 so, I have j ust been to the telegraph office. I find myself
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 239 
 
 called to town on business. But I shall not regret it, if I 
 can be of any use to you." 
 
 Dorla drew a long breath. Then it was fate and not his 
 cruel purpose. 
 
 " Is not your going somewhat sudden," he asked, looking 
 at her intently as he spoke. 
 
 " Yes no I have thought of it for a day or two." 
 
 " Ah ! such a disagreeable season to go to the city. I fan- 
 cied you rarely or never went." 
 
 " I have never been before, since since I have lived at 
 Milford." 
 
 There was a silence of several moments. 
 
 " You could scarcely have chosen a worse day," he said, 
 putting out his hand for a palm-leaf fan on the table near 
 him. " I am afraid it will be very close." 
 
 " I did not choose it," said Dorla, speaking with an effort. 
 " I thought I ought to go. I have had bad news ; it seemed 
 a duty." 
 
 " You have had bad news," repeated Felix, eagerly, his 
 heart softening with a sudden melt (how ready it was to 
 soften). " I hope it is not anything that really pains you. 
 I am very sorry " 
 
 " It is Harry," and her voice broke down. 
 
 " Your brother ? " asked Felix, gently. " He is ill ? " 
 
 Dorla assented, but she could not speak. At that mo- 
 ment the whistle sounded, and the people in the waiting- 
 room all hurried out. 
 
 " It is not our train," said Felix, as he took her shawls 
 and bag. "But ours is due in another minute and we had 
 better go across, and be on the spot." 
 
 She followed him humbly. What else was there for her 
 to do, poor child. And he, in hot torment of remorse and 
 self-reproach, led her across the maze of railway tracks, into 
 the crowded depot. He had been blaming her, and she had 
 hud no will to baffle him, but had been suffering cruelly. 
 She seemed born to suffer. His heart swelled with the
 
 240 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 pain it gave him to know she was unhappy. Presently their 
 train came thundering up ; in another moment they were in 
 it. He put her in a seat. 
 
 " I will see if we cannot do better," he remarked, laying 
 down the shawls and bag beside her, and going away for a 
 few moments. When he came back he said, 
 
 " I find there is a Pullman car on the train, and there we 
 shall be more comfortable." 
 
 He had found to his great satisfaction one of the larger 
 compartments vacant, and into that he led her. He took 
 her bag and shawls, and put them out of her way, placed a 
 footstool for her feet, arranged the window. 
 
 " There is a nice breeze coming in here now," he said, 
 " we shall not find it half as warm as I had thought." 
 
 If he could only make' her comfortable, protect her, and 
 for a moment make her life less dreary. But she looked 
 so wan and wretched, he had not much heart. He was so 
 relieved and yet so conscience-stricken ; it was such a strange 
 bliss to be here with her alone, as umch alone as if he had had 
 his way about seeing her at home. And yet it was so har- 
 rowing to see her face so sad. He had not yet seated 
 himself. He stood opposite her by the window. She was 
 gazing vacantly out upon the beautiful hills and the forests 
 below them ; but he could see that she looked at nothing. 
 
 " Harriet has told me of of your brother," he said at last, 
 in a hesitating tone. " I am truly sorry to know you are so 
 anxious. Maybe there is not cause, and it has been ex- 
 aggerated." 
 
 She shook her head. " I wish it were that," she said. 
 " But I believe I shall find I do not know the worst." 
 
 " It is so natural to feel so," he said. " But often it 
 turns out we have imagined the worst when it was really 
 not to come upon us." 
 
 " I might as well imagine it it always comes xipon ine," 
 she said, in a bitter tone. And then she quite broke down. 
 " I don't see why I have such trouble I wish that I could
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 241 
 
 die " And bowing her head down upon the table before 
 her, she sobbed -without restraint. 
 
 And Felix? Ho stood with his arrns folded, looking 
 
 * O 
 
 down at her. He dared not trust himself to speak. He 
 held his lips tightly pressed together, almost white with the 
 intensity of his control. No, he could not help her : he 
 was her torture ; he had made her life what it was ; it was 
 not for Harry that she cried alone. Ic was all before him, 
 and his soul was desperate in the vision. No words of his 
 could help her ; he was more than useless to her ; he, a 
 strong and clever man, whose life lay at her feet. Her 
 weakness, her misery, her beauty ; how they made him love 
 her. Impotent, damning, fatal love. There was one thing 
 that he could do to help her ; just one thing. How could 
 he make the sacrifice ? he who thought that ho loved her 
 well enough to die for her? Yes, he could leave her; go 
 away and never cross her path again. He looked down at 
 her so fair, so helpless, so suffering. Wealth, strength, 
 intellect, love all his gifts he could not use for her. He 
 could only go away. She had thrown one arm across the 
 table, and her head was buried in the other. The ungloved 
 hand that lay upon the table was so slender, white and un- 
 nerved. There was something plaintive in it. It lay within. 
 a few inches of Felix's own. And yet he dared not touch 
 it. In the tempest of feeling in his mind, he said to himself, 
 as he looked at it, that he would be willing to die to hold it 
 in his grasp a moment, yes, a moment, a tangible, definite, 
 time-recorded moment, made up of sixty seconds. And yet 
 he dared not touch it. And life might pass over him, and 
 all of time and death, and he should never touch it should 
 never stand any nearer to her than he was standing now. 
 
 Very muck of what was in his soul was on his face ; too 
 much, alas! 
 
 There was a glass door to the compartment, which Felix 
 had closed after him as he oame in. There was ground and 
 cut glass above and below, but the two central panes were
 
 242 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 of clear glass. Felix, turning suddenly, saw through this 
 glass, the face of young Davis looking in with an expres- 
 sion made up of curiosity, malice and amusement. In an 
 instant it flamed through Felix's inind, the horrible posi- 
 tion in which he had placed his innocent companion. All 
 his mother's words, all Dorla's ineffectual struggles, all his 
 own reasoning, had not done it ; but that one sight of Davis' 
 face revealed the black abyss to him. Their sudden disap- 
 pearance at the same time, the grief of Dorla, the whole 
 scene, in fact, on which Davis had intruded, would make a 
 story that would fatally compromise her honor. His selfish- 
 ness and his sin were fully revealed to him at a glance. He 
 hated himself, and was in mortal terror for a moment. The 
 sacrifice that he had played at making, he made now with 
 all the fervor of remorse. 
 
 " If I can free her from this devil's net into which I have 
 pushed her, I will never trouble her peace again, if it costs 
 me all my own." 
 
 All the reasonings of his quick brain were none too great. 
 It was, indeed, a desperate situation; But before Davis' 
 face had disappeared from the window (and he moved away 
 the instant he caught the eye of Felix), Felix's plan was 
 made. He made a quick sign to Davis, and letting himself 
 out of the door, closed it and joined him outside. 
 
 " I had forgotten you were going to town to-day," he said. 
 " You said something to me about it yesterday, I remember. 
 But I wasn't thinking of going then myself." 
 
 An incredulous laugh lit Davis' eye. " No, I believe 
 you didn't mention it." 
 
 " I had an unexpected call to town, and had to send back 
 my horse by Oliver, from the station. I hope he will not 
 come to grief before he gets to Milford." 
 
 " Hope not, indeed." returned Davis, with unappeased 
 malice in his tone, " Oliver isn't much of a whip, I've al- 
 ways understood." 
 
 Felix had been so staggered by the sudden danger of tho
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 243 
 
 situation, that he had hardly gained control of his voice; 
 but now he went bravely at the business. 
 
 " Where are you sitting ? " 
 
 " Here's my chair, I believe," said Davis, moving towards 
 the saloon or open portion of the car. " I was on my way 
 to find my number, when when I caught sight of you 
 in the compartment." 
 
 " Here's another vacant chair. I'll take it till some one 
 comes to claim it. To tell the truth, I think poor Mrs. 
 Rothermel is better off by herself for a little while. You've 
 heard about it, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Heard about it what I don't know what you mean." 
 
 Felix fixed his eye intently, keenly on the youth whom 
 he was i-esolved to master. " About her brother. Some- 
 thing grave has happened, but I didn't like to question her ; 
 I think she fears she may not find him living." 
 
 "Ah! Is that it? I I really didn't know." And 
 then there came a cynical look across his youthful features. 
 
 " Yes," said Felix, with a manner of indifference, twist- 
 ing his chair to the right point for the breeze. " But a mis- 
 erable fellow, I have understood, a disgrace and trouble 
 from the very first. I shouldn't wonder if it were a suicide 
 or some sort of serious complication. I'm sorry for his 
 poor sister ; it's a miserable business." 
 
 " Yes," said Davis, a little staggered for the moment. 
 " Yes, it's a nasty piece of work." 
 
 Felix hummed a tune, and sat looking out of the window 
 stolidly for several minutes, as men do. He was desperately 
 revolving in his mind what to say next ; he dreaded so to 
 overdo the matter. Davis, in the meanwhile, was getting a 
 little over his surprise, and found himself, the more he 
 thought about it, quite unconvinced that his first suspicions 
 were without foundation. It must be remembered that 
 Dorla and Felix had been town talk for several weeks, and 
 that he had been once snubbed by Dorla, and many times 
 by Felix. That did not make him sweet tempered. Last
 
 244: -4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 summer lie had rather fancied himself in love with her, and 
 he had not been without aspirations even later. Besides 
 which, he was not a fool, though by no means a match for 
 Felix on an even ground. But things were so much against 
 Felix in this encounter, it would be difficult to say how it 
 was going. 
 
 A boy came by with papers ; they each bought one, and 
 each buried himself behind the one that he had bought ; and 
 each knew very little of the news of the day, when he 
 emerged from that retirement. 
 
 " Not much to be got out of that sheet," said Felix, with 
 a yawn, laying his down upon his knee. 
 
 " No, not much stirring in the way of news," replied the 
 other, folding his with nonchalance. " When do you go 
 back to Milford ? " he continued, looking covertly at Felix. 
 
 " To-night," said Felix, promptly. " I shall get through 
 all I've got to do in half an hour, at least. It is doubtful 
 whether I'll have to go up town at all. I mean to get otf 
 by the 7:50 train." 
 
 " Ah, then we shall meet again. That is, if you are able 
 to get off. I'm going back by that train too." 
 
 " Then, if you get down first, engage a seat for me, if you 
 think of it. There's sometimes a great crowd at that 
 hour." 
 
 " Yes. certainly, if you think you won't be kept ; I mean, 
 if you think it at all likely that you really will get off." 
 
 " I don't know anything to prevent my getting off unless 
 I break my leg, or get jammed between the wharf and the 
 ferry boat. Such things have overtaken better men ; but I 
 can't help a sort of confidence that I may slip through 
 safely. Not because of my many virtues, but because I 
 generally look where I am going." 
 
 " Certainly," said Davis, a little abashed, but genei-ally 
 vicious. " I hadn't thought about your coming to grief in 
 that way. But I didn't know whether this affair of Mrs. 
 Rothermel's might not keep you. There might be some-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 245 
 
 thing that you'd have to do for her, if it's such a serious 
 matter." 
 
 " I am afraid it is such a serious matter that I could not 
 even make an offer of my services. I am a comparative 
 stranger, and in a family trouble like this, it is a delicate 
 matter to attempt intrusion. There is nothing that I'd do 
 with greater pleasure though, and I hope she understands 
 it." 
 
 " O, I'm sure she does," said Davis, carelessly, but with 
 an intonation that made Felix dig his fingers into the cush- 
 ion of his chair ; they tingled so to get about the fellow's 
 thi'oat. 
 
 Davis was getting brave. He had always been secretly 
 afraid of Felix, but to-day he vaguely felt that he could go 
 great lengths. He knew that he could not have spoken 
 thus with impunity at any time before during their 
 acquaintance. Felix was rather at a loss; there was no 
 need for any further statements ; and general and desultory 
 conversation is difficult with a man whose throat is a temp- 
 tation. He covertly watched the time. There was an 
 hour and three-quarters yet to be disposed of. 
 
 " Do you feel like smoking ? " he said rising. Davis felt 
 like it, rose and followed him. As they passed the door of 
 the compartment where Dorla sat, " stay," said Felix, 
 " where are our papers ? I will take them in to Mrs. Rother- 
 mel, and see if there is anything that we can do for her." 
 
 He went back to look for the papers, leading Davis stand- 
 ing at the door. 
 
 " Shall you go in ? " said Felix as he came back, smooth- 
 ing the papers out in his hands. 
 
 " Certainly not," returacd Davis with abominable prompt- 
 ness. Dorla was sitting by the window leaning her head 
 back, and gazing out with the same absorbed expression. 
 Davis watched narrowly while Felix approached her. 
 There was not much to see. Felix purposely stood between 
 her and the door ; but Davis might have seen her face, for
 
 246 -A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 all its change of color. It was deep wretchedness, and 
 nothing, nothing else. 
 
 They went away to smoke ; and in the smoking car Felix 
 met a person whom he knew, to his extreme relief. He 
 abandoned Davis, and talked with the new-comer as if he 
 had no other interest in life. Davis meanwhile watched 
 him narrowly, and began to feel quite young and unimpor- 
 tant. When they were nearing the city, Felix threw away 
 the remnant of his last cigar, and seeming just to have 
 recalled Davis' existence, joined him and said, 
 
 " Are you going back to the car just now ? " 
 
 Davis, quite restored to his ordinary good manners, 
 assented, and they went into the car that they had quitted. 
 By this time Davis had begun to doubt exceedingly the 
 coiTectness of his first impressions. This doubt was rather 
 deepened by the easy way in which Felix, stopping at the 
 door, said to Dorla, 
 
 " We are nearly at our journey's end, Mrs. Kothermel. 
 Can I not take your checks, or has the expressman been to 
 you? I should have thought of that before." 
 
 " The expressman hasn't been. At least, I haven't seen 
 him," said Dorla, very wearily. 
 
 " That's odd ; Davis, has he been through the car ? " 
 
 Thus addressed, Davis had to bow, and suffer himself to 
 be drawn into the conv creation. 
 
 " I will go and look him up," said Felix, and Davis, to his 
 chagrin, found himself left beside Dorla, and obliged awk- 
 wardly to talk to her till the return of Felix. Beside the 
 natural dread which a man has of talking to any one in 
 trouble, particularly if it is a woman and liable to cry, he felt 
 exceedingly ashamed of himself for all the naughty things 
 he had been thinking of her. He would have been a brute, 
 if he could have thought anything that was not good and 
 pitiful of the poor girl before him ; and he certainly had no 
 thoughts that were not such. When Felix came back, just 
 as they reached the depot, there was so much to be said
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 247 
 
 about trunks and expressmen and checks and numbers 
 (new and old) of streets, that Davis could not see much 
 room left for sentiment. 
 
 " I must see if I can't find the man, for you don't want 
 to wait till the baggage is taken over," Felix said. " Davis, 
 if you'll take Mrs. Rothermel on the boat, I'll Bee what 
 can be done. Give me your checks, Mrs. Rothermel. Let 
 me see. I have the address all right ? " 
 
 He read it over to her. So Davis found himself giving 
 his arm to Mrs. Rothermel, and carrying her shawls, and 
 getting her safely through the jostling crowd. *It was very 
 warm ; the depot was suffocating. Dorla looked very pale. 
 On the ferryboat it was better. Davis got seats near the 
 door, and the fresh breeze from the water was restoring. 
 Felix came after a while and stood beside them, for there was 
 no seat. He had found the expressman, and that was all 
 right. They talked about express companies, and the bad 
 management of ferryboats, and all the dozen things that 
 people talk about when they are travelling and haven't 
 much to say. When they reached the other side, there was 
 a worse crowd than usual, people pouring on and people 
 pouring off the boat at the same moment. Felix saw with 
 agony that Dorla was growing very pale again. 
 
 " I will find a carriage for you, if you will stay with 
 Mr. Davis. Davis, don't let them take you off your feet. 
 Wait there for me. I will not be many minutes." 
 
 So Davis waited, and he couldn't help thinking it looked 
 more as if Mrs. Rothermel was eloping with him than 
 with Felix Varian. He began to wonder if he were being 
 made a cat's-paw of. Felix soon found the carriage, and 
 beckoned them to come. He held the carriage-door open 
 for Dorla, and Davis raised his hat. 
 
 " Wait for me a moment," Felix said to him, as he 
 showed a disposition to move off. 
 
 " I thought perhaps you'd be going to ride," Davis said,
 
 248 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 looking at him sharply, as he delivered up the shawls and 
 bag. 
 
 " No, I'll walk along with you, if you'll wait a moment." 
 
 Dorla was in the carriage, but she was looking ghastly 
 white. The heat indeed was great; the men about the 
 wharves were wiping the perspiration from their faces, and 
 gasping for fresh air. The sun. was obscured, but the air 
 was motionless. 
 
 " You don't feel faint," said Felix, hurriedly. 
 
 " IST-no " said Dorla, trying to speak firmly. " I shall 
 be better but this heat is frightful." 
 
 " I wish I could do something for you," he said. " Good- 
 bye ! " 
 
 He shut the carriage door and told the man where to 
 drive. He did not look at her again, he dared not. For 
 this was in truth Good-bye. He never meant to see her 
 again. It was almost more than he could bear to see her 
 go away uncared for and alone, through the great cruel 
 city. He had a feeling that at all moments of her life she 
 should be guarded and watched over, that she was too 
 precious and too dear to walk the common ways of life. 
 But to-day, in all this storm of trouble, and with that white 
 and suffering face, to let her go alone was aa act that 
 seemed to rend his heart. He knew that she had no one 
 on whom to depend ; he thought of all the dark maze of 
 trouble in which she would be involved when she once 
 reached her brother ; no one to do anything for her, no one 
 to decide for her what should be done in all the matters that 
 arose. He did not know where this brother might be, into 
 what dangerous and vile places she might not have to fol- 
 low him ; as he had thought it over, on the ferryboat, 
 while he was talking of express companies and crowds so 
 commonplacely, he had almost resolved, he could not leave 
 her, come what might. But another doubtful look 011 
 Davis' face had settled it ; she must go alone, if she died as 
 the result of going so. And indeed her face would have
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 249 
 
 given a more unconcerned person a feeling of alarm. She 
 certainly was not in a fit state to drive three miles alone 
 through this terrible heat, with a sti'ange driver on the box, 
 who would probably give neither eye nor ear to her till they 
 reached their destination. She might well die and he be 
 none the wiser. 
 
 " Well, I don't know but that's the best thing she can do," 
 thought Felix bitterly, as he watched the carriage whirl 
 around a corner, while he walked by Davis' side, " and then 
 I'll try the temperature of the river, and there will be an 
 end." 
 
 Yes, he had said good-bye to her forever, and his heart 
 was as sore as if he had known that she was dead; it 
 seemed to him as he walked along the miserable, crowded, 
 stifling street, that no greater sacrifice had ever been, asked 
 of any living man. Very black and hateful his life looked 
 to him at that moment ; it only might have been darker by 
 one shade ; he still had something that he must do for her. 
 And something so imperative, that unless he did it faith- 
 fully, she might much better have been dead. He knew 
 that unless he were seen in Milford that night, she was a, 
 ruined woman : that unless he made clear to the senses of 
 this tattling boy, that no moment of the three hours that he 
 spent in town was spent with her, her honor and her posi- 
 tion in the world were compromised beyond redemdtion. 
 When he thought how innocent and how sinned against she 
 was, he felt as if no pain would ever be too great to be put upon 
 him. His infatuation and cruel selfishness overwhelmed 
 him with remorse. He felt the cold sweat start on his fore- 
 head when he thought of the danger he had placed her in. 
 
 " You look quite done over," said Davis, looking at him. 
 ji-kimco, as they toiled through the reeking streets that bor- 
 der the city front. 
 
 " Upon my word, I believe there never was a worse day 
 since the world was made," said Felix, wiping his forehead 
 and taking off his hat. He had been off his guard a mo- 
 ll*
 
 250 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 ment, and had forgotten that the fellow was beside him. 
 He now knew that it would not do to trifle ; his compan- 
 ion was awake if he was not. " Let's get through our 
 business in the shortest metre," he said, in a tone meant to 
 be jovial, "and you'll dine with me at Delmonico's, where 
 we'll take our ease till it's time to catch the train." 
 
 Davis was something of a gourmand, and was kept rather 
 short of money by his father besides, so that the prospect 
 of a dinner at Delmonico's with such a lavish prince as 
 Felix spread a rosy color over everything. It was arranged 
 that they should meet at the restaurant in half an hour ; 
 tLe business that he had in Wall street wouldn't consume a 
 moment more. At the corner of Broadway he was saying 
 good-bye to Felix. 
 
 " My business is in Wall street, too," said Felix, " let's 
 get into this stage." 
 
 At the door of an office in Wall street, Davis stopped. 
 " It's about some plaguy stocks of father's," he said, " about 
 which I'm sent to town twenty times every summer. But 
 I won't be many minutes." 
 
 " I'm going in there," said Felix, pointing opposite ; 
 " when you've finished your business, come in for me ; then 
 there'll be no waiting." 
 
 He determined that in the far future, in any contingency 
 that might arrive, there should be no ten minutes in that 
 bitter day that should be unaccounted for. 
 
 " The keen demands of appetite " carried Davis quickly 
 through the matter of the stocks ; in fifteen minutes he was 
 in the lawyer's office where Felix was writing a letter at a 
 desk. 
 
 " My man is out of town," he said, motioning Davis to a 
 seat, "and I've had my journey pretty much for nothing. 
 But I'll soon be through my letter, if you'll wait a minute." 
 
 The letter was to Dorla. It seemed to him that it would 
 ease his pain unspeakably, if he could make her understand 
 why he left her when she seemed so ill ; if he could put her
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 251 
 
 at rest about his future persecutions, if be could make her 
 see how penitent he was, and how thoroughly he saw the 
 wrong that he had done hei\ The pen slid rapidly over the 
 paper, and then came to a sudden, final halt. This was trea- 
 son to his resolution. He had said good-bye, he had sworn 
 never to disturb her more. What good could this do ? was 
 not even this compromising her afresh ? Felix had a nice 
 sense of honor when it was not under the cloud of a passion to 
 which he was given up. He tore the sheet in two, and 
 crushed it in his hands. 
 
 " Confound it," he said, mindful of his audience, " I 
 don't believe I can make the fellow understand. What's 
 the good of a lawyer that's always running out of town." 
 
 Then he took a fresh sheet, and wrote a business letter 
 with deliberation ; one can always find something to write 
 about to one's lawyer. When this was accomplished, he 
 called a clerk and delivered it to him with many charges. 
 
 Then he summoned Davis, who obeyed with much alacrity, 
 and they went together to Delmonico's. Felix was always 
 looked upon as such a swell, and so given up to the lavish 
 and the grand, that Davis suspected no ulterior design in 
 the prodigality of the repast. He ate and drank, and his 
 heart grew soft towards Felix ; he repented him of all his 
 evil thoughts, he looked upon him as a prince, he felt him- 
 self a more important man for the experiences of this day. 
 For Felix, by reason of his good looks, his money, social 
 advantages, and much life abroad, ranked higher than any 
 man whom Davis could count as his acquaintance. He 
 almost felt that they were intimate, over their iced cham- 
 pagne. He wished a great many could see them as they 
 went out arm-in-arm, which they did at last, smoking cigars 
 which would have put Davis in arrears for a month, if he 
 had had to pay for them. He vaguely felt that anything 
 was excusable in a man who could habitually command such 
 luxuries as these. 
 
 When they had made their way through the dense, hot
 
 252 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 crowd again, and found themselves upon the ferryboat, 
 Felix shook himself clear of his companion for a moment, 
 and went out upon the stern, and gazed back over the 
 waters upon the city they had left. The evening breeze 
 was cool and soft ; the day's turmoil was at an end ; they 
 were past all the evil sights and sounds and smells ; the 
 faint mist of twilight was settling over the great, cruel hive 
 of suffering and sin. But somewhere there in the vast, 
 palpitating crowd, was hid that fair face that he must never 
 look upon again, that sweetness and that joy that were lost 
 to him forever. He leaned over the rail, and looked into 
 the dark cold water, and back to the lessening city, with its 
 dim veil of smoke and its few faint, early lights ; and then 
 there came a noisy jar, and a dying-away of the cool breeze, 
 and a movement among the crowd, and their little voyage 
 was ended. They stepped out upon the wharf, from one 
 city to another, from one crov/d to its sister, from turmoil to 
 turmoil, with one still breath of thought between. 
 
 The day had been such a strain to Felix that he felt 
 jaded and weary, and as if he had spent half a life since 
 it began. Davis was tired too, and passed the hours of the 
 journey fast asleep beside him. Felix was tired enough to 
 sleep, but sleep would not come. Heavy-eyed and unspeak- 
 ably weary, he waked Davis when they reached the station, 
 and they got into the carriage for which he had telegraphed 
 back to Milford from the city. 
 
 " Well, we haven't had such a bad day after all," said 
 sleepy Davis, when the silent drive was nearly over, remem- 
 bering the iced champagne. 
 
 " It has been very hot," said Felix simply, in return. 
 
 Arrived at the hotel, Felix was almost moved to feeling 
 by finding his mother waiting for him. She looked rather 
 anxioias, but was not the woman to ask questions. " I've 
 just got through a game of whist," she said apologetically, 
 (it was almost two hours ago,) " and I thought I'd stay about 
 the piazza for a little while to see if you were come."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 253 
 
 Felix thanked her in an unmeaning way. He was almost 
 too tired to speak. " I want something to eat," he said, " if 
 that can be got." 
 
 " Come over to the cottage," she said, pleased, " and Rose 
 shall give you some sardines, and some peaches, and a biscuit, 
 and a glass of wine." 
 
 Felix made a gesture of disgust. " I could not eat such 
 tilings," he said. " I'll see if they can't give me some cold 
 beef and ale." 
 
 For he had one fixed idea that all his weariness could not 
 obliterate, and that was, that as many people as could, should 
 see that he had come back to-night to Milford. Davis 
 yawned disgusted. 
 
 " How can you, Varian, after those last pates?" 
 
 " The pates are things of the past," said Felix doggedly, 
 though his soul loathed the thought of the cold beef. 
 
 " Well, then, I suppose I may go," said his mother, seeing 
 nothing else to do. It made her so uncomfortable to see 
 Felix's haggard face, that she vras rather glad to get out of 
 the sight of it, if she couldn't do him any good. 
 
 It was a hard matter to get anything to eat at such an 
 hour, but after a little effort, some remnants of the dinner's 
 beef were put upon the table, some bread and butter, and a 
 bottle of Bass' ale. Davis reconsidered the matter, and con- 
 cluded to assist him ; one or two stray euchre players came 
 in and joined them ; a small party of belated excursionists 
 saw them through the window, and Felix felt repaid for the 
 effort lie made to swallow the insipid beef. 
 
 " I don't believe there were ever so many people up at 
 this hour before in Milford," said Davis, looking round sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " What a comfort to think that we are welcomed back ! " 
 said Felix, lighting his cigar. 
 
 Felix stayed one week longer in Milford. There was 
 nothing further said about the three days by his mother. 
 She had heard about Dorla's absence, and she understood it
 
 254 & PERFECT ADONIS, 
 
 all. There is one advantage in these undemonstrative peo- 
 ple : they do not torture you with questions when you 
 cannot stand it. Felix could not have endured a question, 
 but he was very willing his mother should know all there 
 was to know, in fact was a little comforted by her sympathy 
 and approbation, so long as they were silent. 
 
 When he told her he had written to take passage for 
 Liverpool by the steamer of the 3 1st she had the good sense 
 to make no observation that she would not have made a 
 year ago, if he had told her the same thing. 
 
 He made himself very pleasant to every one with whom 
 he came in contact. He was particularly careful to be civil 
 to Davis and to Oliver. The young women sighed about 
 him, and wished the summer were just at its beginning. It 
 must have been all a misapprehension about that Rothermel 
 affair, at least as far as his part in it went. 
 
 After two or three days there was an announcement in 
 the papers, of the death of Henry St. John. And after 
 three or four more, Dorla in deep mourning, and looking 
 very wan, was seen by some one to arrive. Mrs. Varian. be- 
 fore this had called at the farm-house, and heard that 
 George was with his wife in the city, and had learned on 
 what day she was expected home. At noon of that day she 
 arrived ; and at five o'clock, Felix had said his last words to 
 his family and his friends, and was gone from Milford. Four 
 days afterward, he had left America.
 
 III. 
 
 [T was a year and a half later, and Felix was again 
 at home. A letter from his mother, misdirected, 
 had followed him from place to place, and at last 
 came into his hands, six or eight months old, at Rome, where 
 he was established for the winter. Other letters from her 
 had come straight enough since this was written, but as was 
 natural to her, she had never alluded to its contents in any 
 of them. Four hours after he received it, he was on his way 
 to Havre. And this is what the letter said : 
 
 " MY DEAR FELIX You know I don't like to write letters ; 
 so, as I have thought it best that you should know all about 
 poor Dorla, I have told Harriet to write you the particulars, 
 -he enjoys writing always, this is no hardship to her. I 
 will only add this assurance to you, that I have done all I 
 could for her comfort and safety, and that she is at present 
 in the city. I think her health improving, though she is 
 much shattered by all she has passed through. 
 
 " Your letters come very regularly, but I think they might 
 be longer ; now, don't you think they might yourself? But 
 I suppose I am not the one to talk about short letters. 
 " Affectionately your mother, 
 
 " ISABELLA VARIAN." 
 
 It may be judged with what haste Felix tore open the 
 enclosure, and with what impatience he ran through the pre- 
 liminary pages of the prolix Harriet's letter. At last he 
 came to this : 
 
 " I suppose mamma has told you (or no, I believe she
 
 256 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 said she hadn't told you, and that I must do it when I 
 wrote) abcfut the Rothermels, and all that that poor girl 
 has gone through. She stayed at Milford all the winter; 
 nothing could persuade her to come away even for a little 
 visit, although mamma wrote and asked them. (I think it 
 was very kind of her, for George, poor fellow, would have 
 been very tiresome in the house.) But Dorla would not 
 come. And towards spring, George was taken down with 
 that same dreadful fever that he had the year before. (So 
 after all it wasn't on account of Dorla's treatment of him, 
 that he was so ill, then. I should think it would have ag- 
 gravated her to know it, after making such a sacrifice ; but 
 no matter now.) Then the old mother was taken down, and 
 Dorla nursed them both, and none of the neighbors would 
 come near them. George lay between life and death, six 
 weeks and more, and then, poor fellow, (I always liked him, 
 he was so good-natured !) then he died, and after that the 
 mother. Then Dorla broke down at last, and had a fright- 
 ful illness. I don't know whether it was the fever or what 
 it Avas, but for some time she was in the greatest danger. 
 Mamma was very kind ; she sent up nurses, and a doctor, 
 and everything that she could think of to make her comfort- 
 able. It must have been very lonely for the poor thing ; 
 but then she's always led a lonely kind of life. Her baby 
 was born in May, and as soon as it was old enough, mamma 
 insisted that she should come away from that dreadful place, 
 and the last of June she came here with it for a week or two, 
 and stayed while we looked up apartments for her. Thank 
 Heaven, she has left Milford, and never wants to look at it 
 again. There does not seem to be any one to do anything for 
 her. The guardian, or the person who looks after her prop- 
 erty (and she is quite well off, they say), is a stupid sort of 
 person, who never seems to think she needs any care, and 
 bestows it all upon her bonds and mortgages. She is now 
 very comfortably fixed in pretty airy rooms, and has good 
 servants. Mamma insists she must go out of town ; but she
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 257 
 
 doesn't seem inclined to go with us, though mamma asked 
 her, and seems disappointed. I suppose she wants to be 
 more qxiiet. She promises to go somewhere bye and bye. But 
 I don't think she ought to be alone. She really looks most 
 shockingly. You'd never say she had ever been a pretty 
 person. The child isn't in the least like her ; a little white, 
 scared-looking thing. I can't imagine what she sees in it. 
 But then I am not fond of children. Nov/ good-bye. This 
 is the longest letter ! Write to us from Florence, and tell 
 us if you saw the Collinsons." 
 
 It was the first of February, when this letter came to 
 Felix's hands; before the first of March he was in Ids 
 mother's house in New York. They had gone to Washington 
 for a month ; Harriet found the winter in one place always 
 too long for her. It was with some difficulty that he ob- 
 tained the address of 31 rs. Rothermel, but through the ser- 
 vants, it was got at last ; and about noon the day after he 
 landed in Xcw York, he found himself standing on the steps 
 of the house to which he had been directed. 
 
 It wasa bleak March day, no sun, no warmth ; a chill, strong 
 wind, that cut through all defences, carried choking clouds of 
 dust. Felix, a lover of soft air and Southern scents, could 
 scarcely have told whether the wind blew cold or warm. His 
 journey had been one long, impatient, ardent battle against 
 tides and winds, which kept him from her; he had had but 
 one thought ; and now he had attained his wished-for haven, 
 and in a moment more should look upon her 'face. The ser- 
 vant was not well instructed ; in Dorla's house, perhaps, 
 there were not many visitors. She led him through the hail, 
 and ushered him without warning into a room where Dorla 
 always spent her time. It was a sort of library, sitting- 
 room, anything you please; a pretty room into which 
 the sun shone when there was a sun, and which even now 
 was light from the large windows, curtained with embroid- 
 ered muslin. The carpet was light, the furniture graceful 
 and modern. Dorla herself was in the room.
 
 258 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 When the door opened, she had her back towards it ; with 
 the baby in her arms she was standing before a picture. 
 She turned listlessly when the door moved, as if she were 
 not looking for agreeable surprises, and as if it were " all one " 
 to her who came in, as long as they didn't take away the baby. 
 It was not quite " all one " though, when her eyes fell on 
 Felix. She started, and it seemed for a moment as if she 
 could not speak ; then she gave a little tight grasp to the 
 child in her arms, and came slowly forward into the room to 
 meet him. 
 
 He tried to speak steadily. In a moment it became easier 
 to him, for he did not feel as if he spoke to Dorla. The 
 change in her face, its great pallor, its great loss of beauty, 
 but more than all its changed expression her long black 
 dress, her widow's cap, and above everything, the white- 
 draped little baby hiding its face, on her shoulder, staggered 
 him as he looked. Her manner too. He had taught him- 
 self to believe that in years to come, if they should ever 
 meet, his eyes would call that passionate color into her face, 
 which they had never failed to call there since the last dance 
 that they had danced together. And in all his troubles 
 this had never had a part, that it was possible for her to 
 change. And now a paltry year and a half had passed, and 
 they were again together, and she was changed. It was not 
 the pallor and the loss of beauty ; that would only have 
 made her dearer to him. But it was the indescribable 
 something that had grown up since they parted, or that had 
 faded away during the time that had elapsed. Perhaps, he 
 tried to reassure himself, it was that he had been imagining 
 so different a meeting, and because, strangely, he had given 
 BO little thought to the existence of the child. It gave him 
 a fierce pang to see it in her arms; he had never thought of 
 her in that way. He glanced away from the whits snow- 
 drop of a baby with a jealous hatred. 
 
 And the baby seemed to answer to his feeling for her. 
 She drew herself away in a shrinking manner from him,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 259 
 
 clutched her mother's dress, and laying her small, down- 
 covered head on her mother's shoulder, kicked with her tiny 
 feet, and looked at him from this position with a glance of ani- 
 mosity. She was not at all a pretty baby very tiny, very 
 white, with light eyes and no hair, but looking as if she 
 knew more than a baby had a right to know. She was not 
 ten months old, and in her light eyes there was the specula- 
 tion and intelligence of ten years. Her demonstration of 
 aversion, when Felix took her mother's hand, entirely re- 
 stored the latter's self-possession, the startled look disap- 
 l>ea,red, her whole interest was centred on the child. 
 
 " Baby, what is it ? " in an unutterably tender voice, that 
 filled Felix with impotent wrath aud jealousy. " What is 
 it," putting her hand over the struggling little feet, and 
 holding her closer as she sank into a sofa near. The baby, 
 reassured, became quiet, but never lifted her head, and con- 
 tinued to gaze at Felix from her curious eyes. In a mo- 
 ment, for nothing beyond the most simple words of greeting 
 had passed between them, Dorla said : 
 
 " I was not expecting to see you. I did not know that 
 you were coming back. I wonder Harriet has not spoken of 
 it." 
 
 " Harriet did not know that I was coming. It was quite 
 a smlden movement." 
 
 " How happy it must make your mother ! I think she al- 
 ways wishes you would stay at home." 
 
 " I have not seen my mother. You know they are in 
 Washington." 
 
 " Yes, but I supposed you had been there." 
 
 " I only landed yesterday at six." 
 
 Dorla gave a quick sort of breath. She almost knew 
 why he had come home, from that. " You will give them 
 a great surprise. Do you go on to-day ? " 
 
 " Probably not," he answered coldly . " There is time 
 enough." 
 
 " I think you will find Mrs. Varian looking a little
 
 260 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 older," said T)orla. " She has not been quite as well this 
 winter. Still it is possibly not much. The change to 
 Washington may do her good." 
 
 " The last thing to do anybody good as I remember it." 
 
 " But you know Mrs. Varian is different. She likes 
 change, and is the better for excitement. And you, I think 
 I've heard you say, only want rest and quiet, when you are 
 not well." 
 
 " It is so seldom that I am not well, I scarcely know what 
 I do want in that condition." 
 
 " You look well," she said, raising her eyes, unembarrassed, 
 to his face, for a moment. Felix felt as if he were in a 
 strange land indeed, everything was slipping away from 
 him, the past, and what he had assured himself would be the 
 future. That quiet, simple look of Dorla's eyes, as she said 
 " you look well," and studied his face for an instant, abso- 
 lutely stunned him. 
 
 " I wish that I could say the same of you," he said. 
 
 " I am much better than I have been," she answered matter- 
 of-fa.ctly. " I believe I should have been better, if I had 
 been in the country more last summer. But I was so weak, 
 and it was such an effort to get away, and it was comforta- 
 ble here. The doctor said it did not make any difference 
 to baby while she was so young, and foolishly I stayed till 
 August. I ought to have taken Mrs. Varian 's advice. She 
 urged me not to do it." 
 
 " Yes, Harriet wrote me of it. She said my mother was 
 quite worried." 
 
 " Your mother has been so good to me," said Dorla, with 
 sudden warmth of feeling. " I am very much alone, having 
 no relations and so few friends ; I don't know what I should 
 have done without her at at the time of my great trouble." 
 And here the tears swam in her eyes. " I never can forget 
 her/' 
 
 Folix felt a stony sort of wrath come over him. At the 
 time of her great trouble ! at the time of her great deliver-
 
 A PERFECT ADOXIS. 261 
 
 ance, he should have thought she might hare said. What 
 was she thinking of that she failed to praise Providence for 
 setting her free so soon ? Were women all false, or were 
 all fools ? Was there an accredited time of weeping, 
 from which there could be no exemption ? He found him- 
 self growing bitter towards this dreary widow. His face 
 grew so hard and dark that baby grew afraid or peevish, 
 and set up a little whine. She was not a baby to cry ; she 
 moaned and whined when she was not pleased. Instantly 
 the little whine roused her mother to the keenest life. 
 
 " It is her teeth that trouble her, I am sure," she said. The 
 child kicked again with her very small feet, and fretted with an, 
 added emphasis, and Dorla's face was clouded with anxiety. 
 She rose and walked once or twice up and down the room, 
 soothing the child with soft words, quite forgetting Felix. 
 
 " Excuse me one moment," she said, remembering him as 
 she went towards the door. 
 
 Felix hoped that it was to send the little torment to the 
 nurse up-stairs. But it was no such thing. It was only to 
 have the rattle and some playthings brought to her. The 
 nurse sat up-stairs all day blandly sewing, and all day and 
 all night the baby was in Dorla's arms. When the nurse 
 took her out into the street, Dorla walked in sight of the 
 little carriage. When she drove herself, the baby was be- 
 side her. 
 
 While she stood at the door, and gave her orders to the 
 nurse, Felix got up and walked impatiently about the room. 
 And as he did so, his eye fell on a picture the picture be- 
 fore which Dorla had been standing when he entered. It 
 a portrait of George Rothermel ; strongly resembling 
 him, but indefinably flattered. It was the face of a very 
 handsome man, young, grave, thoughtful. It was difficult to 
 remember his smallness, his provincialism, and be patient 
 with the artist. But there was no denying the resemblance : 
 it was George Rothermel who looked down at you, only 
 with an important element subtly interlined. Such an artist
 
 262 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 ought to be crowned with bays immortal. The picture hung 
 beside the window, where the day's best light shone full 
 upon it ; below it and beside were fastened brackets, and 
 on these stood flowers, fresh and lovely, drooping before it, 
 twined around it. It was a sort of shrine. 
 
 When Felix turned to meet Dorla re-entering the room, 
 his face was cold and hard, and his voice as he addressed 
 her, cynically measured. The detested baby was still in her 
 arms. 
 
 '' You must find the the child a great care, Mrs. Rother- 
 mel." 
 
 " A care ! O, no ; " and Dorlu's voice trembled with its 
 unspoken feeling. She did not say in words, she is my life, 
 my comfort, all I have to live for, as a more diffuse person 
 would have said ; but Felix could not misinterpret the trem- 
 ble of her voice. 
 
 " It is a pleasure to see you so occupied and interested," 
 he said with a bitter smile. 
 
 " Thank you," said Dorla with her eyes down, her pretty, 
 slender hand passing and repassing softly over the baby's 
 downy head. 
 
 " I had thought of you as as alone and dreary. I see 
 that is not so." 
 
 " No," said Dorla in a low tone, " I am never alone while 
 I have my baby." 
 
 They had reseated themselves, when Dorla came back 
 with the baby's toys. There was a moment's pause. Then 
 Dorla said, making an effort to speak, so as to turn the con- 
 versation from herself before anything dangerous should 
 come up : 
 
 " You have not told me anything of yourself your jour- 
 ney. Has the winter been a pleasant one ? I think Harriet 
 said you were in Rome." 
 
 " Ye's," said Felix with easy indifference. " I have been 
 in Rome ; the third winter I have spent there, and I think 
 the pleasantest."
 
 A PERFECT ADOS _ 3 
 
 DoHa involuntarily glanced at him to see if he meant 
 this: and bar eyes fell quickly. There was nothing in 
 Felix's &ce to assure her that be luri come home on her ao- 
 count. She dad M* aadentaad exactly what she saw there. 
 
 They talked a little inore^ about indifierent things ; and 
 them the baby fretted again, and after she had soothed it anx- 
 iously into quiet, Felix saw on her face a little look of weari- 
 ness. He started to his feet; this staag him more than alL 
 In the half hoar or leas he had spent here, he had seen her, 
 a little startled, a little eoU, a little frightened and a little 
 weary. All the life, all the interest that her bee had shown, 
 had been called there by the fretting baby in herarma. He 
 left her, he hardly knew how; he hoped afterwards that he 
 had not betrayed the passion that he felt. Bat it was some 
 bitter comfort to think she probably had not been at the 
 pains to speculate about it. 
 
 And this was the end! Harder, harder frr than the 
 end " before. He went oat into the street and set his fcce 
 against the biting March wind, and walked Cist and fierce, 
 TVe disappointment was very crueL When he was in her 
 presence he had been too angry to feel the whole weight of 
 his sorrow ; thoagh he was still as angry, he began to fed 
 what it meant to him, and what a chasm had opened in his 
 life. The belief that she loved him had been the food as 
 well as the poison of bis souL Now the food and the poison 
 were both gone, and he already felt the agony of starvation 
 tiling on him. He had been living in a dream this year 
 and a half a hopeless, enervating dream. No woman had 
 ever been more constant, even in hourly thought, than 
 he had been. He had carried the thought of her through 
 every land; tilings present had passed before him as a misty 
 pageant ; and she had been the one reality. 
 
 And he could not understand it ; he was so angry that ha 
 would hare been glad to have believed her false, light and 
 trifling, feigning a love she did not feel, and then feigning 
 a sorrow as unreal. But this he could not, after his first fury
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 of disappointment, bring himself to think. Dorla was ti-ne, 
 whoever might be false; she had loved him once, she loved 
 him now no more. Her nature was so transparent to him, 
 lie never could doubt that he read ai'ight. But what had 
 wrought the transformation ; what had chilled her towards 
 him, and put in his place this shadowy ideal of the husband 
 whom she had never loved ? 
 
 Felix thought he knew Dorla well ; but no one person can 
 know another unless he has entered into the other's life, 
 lived with him in imagination, or beside him in reality. 
 This was what Felix failed to take into account. The year 
 and a half had been to him a smooth, uneventful period out- 
 wardly ; inwardly, simply and entirely full of her. It had 
 been to her a cruel and suffering time, filled with hard and 
 bitter events, crowding upon each other. Imagination 
 had had . little room for play ; physical suffering, and the 
 sight of physical suffering ; a burden of care, an overtrial of 
 strength ; suspense, fear, death ; the hard minutiae of bereave- 
 ment ; the grinding details of funerals and burials ; the 
 coarse trial of necessary household changes ; all these had 
 been in Dorla's lot, and had made imagination dead in her. 
 And this without counting the dark places she had passed 
 through in her succeeding illness; the abyss of suffering into 
 which she had been plunged ; the entrance into a new 
 heaven of love by a roadway worse than death. All this Felix 
 failed to take into account. He could read her face, but he 
 had not read her life, and so he failed to understand. 
 
 Dorla held the baby in her arms, and whispered " we are 
 glad that he is gone ; " and involuntarily drew near the win- 
 dow and watched him go away, holding the child's atom of a 
 hand against her cheek, and wondering in her heart that she 
 had no feeling no feeling good or bad. She was in truth 
 a little weary, and was glad that he was gone. 
 
 " George is avenged, poor George," she said to herself, 
 walking to the picture and looking long at it. She tried to 
 think she had strong feeling as she looked ; she had, in a
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 2(15 
 
 way ; he was the father of this child who had transformed 
 her life, and he was, in a measure, glorified. Between the 
 time that he had disappointed and disgusted her, and now, 
 there had been a time of great and cruel suffering to witness. 
 He had been thrown upon her tenderness and care ; she had 
 passed with him through deep waters; she had stood by him 
 when the awful tide rose over him, and he had gone down 
 with his eyes fixed on her. One does not forget such com- 
 panionship. Dorla thought that she had grown to love her 
 husband before she was parted from him ; after he wag gone 
 she had not any doubt of it. When her child was born she 
 had wept his death afresh, and vowed to make reparation 
 for her want of love by devotion to his memory and by mak- 
 ing him a reality to the child he had never seen. Her im- 
 agination and her conscience had done him good service, 
 aided by the artist whose work had roused so bitter a con- 
 tempt in Felix. She was living an unreal life, but there did 
 not happen to be any one to tell her of it. Unreal, that is, 
 as regarded the memory of her husband, and unhealthy as 
 regarded her excessive devotion to her child ; but as far as 
 her physical life was concerned, as matter-of-fact and inevita- 
 ble as if she had had no imagination and no conscience. Her 
 illness had left her prostrated in strength ; the child for 
 whom she chose to live, drained daily from her, her little 
 stock of health and vigor. Who does not know the weariness, 
 the dulness, that comes with loss of bodily strength ? how 
 differently the world looks, how low the tide of love and 
 hatred ebbs ! Dorla was " aweary." She was low in tone, 
 she was dull in thought, she was listless and unenergetic. She 
 thought it was wholly because George was dead, and her 
 life had suffered a great change because she had turned l 
 li ! appalling sin and was received re|>entant back to vii-i 
 but it was partly too because the rich current of her blooil 
 
 i and chilled, and nerves and tissues, of which she did ix>t 
 . know the name, were weakened and degenerated, 
 felt feebly thankful for her emancipation, and touched her 
 12
 
 266 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 dreary widow's dress with a sort of reverence. She thought 
 of herself as no longer a young woman ; and the future had 
 only Baby in it, and poor people, and church, and humble 
 weary work. 
 
 And so she sent Felix away, not quite sure that she had 
 sent him, but feeling it vaguely, and seeing it in his fierce, 
 quick walk, as he went down the street, and in his com- 
 pressed lips and fiery eyes. " George is avenged, poor 
 George! " she said to herself, holding the baby tight, and 
 walking up and down the room. 
 
 Yes, in a way, poor George was signally avenged. 
 
 ijEW YORK is a big place ; it is quite possible to 
 live in it a good many years, and never see a per- 
 son whom you do not seek, who may be living 
 there as well. Felix, after he saw his mother, had not the 
 heart to go away again. Dorla was right; she had aged 
 very much. She clung to Felix, and he never even hinted 
 at the possibility of going away again. Fortunately for him, 
 they were not vei-y nmch in the city. There were the usual 
 summer absences, and the winters now must be mostly spent 
 in Florida. He was henceforth a good son, and did his 
 duty with tenderness, but he had a very bitter and desolate 
 heart, which even his mother's newly shown affection could 
 not soothe. He would have been glad to go very far away. 
 He felt as if it kept him sore to have to know that Dorla 
 lived so near him ; he had to hear her name sometimes ? and 
 to know that she had been at the house. He had to answer 
 Harriet's questions, and to sustain himself under his mother's 
 more penetrating eyes. But he managed to deceive them 
 both. 
 
 " You see," said Harriet, with a good-natured sneer, if 
 such a thing is possible ; " you see it is as I told you it 
 would be. He doesn't want her now that he can have her."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 267 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Mrs. Varian, with a little sigh. It 
 was a disappointment to her, but she did not talk about 
 it. 
 
 Poor woman ! Everything was growing a vague and weary 
 disappointment to her, with the receding strength and spirits 
 that had made her life so comfortable. But she was not bit- 
 ter, and she made no moan. Only she began to see things 
 differently, and to wish deep down in her heart that she had 
 seen them so before the days came when she " had no 
 pleasure in them." 
 
 Harriet could not give up the world, and so for the two 
 years that she still lived, the house was not a dull one. 
 There was a dull sick room in it, though ; ah, such a dull and 
 weary one ! But no complaint came from it, and the house- 
 hold life went on as usual. At this time Felix would have 
 been very glad if he could have married, or could have found 
 any charm in society. But there is a point beyond which 
 one cannot force one's self : and it was all worse than weary 
 to him. Not that he fancied that he still loved Dorla. He 
 was too angry and bitter and disappointed, to fancy that ; 
 but somehow, that year-and-a-half-long dream had taken out 
 of reality all flavor of enjoyment. It was a mercy that he 
 had one duty and that he recognized it. He perhaps was 
 saved, by the performance of that duty, from much evil and 
 despair. 
 
 And when the two years were ended, and in a dreary 
 southern exile the poor mother passed into a longer exile 
 from the things that she had loved, Felix rose up manlier 
 and more courageous than he had given promise. Business 
 life is not very exalted or exalting, but it is better than idle- 
 ness. He was freed from New York ; he was tired of Eu- 
 rope. A chance word at a ripe moment turned his thoughts 
 to a life in California. He did not turn pastoral and buy 
 a sheep farm as the heroes in English novels do in Australia, 
 after they have suffered disappointment in matters of the 
 heart at home; neither did he do anything poetical or pasto-
 
 268 A PERFECT ADONIb. 
 
 ral. But he went into business in San Francisco in a most 
 prosaic way, arid made a great deal of money, which isn't at 
 all to the purpose, as he had plenty of that before. But he 
 also made occupation and interest for himself, and developed 
 a business ability that helped his self-respect, and entered 
 upon a life that was really, in its way, useful and invigora- 
 ting. 
 
 Harriet, meanwhile, had not much need of him or of any 
 one. She led much the sort of life that she had led before, 
 except that she took rather a wider range, and allowed her 
 enthusiasm to lead her somewhat further away than formerly 
 from the strictest good society. But she had always been 
 eclectic, and nobody was ever surprised at anything she did. 
 Also no one criticised her with any great severity, because 
 she had plenty of money, and used it very lavishty. She 
 never ceased to be of importance wherever she appeared. 
 Felix did not feel uneasy about her, neither did he feel any 
 great desire for her companionship. It would be hardly 
 possible for sister and brother to love each other less, and 
 yet be friends. They wrote to each other with regularity, 
 and Felix was scrupulous in the care of her property, but 
 there it seemed to end. 
 
 Finally, after three years of this expatriation, Felix felt a 
 soi't of undefined desire to see home again. He could not 
 quite account for it ; possibly, it was because he was getting 
 a little restless. He had never been so long in one place be- 
 fore. He tried to put it on his duty to Harriet. 
 
 " Anyway, I'll go for a month or two at least, and take a 
 little rest." 
 
 And so he went. This was live years and four months 
 after the clay when he had left Dorla before George's picture, 
 with the black dress and the widow's cap, and the heavy 
 eyes, and the white atom of a baby in her arms. He had 
 never seen her since that day, and he always thought of her 
 with these adjuncts. Since his mother's death, he had never 
 even heard her name. He sometimes thought it possible
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 269 
 
 that she was no longer living. At times he had a dreamy 
 sort of desire to know what had been her fate, and what the 
 fate of her little child. But it was only at times. By-gonea 
 were by-gones, and life was full and busy.
 
 IV. 
 
 AN AD A and the Lakes ! It seemed to Felix like 
 a dream, to be passing through these scenes again. 
 He lived more in that past vision than he had done 
 for a long time ; he sauntered leisurely where he had once 
 hurried fiercely : he philosophized over his infatuation, he 
 compared himself with the man he had been then, with a 
 shiver of fear and a sigh of regret. For while he felt him- 
 self healthy and sound again, far removed from such passion- 
 ate folly, he felt in his heart the sweetness of the madness ; 
 he sighed to remember it was a delirium that could never 
 come again. He had long ceased to feel bitterly towards 
 Dorla. He now began to think of her with a tender sort of 
 remembrance. He felt that he could estimate her character 
 more truly, her mystic strength, her pitiable weakness. He 
 could almost forgive her that she had ceased to love him, 
 though he could not understand it. He began to think less 
 and less of her as the cold widow in her dreary weeds, the 
 absorbed mother with her fragile baby, and more and more 
 of her as the Helen of his imagination, 
 
 " Daughter of the Gods, divinely tall 
 And most divinely fair " 
 
 He thought of those brief, gay days " when they were first 
 acquaint," of those passionate and wearing weeks, when she 
 was struggling against his cruel and sinful love. He began 
 to wonder about her : he admitted to himself that he should 
 like to see her, if chance threw him in her path. 
 
 " When I see Harriet, I must remember to ask her where
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 271 
 
 she is," he said to liimself, with a funny attempt at self-de- 
 ception. As if there was any danger that he would not re- 
 member to ask Harriet. Harriet was at Lake Memplirema- 
 gog. She had found a new place and was enraptured with it. 
 She had also found a party of artists who afforded her amuse- 
 ment ; she was very glad to know Felix was coming, but 
 she did not seem to be impatient to see him. So Felix took 
 his time and made the circuit of the Lakes on his way to 
 her. The weather was unusually good. He felt in fine 
 health; he had been out of the way of travelling just long 
 enough to make it an enjoyment; there was nothing but the 
 fact that he was alone, to take from the pleasure of the 
 journey. At Montreal that objection was removed. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the day he arrived there, he was 
 leisurely making his way along Notre Dame Street, when his 
 eye was caught by the troubled face of a young and pretty 
 girl, who was hurrying along the sidewalk, and peering into 
 the maze of vehicles that obstructed the street. Then she 
 ran back towards a shop and called out, 
 
 " Mamma, mamma, the fellow has gone off, and we shall 
 be left ! " 
 
 But mamma was too far back in the shop, and too en- 
 grossed with her traffic to give heed, and the girl ran out 
 again, and looked again, and went around the corner, and 
 came back looking as if she wanted to cry. That was too 
 bad. She was too pretty to be allowed to cry. So Felix 
 approached her, and said with such distinguished courtesy 
 as to make it impossible to doubt him, 
 
 " Can I be of any assistance in finding your carriage for 
 you ? " 
 
 Her face brightened, the cloud passed away, and the sim 
 burst out, (she was only seventeen, and Felix was still the 
 handsomest of the handsome.) "Yes, I think so, that is, I 
 am much obliged to you. We have only half an hour before 
 the starting of the boat, and ever so many things to do. I 
 don't know where the man has gone."
 
 272 A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Perhaps to see what the crowd is about on the block be- 
 low," said Felix. te I have no doubt I can find him if you 
 will tell me what sort of a carriage it is." 
 
 " O, it is one of those one-horse things, all gilt and glass," 
 returned the young lady. " I don't know what you call 
 them. And the driver's a Canadian with black eyes and 
 reddish hair, and speaks abominable French. They all 
 look alike ; I don't know how to make you understand." 
 
 " Perhaps if you went with me " said Felix. 
 
 She gave him a doubtful look, and then moved forward 
 across the street. " This is rather droll," she said naively, 
 with a little laugh, after they had walked a few steps quickly 
 and in silence. 
 
 " But better than being left, perhaps," he said demurely. 
 
 " O, yes, a good deal." 
 
 They reached the opposite sidewalk, and Felix found a 
 doorstep for her, that commanded a good view of the crowd 
 of vehicles beyond. " Can you see him anywhere among 
 them ? " he said, watching her eyes. 
 
 She looked rather disheartened, and said no. " What 
 shall I do ? " she exclaimed ; " and there were a dozen parcels 
 in the ' carriage, and a sealskin sack and two silk dresses. 
 We have been shopping all the afternoon." 
 
 Felix thought the fellow had made off with the " plunder," 
 and besan to be in earnest. " What sort of a horse was it ? 
 
 O 
 
 Can't you remember ? I will go and find an officer." 
 
 " I can't remember," said the girl, following him. " I do 
 not think I looked. O, yes. Now I do remember ; the 
 horse was grey, and had such hideous shoulder-blades." 
 
 Felix was amused. They hurried forward, and in a few 
 moments, out of sight, behind a loaded truck, Felix found 
 the grey horse with the shoulder-blades, standing with his 
 head down and his worst foot lifted patiently before the 
 vehicle " all gilt and glass," quite unconscious of the seal- 
 skin sack and the two silk dresses in his charge. The young 
 lady gave a cry of relief.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 273 
 
 " Now to find the driver," said Felix. But that was not 
 so easy to d%. The plot had thickened evidently in the di- 
 rection of the crowd. There was no officer to 'be found of 
 course. Felix went in and out among the outer loungers, 
 and shouted and asked questions, but all to no avail ; in a 
 moment he came back to the young girl, who stood with her 
 watch in her hand, and an anxious expression on her 
 face." 
 
 " We shall be left," she said. " The wretch ! " 
 " I don't know what to suggest," said Felix. " Unless 
 vou let me drive you to your hotel or wherever you want to 
 
 go." 
 
 " We want to go to the Quebec boat," she said. " We 
 have just leftjthe hotel and sent our baggage down, and we 
 were doing some last shopping on our way." 
 
 Felix wondered what the first shopping must have been 
 when the last included a sealskin sack, two silk dresses and 
 nine other packages. " Well, I see nothing for it, but for 
 you to let me drive you." 
 
 Between anxiety and amusement, the young girl knew 
 hardly what to do. " We'll see what mamma says," she 
 answered slowly. 
 
 " Very well, I will lead the horse if you will go on," re- 
 turned Felix, taking the beast by the head and walking 
 along as near the sidewalk as was possible. 
 
 Meantime, his companion hurried forward, and met on 
 the corner, a stout, elderly, well-dressed person, who fell 
 (apparently) to upbraiding her for having given her so much 
 anxiety. The mother and daughter were both evidently ex- 
 citable and given to speak their minds ; though he could not 
 hear, he could see from the gesticulations and flushed faces, 
 that there was much difference of opinion. He went 
 as slowly as possible, to let the agitation cool before ho 
 joined the party, but in their own interest he felt he should 
 not linger. It was just eighteen minutes now to w 
 o'clock. He could not help hearing the mother say, as he 
 12*
 
 274 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 brought the ungainly horse to a stand-still in front of the 
 corner shop, 
 
 " Better be left a hundred times, than do such a crazy 
 thing as this." 
 
 " Well, then, be left, and break up the party," cried the 
 girl impetuously. And again she looked as if she certainly 
 would cry. 
 
 That mollified Felix, who caught sight of her face. He 
 had meant to petrify the ungrateful mother, by bowing and 
 withdrawing, and leaving them to get to the boat as best 
 they could ; but the girl was much too pretty to be made to 
 cry. He assumed his most distinguished and high-bred 
 manner, and turned to the elder lady with a bow. She 
 moved forward to confront him with flushed dignity and a 
 frown. But the words died on his lips, and the frown van- 
 ished from her face as their eyes met. 
 
 " Mr. Varian ! " she cried, and bursting into a laugh, put 
 out her hand. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Glover," said Felix, laughing as he took it, 
 " you looked as if you were going to send me off." 
 
 " I was, indeed," she said, good-humoredly. " I don't like 
 my daughter to be so eloquent about anonymous hackmen. 
 For she is grown up. See ! This is Abby, the little girl you 
 helped to write French exercises, seven years ago. Imagine 
 it ! What a little fright she then was, with her hair d la 
 Kenwigs." 
 
 " Well, I don't remember that," said Felix, bowing to 
 the young beauty, whose eyes were dancing with interest 
 and excitement. 
 
 " Mamma ! And you know him after all ! It ought to be 
 a lesson to you to believe a person is a gentleman when I 
 tell you so." 
 
 " Come, come," said the mother, too much pleased with 
 the encounter to be severe upon her daughter, " there is no 
 time to lose, if we are going to Quebec to-night, and if Mr.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 275 
 
 Varian is still willing to drive us to the wharf, now that he 
 knows so much about us." 
 
 They got into the carriage quickly, and Felix took the 
 reins. 
 
 " You'll have to tell me the streets," he said, " for 
 it is five years since I have been in Montreal." 
 
 " This way," said Abby, pointing ; but somehow her zeal 
 for catching the boat was fast abating. 
 
 " How long are you staying in Montreal, Mr. Varian ? " 
 said the mother. 
 
 " O, a day or two, perhaps. I have no fixed policy, I am 
 only drifting." 
 
 But at this moment they found themselves the centre of 
 an excited crowd. It is surprising how Canadian cabmen 
 gather, from all points of the compass, like " birds of evil 
 wing ; " they are around you in a moment ; you cannot tell 
 from whence they come. This time they M'ere headed by 
 the enraged and terrified owner of the grey horse, and much 
 be-gilded carriage. They were present to sympathize with 
 him, and also to take the chance of a fare, if he and the 
 travellers should come to open rupture. It was very diffi- 
 cult to understand his Canadian jargon, or to make him un- 
 derstand that he deserved a horse- whipping. Still, Felix was 
 tierce enough in correct French to make the ladies turn pale, 
 and the man, quite subdued and very repentant, crept up to 
 the seat beside him, and assumed the reins, with liberal 
 jn-omises of getting them to the pier five minutes before the 
 steamboat started. The crowd dispersed, the carriage 
 bounced and rattled fiercely over the stones, and Felix 
 turned to resume his conversation. 
 
 " Now," said Mrs. Glover, clutching the side of the car- 
 riage, " is not this reckless driving ? " 
 
 " He will break our necks for us," said Abby, discontent- 
 edly. It was evident she was in less of a hurry than she 
 had been before. Felix ordered him to go more carefully, 
 and then it was possible to talk.
 
 276 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 (l Why don't you join us, Mr. Varian ? " said Mrs. Glover. 
 " We have a pleasant party, rather scattered to be sure at 
 present; but we are to meet at Quebec and go up the 
 Saguenay. Why cannot you come down the river to-morrow 
 night and join us ? Some of our party are coming on to-night, 
 and some of them possibly to-morrow night. We shall not 
 certainly start for the Saguenay till the day after. It really 
 would be very pleasant." 
 
 " I am sure it would," said Felix, non-committal. But 
 Abby looked so anxious and so breathless, he had not the 
 heart to be non-committal long. There was also no earthly 
 reason why he should refuse. He had meant to go up the 
 Saguenay, and probably if he bad not met them, would 
 have taken the boat that they would take the day after to- 
 morrow. So he had no excuse for keeping the pretty Abby 
 any longer in suspense. (It is probable if it had been very 
 inconvenient, he would have gone, she was so very 
 pretty.) 
 
 In a moment's time it was all arranged, and Abby was 
 radiant. She had the most ingenuous way of not disguising 
 any of her emotions ; a delightful way, when they were all 
 as nattering as this last one to Felix. He thought her a 
 most charming creature, and tried to remember all he could 
 about the French exercises and the long braids. But in 
 those days she had made no impression. There were a hun- 
 dred things to ask and to plan about the projected journey, 
 and they found themselves at the wharf sooner than had 
 seemed possible. Felix carried on board the most bulky of 
 the precious packages ; saw to their luggage ; got the key of 
 their state-room ; paid *the cabman ; in short, made himself 
 guide, philosopher and friend. There were yet three minutes 
 to spare. ' 
 
 " How I wish you were going down to-night ! " said Abby, 
 following him out upon the deck, where he had gone to hunt 
 up chairs for them. 
 
 " Yes," said Felix, thinking drearily of the reading-room
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. -J77 
 
 and his stuffy apartment at St. Lawrence Hall. " Yes, if I 
 only were, I should be very glad." 
 
 " You'll surely come to-morrow night ? " she asked, with 
 momentary distrust darkening her eyes as she fixed them 
 keenly on him. Probably she had been disappointed before 
 by people who had made fair promises. 
 
 " Surely," he said, amused and fascinated, returning her 
 gaze in a way that made her blush, and that was quite un- 
 justifiable after an acquaintance of something less than 
 three-quarters of an hour. When he parted from her, I 
 am ashamed to say, he would have liked to kiss her; and he 
 held her warm, ungloved hand in his for a quarter of a min- 
 ute, while he was making some unnecessary adieux to her 
 maimua. She leaned over the boat and talked to him on 
 the pier ; and when the boat moved off, looked so childishly 
 sorrowful, it stirred his very heart. " It is better than 
 being alone," he said, as he mingled with the crowd again, 
 c * to have some one glad when you come and sorry when 
 you go, even if it is a child." 
 
 Then he reflected that he had been a foo\ for being flat- 
 tered ; and before he was back at the hotel, was quite 
 ashamed for having committed himself to what opened like 
 a most pronounced flirtation. "This comes of living out 
 of the world for a little while," he said, as he remembered 
 the look of satisfaction on the mother's face. " I had for- 
 gotten how desirable I was : it will be a regular pursuit." 
 
 He resolved to be on his guard ; he even determined to give 
 up the Saguenay. Mrs. Glover he remembered as a gay, good- 
 natured woman of society, harmless and rather headstrong ; 
 but that was when her only daughter was eating bread and 
 butter in the nursery. There was no knowing what might be 
 developed by the maternal instinct set a hunting ; she might 
 be a very dangerous person. He even wrote a telegram, 
 regretting that he could not come. But that he tore up the 
 next morning; he began to feel very much as if he wanted 
 company it was dull work travelling alone. Beside, he
 
 278 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 had intended to go up the Saguenay : it was rather weak to 
 be turned from it by a pair of women. Probably he could 
 protect himself. So he did his duty by the nunneries and 
 churches, and went drearily around the mountain ; and be- 
 fore dinner was quite weary of the place. He could not 
 possibly have stayed longer ; he was not going to Quebec to 
 meet the Glovers, but to get away from Montreal. During 
 the afternoon, there was nothing to do but to shop, so he 
 laid in a supply of story-books and bonbons, to ameliorate 
 the dulness of the Saguenay journey for the j'outhful Abby. 
 To avoid all danger of being left, he went on board the 
 steamboat at twenty minutes before seven, settled his valise 
 in his state-room, and went out upon the deck. " There is 
 nothing like having plenty of time," he said, a little ashamed 
 of himself, looking at his watch. But after all he could 
 not have done better ; this was the best view he had had in 
 Montreal. The evening sky was cloudless ; in front of him, 
 upon the wharf, was a busy crowd of wagoners and teams- 
 ters shouting in Canadian French ; far behind them rose the 
 heavy stone-work of the Pier Richelieu and the pier Jacques 
 Cartier ships lay at anchor both up and down the stream ; 
 a canal boat lay snugly up beside the pier, bare-armed and 
 bare-headed women leaning over her sides to enjoy the even- 
 ing breeze ; the men in the rigging of the ships were mov- 
 ing listlessly about ; you might have heard them singing if 
 you had been near enough,to hear, and some gay flags were 
 flying. There was great breadth and freedom in the pros- 
 pect ; no huddling of ships together ; no crowding of boats 
 about the pier ; the wide river was spanned in the distance 
 by the Victoria bridge, but that seemed far away. Beyond 
 the pier rose splendid warehouses ; a wide place opened up 
 the hill, and upon the top stood the Nelson statue, in fine 
 relief against the evening sky. The carriages and people 
 who moved along the street beside the monument, looked 
 coal-black ; the trees stood out like charcoal sketches. The 
 sky was most pure and cloudless; there was no wind; the
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 279 
 
 day had been hot, but the cool of evening was stealing 
 over the water and through the air. Even with the 
 gesticulating crowd of Frenchmen at their wagons below, it 
 was impossible not to feel cool and quiet, and as if the end 
 of the day had come. There were no evil smells, no crush- 
 ing, crowding and bustling. An ideal way of doing business 
 with all that sky and river, and fine masomy and open 
 space. Felix thought of some blocks of New York water 
 front ; the contrast made this entree to commercial Montreal 
 like the frontispiece in a fairy tale. 
 
 lie walked up and down the deck, penetrated and soothed 
 with the beauty of the hour. Gradually more people came 
 on board, and half a dozen came near where he paced, and 
 took their seats. One well-dressed man sat down and turned 
 his back upon the Pier Richelieu and the broad place, and 
 the Nelson monument, and the evening sky, and read a 
 yellow-covered novel ; another took out his pocket-diary 
 and spent fifteen minutes in adjusting the record of his 
 travelling expenses. He thought them very inferior crea- 
 tures what we generally think of people whom we meet 
 in travelling. At length the time approached for the mov- 
 ing of the steamer down the river. One bell had sounded, 
 and there was an increased fervor in the oaths of the French- 
 men below among the barrels of cabbages and melons. 
 Felix, in a little maze, stood leaning over the rail and gaz- 
 ing back upon the city, thinking of the last restless, unob- 
 servant voyage he had made down this same broad river, 
 five years ago ; when he was made aware of some little ex- 
 citement among his fellow-passengers. He of the yellow- 
 covered novel had shut his book, and the accurate traveller 
 had put away his memoranda, and both had started towards 
 the other side of the boat. Another boat had neared them, 
 was drawing minute by minute closer to their side. 
 
 "The boat that's just come down the rapids," said the 
 yellow-covered man ; " she's going to transfer some pas- 
 sengers."
 
 280 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 Then Felix felt but little interest, and wondered at the 
 curiosity of his fellow-travellers ; still he idly drew near, 
 and stood among a line of others, face to face with the voy- 
 agers on the other boat, which was still rocking slightly and 
 was still not quite alongside. There were many calls below, 
 and much throwing of ropes and clanking of chains. The 
 boats were separated by but a few feet now ; nobody was 
 talking all were looking. The passengers on the other 
 boat had a sun-burned, flushed, excited look, as if they had 
 just come down the rapids (which they had). 
 
 Felix's eye ranged carelessly down the rows of faces op- 
 posite him. Then he gave a start and gazed again, steady- 
 ing himself with his hand on the rail. It was so unex- 
 pected, he explained to himself afterwards. It always gives 
 one a feeling of excitement to see the face of a friend or 
 even an acquaintance without any warning among the strange 
 faces of a crowd. It was Dorla whom he looked at Dorla, 
 not as he remembered her, not as he saw her last, but so 
 uniquely herself that he had not had a moment of misgiv- 
 ing. Her face was a little sunburnt and flushed, and her 
 eyes had a startled look, for no doubt she had been 
 frightened coming down the rapids ; it had taken much less 
 to frighten her in days of old. She stood gazing before her 
 with an absent sort of look, as if she had gone through so 
 much in the matter of the rapids, she did not think it worth 
 while to interest hex-self in the landing of the boat. For a 
 moment Felix saw no one else ; then she moved slightly, 
 and turned to answer some one beside her who spoke, still 
 absently, though amiably. 
 
 This one who spoke to her (Felix looked at him with 
 fierce and sudden suspicion) was apparently little occupied 
 with the objects that occupied the others, but solely and 
 utterly with her. It is so easy to see a man's devotion ; even 
 the porter who stood laden with bags and shawls behind 
 them, saw this one's. There was something in Dorla's pre- 
 occupied manner that struck Felix with the sudden convic-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 281 
 
 tion that this was her husband, and that she had married 
 again without affection. She certainly looked well ; she 
 certainly did not look unhappy. This was the end ; Felix 
 could have wished the last few days undone, and that he had 
 not wasted a dreaming thought upon her. 
 
 In a moment more, the boats were securely fastened, the 
 pl;nik thrown across, and the two whom he was gazing on 
 as in an unwilling spell, moved forward ; and he started and 
 turned away and gazed upon the city, and tried to blot out 
 from his memory that sight of Dorla, leaning on the stran- 
 ger's arm. But though the 
 
 " evening fair as ever 
 Shines on ruin, rock, and river," 
 
 its peaceful charm was at an end for him. What had Dorla, 
 living or dead, to do with it ? Nothing, logically; but here 
 it was spoiled by her shadow falling on it, as she had spoiled 
 many a morning and many an evening for him before. Why 
 had fate not been content to let him rest ? 
 
 He laughed a little bitter laugh to himself as he turned 
 away ; at least, he would not disturb her serenity for the 
 second time, if he had the power. It would be too bad to 
 trouble the peace, too, of this respectable gentleman; he 
 would have a care. He might be more sensitive than the 
 lamented George. He would try to avoid them. He hoped 
 they had not set their hearts upon the Saguenay ! No 
 doubt if Dorla found there was any such complication proba- 
 bl<-, she would go into a fainting fit, like one of those she 
 had done so handsomely in that remote period prior to her 
 widowhood, and would have to keep her state-room, or be 
 taken off the boat. Surely, they need not get into high 
 tragedy at their time of life. It was very base and low in 
 Felix to have thoughts like these, but indeed he was so 
 angry and so stung by a man's silly pride and dread of usur- 
 pation, that he scarcely knew what ho thought or what he 
 looked. He walked rapidly up and down the deck, after the
 
 282 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 steamer blew her whistle and swung off into the stream ; his 
 coat was buttoned up, and his Hands plunged into his pock- 
 ets ; his face was hard, and his step almost vindictive ; he 
 looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. A little 
 child flitted across the deck, followed languidly by a white- 
 capped French nurse. Her broad Leghorn hat flapped over 
 her eyes at an inopportune moment ; she was prostrate at 
 Felix's feet, and his heavy unobservant tread came down 
 upon her tiny, outstretched hand. She gave a shrill cry of 
 pain and fear. Felix, suddenly and unpleasantly recalled to 
 the present, stooped over her and picked her up. It put 
 him in an agony to think that he had hurt her, but at the 
 same time he was angry and unreasonable. 
 
 " You should take better care," he said. " Let me see 
 your finger." 
 
 Her only answer was a passionate cry, and a violent 
 struggle to get out of his arms. 
 
 " Ha ! " he said, holding her tight, " you want me to put 
 you down on the deck again, for the next person to walk 
 over, do you ? " 
 
 Then the slim little creature writhed herself almost out of 
 his arms, but he was angry and cruel, and meant not to put 
 her down till he was ready. She used her hands and her 
 feet too, and kicked him with all her tiny strength. 
 
 " You are a little vixen," he said, standing her down upon 
 the seat that encircled the deck, but still holding her by one 
 arm. " Now show me your hand, and let me see if you are 
 hurt." 
 
 For all answer, she thrust her hand out of sight in her 
 dress, and twisted her face away from him. She was white 
 with pain and anger, and she shook all over, but she did not 
 cry. By this time the pensive French nurse came up to 
 where he stood, and shrugged her shoulders as if in sympa- 
 thy with him, and as if the child were hopeless. 
 
 " It will be better for Monsieur to go away," she said ; 
 and Monsieur went away, saying as he went,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 283 
 
 " I see I cannot do her any good. I am very sorry if I 
 hurt her." 
 
 He watched the nurse go away with her. The wind blew 
 her hat off, and he saw her face. She was not a pretty 
 child ; she was very f;iir, with blonde hair, soft and thin 
 and fine, that stood out in a little frizz like a glory round 
 her head. Her nose was retrousse, her eyes were light and 
 passionate. She was very small, she had felt like a doll to 
 Felix when he lifted her. She was dressed very daintily in 
 white, with a great brown sash around her waist, which the 
 nurse straightened, instead of paying any attention to the 
 hurt little hand. They disappeared into the saloon, Felix's 
 glance following them with a wish that that might be the 
 last that he might see of them. 
 
 He had not even the satisfaction of marching up and down 
 like a caged lion any more ; this encounter had spoiled even 
 that for him. He was afraid of walking over another child ; 
 he felt thoroughly ill-tempered. " Maybe I could find rest in 
 the baggage-room," he said to himself, in wrath, as he begged 
 a lady's pardon for moving a chair that she had appropriated 
 in her mind to some companion who had not yet appeared. 
 He endured this for half an hour, and then made a surly 
 resolution to get his tea, and bolt himself into his state-room 
 afterward, to escape the persecutions and temptations of the 
 world. This monastic fury was not abated when he found 
 himself at the door of the saloon, face to face with the 
 stranger whom he had seen with Dorla. This time he had a 
 different companion, an elderly woman in deep widow's 
 weeds. She was leaning heavily on his arm, and he was also 
 carrying several shawls. Not having that lively interest in 
 Felix that Felix had in him, he said : " I beg your pardon," 
 without looking at him particularly, which begging of par- 
 don was an invitation to get out of the way, and let him 
 pass with his heavy freight. 
 
 F'-iix was a gentleman, but it took all of his traditions 
 and instincts to prevent him from being very rude. He
 
 284: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 stood aside ; as the lady passed him, she glanced into his 
 face ; and then glanced again, and made a half movement to 
 put out her hand. Felix saw at once that it was some one 
 that he knew, but who, it was impossible for him to say. 
 His first impulse was to appear not to see ; he was just in 
 the mood to resent bitterly the common bondage of society. 
 But he was too good a gentleman to follow out this impulse ; 
 he could not prevent himself from giving a faint and distant 
 salutation. But elderly women are persistent. 
 
 " I am sure I cannot be mistaken," she said, stopping in 
 the doorway. " It is Mr. Varian." 
 
 As soon as she spoke, Felix knew that it was Mrs. Bishop. 
 A host of recollections came over him, of his mother, and of 
 their long kind feeling. 
 
 He put out his hand ; " For the moment, I was not sure. 
 I am so glad you spoke." 
 
 Some one came pushing through the door, and she was 
 obliged to move on. ', Felix followed her. She sat down, as 
 if tired, in the nearest chair, and motioned Felix to a seat 
 beside her. 
 
 " You have been living in California, ? I hear of you 
 sometimes through Harriet. Harriet is not with you, my 
 dear, is she ? " 
 
 It was so long since any one, young or old, had said " my 
 dear " to him, that his heart relaxed. 
 
 " No," he said, gently. " I have not seen Harriet since I 
 came back. I am. on my way to her." 
 
 " Aunt Hester," said the unnoticed and patient bearer of 
 shawls, " I will leave you here a moment and see if they are 
 ready to come out." 
 
 " Yes, and Henry," returned Mrs. Bishop, " tell her to 
 come right away ; and see if she cannot be persuaded to 
 leave Missy, and come down to tea." 
 
 This observation filled Felix with chagrin, and broke up 
 all his feelings of satisfaction in seeing Mrs. Bishop. She 
 also seemed recalled to something painful, and looked fur-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 285 
 
 tivcly at him. It was evident that in the pleasure of see- 
 ing him, she had forgotten the entanglements of that last 
 Milford summer ; for some reason she seemed much per- 
 plexed and troubled. Felix's pride instantly took alarm. 
 
 " She is trying to prepare a speech to soften the blow to 
 me," he said to himself, with disdain. " I shall be the ob- 
 ject of much female pity. It is supposed, no doubt, I have 
 been dragging a miserable existence for the last five years, 
 and have come pitifully back to be stabbed by the cruel 
 news, before my foot is absolutely on my native heath." 
 
 Following the sarcasm out, he prepared himself to meet 
 Dorla with suavity ; he allowed Mrs. Bishop no moment to 
 preface the meeting. He talked so glibly on subjects of in- 
 difference that the poor lady was bewildered and followed 
 humbly, not being so agile of mind as formerly. In about 
 a quarter of an hour, there was a sort of pause ; Felix him- 
 self was a little remiss, he had been watching the door of the 
 saloon so intently that he lost the thread of his discourse. 
 
 " I don't know why Henry doesn't come," Mrs. Bishop 
 began, uneasily. " Perhaps " 
 
 " I am afraid you are feeling the evening air," said Felix, 
 with assiduity. "Shall I put this shawl over you? One 
 feels the chill so soon after the sun goes down, and there is 
 quite a breeze to-night." 
 
 " Yes, quite," returned Mrs. Bishop, reminded of her 
 elderly infirmities. " I don't altogether fancy these night 
 boats but Henry and Dorla both assured me I should be 
 quite comfortable. By the way, Mr. Varian, did you 
 know " 
 
 But what it was, did not transpire ; at that moment, the 
 
 two people for whom he had been watching, appeared in the 
 
 do .rw;iy, " Henry " preceding and clearing the way for her 
 
 -r his sovereign, and standing aside and offe.ring her his 
 
 hand as she steppe,! ;UTO ; ,.-> the siilof llie dour. The evening 
 
 .Mill de'ir, th'ui^h the sun had gone down nearly an 
 
 hour. The river looked dark and broad, and the .steamer
 
 286 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 moved steadily onward with little noise or movement. 
 Dorla glanced around for Mrs. Bishop, and catching sight of 
 her came forward with a bright, affectionate face. 
 
 " You are tired of waiting for me," she said, " but Missy 
 would not let me off a moment sooner." 
 
 Felix had arisen when he saw them coming, and, standing 
 behind Mrs. Bishop's chair, had appeared to Dorla as any 
 of the passengers, of whom there were a number on the deck. 
 
 " No, I am not tired of waiting," said Mrs. Bishop, with 
 painfully evident constraint. " I have found an old friend 
 on board. It will be quite a surpiise to you, Dorla. Here 
 is Mr. "Varian." 
 
 It was quite a surprise to her. She looked up suddenly 
 towards him, as Mrs. Bishop turned to indicate him, and 
 the bright, easy look died out of her face ; there came an 
 expression with which Felix was familiar. Then all feeling, 
 good or bad, went under swift control, and she put out her 
 hand unaffectedly to him, and said some commonplace, but 
 sufficiently cordial, words of greeting. 
 
 Felix, notwithstanding that he had been getting up his 
 part for half an hour, did much less well than she. He only 
 succeeded in being stiff, and then unnaturally easy, if the thing 
 is possible. There was, after the first few moments, something 
 subtly detestable in his manner. Dorla alone felt it, in 
 wonder and distress. She was quite pale, and almost silent. 
 The two gentlemen and Mrs. Bishop kept up the few mo- 
 ments' desultory talk, before going down to tea was can- 
 vassed. Dorla was appealed to ; Felix had arisen. 
 
 " It is so beautiful out here now," said she, keeping her 
 seat. 
 
 " Then let us wait a little longer," said Henry, with 
 fervent acquiescence. 
 
 " But there will be nothing left," said Mrs. Bishop, plain- 
 tively. " Those hungry creatures rushing down the stairs 
 will eat up everything." 
 
 " I am afraid, from what I hear, Mrs. Bishop," said Fe-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 287 
 
 lix, " that you will wish they had eaten everything up, when 
 you go down." 
 
 " Now, Henry assured me I should have a very decent 
 meal. Henry, what do you say to this ? " 
 
 While Henry was reassuring his aunt on this vital 
 point, Felix excused himself, and went down to the heated 
 and noisy dining-room. He spent but a few moments in it, 
 and then went away to smoke. For half an hour he smoked, 
 and then went forward, meaning to go directly to his state- 
 room. He did not feel equal to the renewal of this inter- 
 course, and hoped, with a bitter vehemence, that he might 
 escape, ever in this life, another meeting with one who 
 brought so many unhappy memories with her. A crowd of 
 people were about his state-room door, inspecting " views " 
 and Indian curiosities so-called. He could not enter it 
 without asking persons to move, and quite possibly those he 
 meant to avoid might be among the group. So, having left 
 them on the forward deck, he thought himself safe in going 
 to the stern of the boat, and walking for a few moments, till 
 he saw the way clear to his room-door. 
 
 The moon had come out in full splendor, and a long track 
 of light lay behind them on the water. The sky was still 
 f:iintly yellow about the clear horizon, and darkly blue 
 above, and the lights along the shore seemed distant. The 
 air, too, was fresh and delicious to one coming from within. 
 Felix walked to the stern of the boat with a freer feeling. 
 It seemed so dark, coming out of the lighted saloon. All 
 the passengers walking about or sitting in groups, were like 
 maskers. He could have told no one's face. He stood still 
 for a moment, at the stern, looking steadfastly back upon 
 the glittering waters. A soft voice said, exactly at his 
 elbow 
 
 " I had no idea the country was so level here, had 
 you?" 
 
 It was Dorla'.s voice, and it might have been said to him, 
 or to her Henry who stood close beside her. Felix ground
 
 288 A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 his teeth. This was fate ! He had walked directly into the 
 very group he had been trying to avoid. He did not care 
 what they thought, he only wanted to spare himself the 
 sting of feeling that the sight occasioned. They talked to- 
 gether (as was unavoidable,) for a few moments, about the 
 river, and then, as he was planning to get away, Mrs. 
 Bishop arose and proposed to Dorla to go in. Mrs. Bishop 
 had been so thrown back by Felix's changed manner, and 
 by other reasons possibly, that she had not much pleasure 
 in his society, it was evident. 
 
 " Is it necessary quite so soon ? " said Dorla. " It is so 
 beautiful here in the moonlight, and Missy will surely wake 
 if I go in just yet." 
 
 "We can sit in the saloon," said Mrs. Bishop. "lam 
 sure it is too chilly here." 
 
 " In a little while I will come in," returned Dorla, show- 
 ing she had developed a little more self-assertion in these 
 past five years. 
 
 "Well, Heniy, if you will give me your arm, said Mrs. 
 Bishop, with resignation ; and the two moved away. 
 
 There was only a moment of silence, and then Dorla said, 
 " Tell me about Harriet. It is so long since I have seen 
 her." 
 
 The tone, which was gentleness and courtesy itself, had 
 something more about it than courtesy and gentleness. It 
 said, " Forgive me, if you can, for whatever I have done 
 against you ; and take my forgiveness for whatever I have 
 suffered at your hands. Let us be kind friends, since we 
 can be nothing more, and do not wound or goad me by this 
 strange demeanor." 
 
 Felix was not insensible to it, but it only added to his 
 bitterness. He perversely wrought ib into pity, and he 
 would not be pitied. " See how kindly she is soothing me ! " 
 he said to himself, with venom. " She takes this moment 
 of the absence of her Henry to reconcile me to existence. 
 She would do all she could in conscience to save me from
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 281) 
 
 despair. I am not sure but she would flirt a little with me, 
 the tender, pious creature, if there were no other way." 
 
 The result of this came out in his tones, though of course 
 not in his words. 
 
 " Harriet ? " he said, with a brotherly carelessness. " I 
 have not seen her yet. I have just come back from Califor- 
 nia, where I have been living for the past three years. But 
 perhaps you know ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Dorla, faintly. 
 
 " She is now at Lake Memphremagog," continued Felix, 
 " and I am going to join her there in the course of a few 
 days. You have not seen her lately ? " 
 
 " No ! we seem to have drifted apart. I suppose I am 
 getting tiresome, with Missy and all my cares, and you know 
 Harriet likes something fresh. And she is getting, too, a 
 little strong-minded. I suppose you know about it." 
 
 " Strong-minded ? No ! " said Felix, with vexation. 
 " She has taken good care not to let me see anything of it in 
 her letters. Who are the people that she has about her 
 now ? " 
 
 " O, I could hardly tell you. A little Bohemian and ar- 
 tistic flavor, but rather more pronounced than we have been 
 <juit;> used to. Perfectly respectable, though, and I hope you 
 will not mind the difference in certain little things. That 
 is, they seem very little ; sometimes I think they have more 
 iiii'iiniug than we are accustomed to believe, and have their 
 effect to pull down what ought be kept up." 
 
 " Women," said Felix, with a scornful shrug, " are quite 
 beyond my comprehension. Beginning with my sister Har- 
 riet." 
 
 " Yes? " said Dotia,' this time very coldly. 
 
 At this moment the faithful Henry reappeared upon the 
 scene. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel," he said, humbly, " I come from my 
 aunt, who begs you will not expose yourself to the night air 
 13
 
 290 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 any longer. Some lady has been telling her the nights upon 
 the river here are very dangerously cold." 
 
 " Perhaps she is right," said Dorla, rising slowly. And 
 with a cool good-night to Felix, moved away. 
 
 Felix, who had arisen in a speechless sort of maze, when 
 she went away, stood gazing after her, with a bewildered 
 feeling that the world had come down, and would have to be 
 built up again from the foundation. " Mrs. Rothermel ! " 
 Then he was only a suitor, and a coldly-treated one at that. 
 The sensation of relief was something startling. He turned, 
 and drew a long breath, as he gazed down the moon-paved 
 river. How he had misjudged her! How could he atone 
 for the insulting coldness of his manner? 
 
 " If they should meat again," he assured himself, it would 
 be necessary to show her that he felt more kindly, that lie 
 had overlooked the past. " Not that it was likely that they 
 would ever be thrown together much more," he said, " though 
 he should make the effort to have one interview at least. 
 But it was pleasanter to be at peace with all ; life was too 
 short for feuds of any kind." It made very little difference 
 to him, of course, whether she was married to this man 
 or not ; but it was pleasanter to find she had not thrown 
 herself away. A person in whom you have once felt an in- 
 terest, etc. An interest, indeed. He did not deserve to 
 know she was not married. His monastic fury was ex- 
 pended ; he forgot all about going to his state-room. He 
 walked up and down the deck, till it was long past mid- 
 night, and till his fellow- voyagers were all asleep or silent. 
 
 The next morning, about half-past six o'clock, he went again 
 upon the deck. Many people were already there, having an 
 enthusiastic desire to see the first of the ancient town. The 
 morning was perfect, the air a great deal colder than was at 
 all comfortable, and the wind quite riotous. Bundled up in 
 shawls and shielded by an angle of the cabin, sat Mrs. 
 Bishop. Felix made his way to her, looking around for 
 Dorla, but she was not there. Mrs. Bishop was not pre-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 201 
 
 pared for his unexplained suavity, but she was very soon 
 melted by it, being a soft hearted old woman, easily reached 
 by any one associated with the dear and well-remembered 
 past. In a few moments they were talking of the old d 
 and the many changes. Her voice failed when it came to 
 that ; she said a few words, huskily, about his mother. 
 And Felix had to supply his mind with faint recollections 
 of having heard of Mr. Bishop's death, some two or three 
 years ago. How heartless it seemed to have forgotten it! 
 No\v that he was with her, he felt as if he ought to have 
 been more impressed with it, when he heard it. But a 
 paragraph in a rambling letter, about people three thousand 
 miles away, whom one never expects to see again, cannoc 
 affect one very vitally. 
 
 " But there is much left to make life bearable," said his 
 companion simply. " My friends are very kind." 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel is often with you? " said Felix. 
 
 " Yes, we have spent our summers together for the past 
 two years ; and she comes to see me almost daily in the city. 
 I do not know what I should have done without her. She 
 is everything to me. And now that Henry lives with me, I 
 have no right to call myself a lonely woman. Many are 
 worse off than I. But it is a drear change." 
 
 Felix remembered the contented and united pair, and in- 
 deed he did feel sorry for her. But while he looked for 
 words to say so, Dorla came upon the deck and glanced 
 around for her. By the band she led the little girl, with 
 whom he had had so unfortunate an encounter on the deck, 
 the night before. She came up to them with a warm smile 
 for her old friend, and a cold one for her old lover. The 
 child snatched herself away from the group when she saw 
 1-Vlix. Dorla, not understanding, tried to make her speak to 
 him. 
 
 " Your daughter and I came in collision yesterda 
 said. " I hope- she has inherited her mother's forgiving dis- 
 position."
 
 292 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Has her mother that sort of disposition," she said, as if 
 she were not thinking. All Felix's overtures were unac- 
 cepted. Missy held herself behind her mother, and refused 
 to speak to him. At last her mother had to interfere ; she 
 stooped down and whispered something which had not much 
 effect. 
 
 " Dear Missy," she said again in a low voice, "give your 
 hand to Mr. Variau." 
 
 And Missy gave it the coldest, smallest hand, and for the 
 shortest second. And such a look out of her light eyes ! 
 
 " It shall never happen again, Missy ; and I hope we shall 
 be friends." 
 
 Missy did not echo the hope, and her mother took her 
 on her lap to recompense her for having submitted to give 
 her hand to Mr. Varian for the tenth part of a second. 
 Rather a bad beginning ! Felix brought some more chairs, 
 and they made themselves comfortable in the shelter of the 
 cabin. 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful ! " said Dorla. " After all, the out- 
 line is just like the pictures in the geography ; I should have 
 known it for Quebec." 
 
 " Such striking features could not well be lost, even in a 
 wood engraving." 
 
 " See! Missy," said her mother, "it is time you took an 
 interest. This is the old city that I told you of, that has 
 a wall around it, and great iron gates." 
 
 But Missy cast dark looks at Felix, and refused to take 
 an interest. 
 
 " Missy," said Felix, with humble perseverance, " there, 
 where you see that flag, is where they fought a great battle 
 once, and where General Wolfe was killed." 
 
 " I am afraid she doesn't know much about General 
 Wolfe," said Dorla, putting her arms around her, "being 
 only six years old." 
 
 " I never had anything to do with children, and I do not
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 293 
 
 know how much they ought to know," returned Felix. 
 " But I suppose six is rather a tender age for history." 
 
 " Rather," said Dorla, holding Missy very tight in her 
 arms, and wrapping a shawl about her feet. And Felix felt 
 himself snubbed by mother and by daughter. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Bishop, " I'm not too young for his- 
 tory ; you may tell me, if you think it worth your while." 
 
 So Felix solaced himself with telling all he could remem- 
 ber of the points of interest in sight from the river, to which 
 Dorla, who was privately taking Missy's part, listened, but 
 did not make a comment. Presently Henry, who was now 
 formally presented as Mr. Stanfield, came up to them, and 
 Missy's face brightened. He held out his hand, and Missy 
 slipped down from her mother's lap. She made him take 
 her out to the very end of the deck, and even lift her up to 
 look over the railing, and she showed no intention of return- 
 ing to the group that she had left. Presently Dorla got up 
 and walked over to where they stood, and then they walked 
 up and down the deck, Dorla and Mr. Staufield, the latter 
 carrying Missy in his arms, with the shawl wrapped close 
 about her feet. Felix, left in the enlivening society of Mrs. 
 Bishop, thought that this- desertion might be owing to 
 motherly misgivings about the thickness of Missy's stockings, 
 or it might be owing to a desire to repay him for his inso- 
 lent coldness of the night before. Or, bitter reflection, it 
 might be an inclination for the society of that middle-sized, 
 middle-brained, black-bearded, unoffending young man. No, 
 perish the thought! A want of taste was not among the 
 shortcomings of Mrs. Rothennel. It would have been a 
 pleasure to watch her, as she moved slowly up and down the 
 deck, the wind sweeping her clothes about her limbs, and 
 her hair into her eyes, if he had been a little more certain 
 of why sin; went away. She was not talking much, but was 
 looking wistfully, and with a look that was not all pleasure, 
 at the glittering and beautiful old city on its steep, towards 
 which they were drawing so fast. The air was so clear, the
 
 294 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 heights and slopes were so defined, the blue was so blue, the 
 green so vivid, the sunshine such " a glorious birth ; " Felix 
 wondered that her face was not all radiant, as it would have 
 been in the years that she had left behind. 
 
 " Why will Henry carry that great girl in his arms ? " so- 
 liloquized Mrs. Bishop, long after Felix had ceased talking. 
 " It really doesn't look well, even if it doesn't hurt his 
 back." 
 
 The " great girl " looked such a pitiful mite, that Felix felt 
 she might be without uneasiness on the subject of her neph- 
 ew's back. The appearance of the thing was another matter ; 
 they certainly did look very papa-and-mamma-ly, walking 
 up and down beside each other, and with Missy's little face, 
 blue-pinched with the morning air, lying confidingly upon 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " She seems a delicate child," said Felix, generally. He 
 would have liked to say, " and a most disagreeable one ; " 
 but that would have been unwise. 
 
 " Why yes, but Dorla exaggerates all that, and makes her- 
 self wretched with but very little reason. I can't see that 
 she is very different from other children, I mean as far as 
 her health goes. She is different in her mind, for she is very 
 clever, and knows that her mother hasn't any other thought 
 in life, and that she can do exactly as she pleases." 
 
 " Not a very profitable idea to get implanted in a brain of 
 six," said Felix with a superior air. 
 
 Then Mrs. Bishop began to defend Dorla, and make ex- 
 cuses for Missy, till Felix felt he was considered an enemy 
 by all. He was very glad when they made the wharf, and 
 he went away to his state-room for his valise. When the 
 rush of people on and people off the boat was a little over, 
 he went back to the forward deck, where he had left the party. 
 Standing somewhat back, behind a group of people, he was a 
 little startled, and recalled to the immediate past, to wit, the 
 day before yesterday a period and an event which seemed 
 to have faded from his mind. Abby Glover, with cheeks
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 295 
 
 aglow and eyes dancing, darted past him. He had almost 
 spoken to her, but she had not seen him. She ran up to 
 Dorla and kissed her, hugged Missy, and shook Mr. Stan- 
 field's disengaged hand, and then ran over to speak to Mrs. 
 Bishop. 
 
 " Why, Abby," said the latter, "you're surely not alone. 
 Where is Mrs. Glover?" 
 
 " Fast asleep at the Hotel St. Louis," she exclaimed. " I 
 never was out so early in my life before. I have been awake 
 since five. I was so afraid you wouldn't come." 
 
 But all the time, her eyes roved about the deck, and she 
 was manifestly unsatisfied. 
 
 ' Where are all the people ? " she said. " Are these all ? " 
 
 " Some sleepy ones may be still in their state-rooms," said 
 Dorla, " or some hungry ones down in that ecstatic dining- 
 room. For whom are you looking ? " 
 
 '' Why," said Abby coloring, and with an anxious shade 
 creeping over her bright morning face, " why, a gentleman 
 mamma met in Montreal an old friend (who is going to 
 join us, you know, to go up the Saguenay.) He said he 
 should come down this morning." 
 
 " I am afraid that he has played you false," said Dorla, 
 tying a scarf over Missy's Leghorn hat. 
 
 " I don't care if he has," said Abby stoutly, but her color 
 faded. 
 
 " Come then," said Mrs. Bishop taking Henry's arm, for 
 Missy was now consigned to her nurse Marie ; " we can't 
 wait for him. Maybe he'll bethink himself and come down 
 by rail." 
 
 But at this moment, Felix's wall of defence, to wit, two 
 French priests with broad hats, moved away and left him 
 exposed. Abby caught sight of him and gave a little cry ; 
 she made a step forward, and then stopped and reddened 
 violently. Violently, but not unbecomingly. She was so 
 pretty, she was so naive, Felix was at hrr side in a moment, 
 with a reflection of her pleasure no doubt on his face.
 
 296 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " You did come," she said, as he took her hand. 
 
 "Why, of course," he answered. " What did you think 
 that I was going to do ? " 
 
 " Well, it seems like forever since Montreal," bhe said, 
 " and I am tired to death of Quebec, and am so glad to see 
 somebody that I know. These are some of our party," she 
 added, remembering them. And turning to Dorla, who stood 
 nearest, she said with great ease for a girl of seventeen, who 
 had been so lately blushing, " Mrs. Rothermel, my friend 
 Mr. Yarian." 
 
 There was a little laugh, principally from Mrs. Bishop, 
 for Dorla looked somewhat cold and haughty, though she 
 had laughed a little too. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Yarian and I -have known each other 
 a good while." 
 
 " Well," said Abby a little sharply, for no one fancies be- 
 ing laughed at, " shall I present him to Mrs. Bishop ? Or 
 has everybody known him a good while ? " 
 
 " Everybody I think," said Mrs. Bishop, " so you'll be 
 saved the trouble." 
 
 " I shouldn't have minded the trouble," returned Abby, 
 not in the best humor. " But not to waste time over it, I 
 think we'd better go, for I see two omnibuses are filled al- 
 ready, and you never will be able to get the rooms you want. 
 Mamma has spoken for them. But speaking doesn't seem 
 to do much good ; there is such a hurly-burly. We've got 
 a wretched little room." 
 
 Then Mrs. Bishop began to grow despondent, as was her 
 wont, when any difficulty was suggested. She leaned heav- 
 ily on Henry's arm, and told him they should be too late. 
 Henry was very patient, but his thoughts were divided be- 
 tween getting her safely down the stairs, and seeing that 
 Dorla and Missy, who were following, got down safely too. 
 For Abby and Felix had gone on in advance, as had seemed 
 natural. 
 
 " How long have you known Mrs. Rothermel ? " asked
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 297 
 
 Abby of him. "Did you know her when she was 
 young ? " 
 
 That staggered Felix, but he reminded himself that he 
 was talking to seventeen. " Yes," he answered, " when 
 she was quite young." 
 
 " They say she was pretty," said Abby, picking her way 
 among the cabbages and apples. " Was she ? " 
 
 " Yes, very pretty as I remember her." 
 
 " I shouldn't think it," said Abby who had not got over 
 being laughed at, " though she's very pleasant and nice. 
 But here's the last omnibus, and we shall fill it up." 
 
 " If you will get in, I will go back and see if I can help 
 them ; they are still behind." 
 
 This did not please Abby, but she had to wait. Felix, 
 however, might have saved her the pain and himself the 
 trouble, for all the assistance that he rendered or the satis- 
 faction that he got. Missy repulsed him violently, and 
 ])orla declined his arm, and Marie was carrying all the 
 bags and shawls. When they returned to the stage, they 
 found that all Abby's representations could not keep it 
 empty for them; five other persons were seating themselves 
 -ure. A deep gloom settled on Mrs. Bishop. 
 
 * This is a horrid crowd," cried Abby, springing out. 
 Mr. Varian, don't you want to walk? I know a short 
 cut, up the Breakneck Stairs. We shall be there almost as 
 soon as they." 
 
 Mrs. Bishop tried to remonstrate, but the vehicle was 
 more comfortable without them, and they were out of sight 
 m the driver got upon the box. 
 
 " One would think she had been in Quebec a year," said 
 Mrs. Bishop. 
 
 ' And had known Mr. Varian all her life," said Dorla. 
 
 "\Vln-n 1'Ylix and his companion reached the hotel, they 
 
 found a tight-packed crowd in the little waiting-room, and 
 
 anxious faces all around. Henry was patient as ever, but 
 
 despairing. There was but one decent room to be had, and 
 
 13*
 
 298 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 that must of course be assigned to Mrs. Bishop. And to 
 permit Dorla to go up to the fourth floor and lodge in a 
 narrow and meanly furnished room, was a thought impos- 
 sible to him. 
 
 " I would so much rather have apartments outside, if one 
 could find such a thing," said Dorla, looking cheerless. 
 " With Missy it would be so much better. And I dislike 
 hotels so much." 
 
 " But that would be breaking up the party," said Abby, 
 who clearly revelled in perplexities and small discomforts, 
 when there was a prospect of amusement. " I don't see why 
 you could not put up with a poor room just for once, and 
 we could be all together." 
 
 " At any rate," said Henry, " we can get some breakfast ; 
 and after, we can devise some way to make you comfortable. 
 Aunt Hester, must you go to your room first ? " 
 
 Aunt Hester consented to waive that privilege, and they 
 all went in to breakfast, where they sat around a small 
 table in the centre of which bloomed a scarlet geranium in 
 a trellised pot. They all seemed hungry and merry ; that 
 is, Felix and Abby and Mrs. Glover, who had joined them in 
 the parlor, seemed hungry and merry, and Mrs. Bishop and 
 Henry and Missy seemed hnngry, and Dorla alone was 
 neither. It was impossible to think of Henry as merry. 
 He seemed full of care and solicitude for Dorla, and for 
 Missy, who sat beside him. He sent the waiter for three 
 beefsteaks before he found one suitable for her, and then 
 he ate one of the rejected ones himself in the intervals 
 between ordering things for her mother and his aunt. 
 Missy certainly ought to have been sufficiently nourished. 
 Felix watched Dorla cutting her food, sugaring her berries, 
 buttering her toast, in entire forgetfulness of her own 
 breakfast. Even Abby noticed it and exclaimed, as she 
 saw a final slice of toast go off the mother's plate upon the 
 child's, 
 
 " Look at Mrs. Pelican ! Mr. Stanfield, you had better
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 299 
 
 order something for her breakfast that Missy can't eat. 
 It will be her only chance." 
 
 " Please, Abby, remember that there was a time when 
 even you could not take care of yourself," said Dorla. 
 
 " Not a very long time," said Mrs. Glover. 
 
 " No," said Abby, " I should have starved if it had been 
 long." 
 
 " It is true," said her mother with a laugh, " that you 
 were not much coddled. I believe the struggle was to pre- 
 vent you from eating what wasn't intended for you. I 
 never remember the time when you could not forage for 
 yourself." 
 
 " Nobody cut up my beefsteak for me to that mince-like 
 fineness. Perhaps it would have been better for me if they 
 had. I should not have grown to be so awfully healthy, 
 such a rank weed. Missy will never be like me." 
 
 The comparison between the splendid, well-grown girl, 
 and the atom Missy, was too great to be enjoyed by Dorla. 
 She turned away her head to give an order to the servant, 
 but Felix saw her face grow crimson. 
 
 " Is this festive scene to be abandoned? " said Abby, when 
 at last there was an end of eating and ordering things to eat. 
 
 " Abby calls everything ' festive,' from a parasol to a 
 mountain view," said Mrs. Bishop, while Henry moved 
 chairs out of her way, and got her fairly started on her 
 passage to the door. 
 
 " Yes ! Festive infant, come with me ! " cried Abby, 
 scarcely conquering a polka step as she caught Missy by the 
 wrist and dashed irreverently before her elders. Missy was 
 not pleased, and showed it by twisting her shoulders and 
 holding back, and finally by slapping. 
 
 " Little vixen ! " cried Abby dropping her. " If I had 
 such a cross child, I'd leave her in the nursery." 
 
 Felix took this occasion to fall back to Dorla's side. 
 " If you think you would like rooms outside, I am sure I 
 could find them for you."
 
 300 &- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Thank you. Mr. Stanfielcl said he was going out to 
 try, as soon as breakfast was over." 
 
 Felix bowed. He did not propose to run a i-ace with 
 Mr. Stanfield. Certainly Dorla was not proving herself 
 forgiving. They were scarcely in the parlor when the 
 assiduous Henry was seen issuing forth on his quest 
 seen by Abby, who was leaning from the window, with the 
 freedom of her age. 
 
 " Behold your slave ! " she cried to Dorla, who stood in 
 the next window. " Now we shall see him no more till 
 he accomplishes your bidding." 
 
 " Or perishes in the attempt," said Felix. 
 
 " Or perishes in the attempt ! " said Abby. " It is quite 
 medieval." 
 
 " It is qtiite unusual," said Dorla quietly, " if you mean 
 his good-nature and unselfishness." 
 
 " That I feel applies to me," said Abby, " because I teased 
 Missy at the breakfast-table, and because I made Mr. 
 Varian walk up with me from the boat." 
 
 " O no," returned Dorla. " TJiat looked quite heroic. v 
 
 " I assure you it was fun." 
 
 "I am beyond the age," said Mrs. Rothermel as if 
 wearied with the subject. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Yarian is not, and that is one comfort. 
 I shall have some one to help me laugh ; you and Mrs. 
 Bishop and mamma of course can't enter into things, for 
 you're always thinking of your health or your proprieties 
 or Missy, and Mr. Stanfield hasn't a grain of humor in him. 
 Mr. Varian, you won't let them be hard upon me." 
 
 " No, Miss Abby, I'll be medieval " 
 
 " O, please don't be that. -But just don't let everybody for- 
 get that I am } r oung enough to be permitted to enjoy myself." 
 
 " Surely, she is trying how disagreeable she can be," 
 thought Dorla looking at her watch; and then sauntered 
 about the room with Missy, while they talked together 
 in one of the deep windows. Marie came and took
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 301 
 
 Missy up to Mrs. Bishop's room ; but still the bags and 
 shawls lay in a heap upon the parlor table. Mrs. Glover 
 came in compassionately and talked to Dorla, left alone. 
 
 " You had better come to my room and rest," she said 
 after a few minutes. 
 
 " I cannot rest till something is settled about the rooms," 
 she answered. " And really, I never want to sit down in 
 a hotel. I want to walk about and walk away the moment 
 that there is a possibility." 
 
 " You are not a very good traveller, then," said the com- 
 fortable lady, who was always at home and happy wherever 
 thorn was anything to afford her entertainment. 
 
 " Wretched," said Dorla, and she could hardly keep from 
 crying, she was so unspeakably homesick and uncomfortable. 
 
 " Here he comes," cried Abby from the window. " And 
 in such a hurry, I am sure he must have found a place." 
 
 In a moment he was in the i-oom, quite radiant, if any- 
 thing so mild could be called radiant. 
 
 " Well ! " said Mrs. Glover, as if all the party were 
 equally interested. 
 
 " I think I have found exactly what will suit you, Mrs. 
 Rothermel," he said. *' Only a stone's throw from here. 
 And large airy rooms, and a house that seems very quiet 
 and respectable." 
 
 " ' However ' did you hear of it ? " cried Abby. 
 
 " I asked some shop-keepers," said Henry, briefly, look- 
 ing upon it as an interruption. Indeed he always looked 
 upon Abby as an interruption. 
 
 Dorla's face looked much brighter. 
 
 " Had you not better go with me now and look at 
 them y " he said earnestly. " It is only a little way." 
 
 i% < > yes, by all means," said Dorla, taking up her parasol 
 and eagerly moving towards the door. 
 
 " My dear ! " said Mrs. Glover in a voice full of propri- 
 ety, " hadn't 1 better go around with you V Excuse me for 
 suggesting it."
 
 302 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Yes, if you will," faltered Dorla, blushing an agonizing 
 red. " Mr. jStanfield says it is not far." 
 
 " O, I don't mind," she answered briskly. " Abby, let me 
 take your hat and gloves ; mine are on the roof." 
 
 " So ! " cried Abby, watching them as they went out. 
 " Mamma is happy. She is doing three things that she 
 likes best to do, making herself guardian of the proprieties, 
 looking at rooms, and watching a flirtation. I don't know 
 what she sees in rooms ; but she would go over a whole 
 hotel and look at them, if she were only going to stay one 
 night." 
 
 "Nor what she sees in such a tame flirtation," added 
 Felix, looking at his watch. 
 
 " No, it doesn't amuse me in the least. But mamma is 
 different. A very little of that sort of thing enlivens her." 
 
 " How long has it been going on?" asked Felix as he 
 rose. Abby was afraid he would go away for all the morn- 
 ing, and with innocent frankness said, " O, don't go, and 
 I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 So Felix stayed, and Abby made a long story out of what 
 was truly a very short one. Mrs. Bishop's heart was set 
 upon the match, and she had fastened herself upon Dorla, 
 and arranged things so that they should always be thrown 
 together. 
 
 " I don't believe the estimable Henry has much money," 
 said Abby, (at second-hand sm - ely, for she was too young to 
 originate such suspicions.) " And you know Mrs. Rother- 
 mel has a great deal, they say." 
 
 " Has she ? " said Felix. " Was her husband very rich ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Yes, I suppose so ; anyway, she is called 
 a fortune, and people talk about her." 
 
 " Has she attracted many followers, or is the worthy 
 Henry the only one in the field at present ? " 
 
 "O, as to that, I don't suppose she has anybody else. 
 Why, you know, at her age, of course it would not be natu- 
 ral."
 
 A PERFECT ADOSIS. 303 
 
 " Xot if she were very rich ? " said Felix, with a smile. 
 
 Then Abby, seeing a movement of restlessness on his part, 
 began to fear that he would yet escape, and hurried to 
 change the subject, and to interest him in the matter of the 
 
 " Mamma thinks we had much better go to-morrow," said 
 she, " and make our stay here on our return. It is no use 
 waiting for the Collinsons ; they would have telegraphed if 
 they had been coming. But I ain sorry ; they would have 
 been jollier than Mrs. Rothermel and Henry Stanfield." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Glover came walking briskly in ; she 
 was stout and heavy but incredibly brisk always. Dorla 
 and Mr. Stanfield followed her. She looked much pleased 
 to find her daughter still so well engaged. 
 
 have found such an excellent place," she said. " I 
 really wish we could all go there. But that is quite impos- 
 sible," she added promptly, seeing Felix interested. 
 
 S it is just the thing I wanted," said Dorla, looking 
 so relieved. " Now I'm willing to stay as long as anybody 
 wants to in Quebec." 
 
 " You were very homesick, I could see," said Henry, 
 looking as happy as before he had looked anxious. 
 
 " You were very kind about it," answered Dorla, sud- 
 denly remembering his part in the matter. " I suppose we 
 should never have heard of it, if you had not taken so much 
 trouble. 
 
 ' ; A parlor and two bed-rooms," interrupted Mrs. Glover, 
 "all so neat and old-fashioned, and a general air of respecta- 
 bility about the house." 
 
 ; >arlor, how swell ! " exclaimed Abby ; " we shall come 
 and spend our evenings with you." 
 
 Wr-11, you may, if you do not make a noise and wake up 
 Missy. For my room opens from the parlor." 
 
 ' I won't go anywhere that I can't make a noise," said 
 Abby.
 
 304 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I must go and tell Mrs. Bishop," said Dorla, " and Mr. 
 Stanfield, will you have my luggage sent around ? " 
 
 Away went Dorla with scarcely a nod to those she left 
 behind, and away went Henry in another direction to see that 
 her baggage was properly bestowed. 
 
 " Well, really," said Abby, " she takes it very coolly, going 
 away from us. I think she actually is pleased, and she 
 hasn't said good-bye." 
 
 " O, it is only a step. And it is quite as well. The 
 child would be worrying all the time in the hotel. And 
 there she will trouble no one," answered Mrs. Glover. 
 
 " What shall we do, now that we have disposed of Mrs. 
 Rothermel ? " said Abby with an anxious eye on Mr. Varian. 
 
 " Why you foi'get, in our care for Mrs. Rothermel, that 
 we have not heard whether Mr. Varian has any room." 
 
 " They tell me there are several single rooms on the fifth 
 floor. I am sure any of them will do for me." 
 
 " O," said Abby, " what a comfort, to hear any one say 
 that. Not like Mrs. Rothermel, who must have a parlor and 
 no end of comforts before she can make up her mind to stay 
 a week." 
 
 " But I haven't a Missy or a Marie or any of those luxu- 
 ries." 
 
 " Be thankful that you haven't, then." 
 
 While Felix asserted his gratitude for the freedom he en- 
 joyed, the two who were the subjects of their criticism were 
 being taken to Mount Carmel Street, under convoy of Henry 
 and a porter. Missy was as well contented as her mother, 
 but her satisfaction arose principally from the hope of get- 
 ting rid of Mr. Felix Varian, who had walked over her. 
 
 Mount Carmel Street consists, apparently, of two steep 
 blocks, cut off above by a gateway that encloses a garden, 
 and at the lower by the street and railing that cut the 
 Governor's Garden in two. The two narrow blocks are 
 quietness itself, like all of Quebec ; the houses are plain old 
 brick buildings ; the sidewalks are about the width of a cow-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 305 
 
 path. Over the iron railing at the end yon look down upon 
 the tree tops in the garden below, and beyond you see across 
 the river the glittering roofs of Point Levis. The Governor's 
 Garden abuts on one of the two blocks, and on that 
 side there are no houses. If this is all of Mount Oarniel 
 Street there is very little of it. But there was quite enough 
 to charm Dorla, and make her willing to stay in it a great 
 whilo. 
 
 \Vlion in the three rooms that were her own possession, she 
 was quite full of pleasure. The trunks were soon unpacked ; 
 a great chair wheeled up to the wide, deep window ; the table 
 strewed with books, the little old slender champagne glasses, 
 that the French servant brought them for the purpose, filled 
 with flowers that Missy had heaped her apron with in the 
 garden below. There was an old-fashioned mirror the 
 length of the mantelpiece, long and narrow ; and a deep fire- 
 place, with a grate adorned with brass. Indeed, wherever 
 there could be brass about the room, there was brass, and it 
 all shoiie like gold. There was a great deep sofa ; and great 
 generous chairs, and acres of table room ; a table where you 
 could have your work-basket and your lamp, and piles of 
 books and papers and a writing desk, and your pressing 
 boards and six glasses of ferns if you wanted them, and 
 whence you need never go for want of room, whatever were 
 your occupation. " Ruddy and strong and firm on its legs," 
 a John Bull of a table, worth a dozen shackly fragile things 
 all gilt and enamel and quiver. Dorla thought it all delight- 
 ful. There was room enough in her bedroom for the trunks, 
 and there was nothing to remind her that she was a stranger 
 and a pilgrim, and could tarry but a night. 
 
 It was afternoon, and Missy, worn out with walks in the 
 Governor's Garden and climbings up the narrow street, had 
 fallen asleep on the wide sofa. Her mother had drawn up a 
 chair to the side of the table, and was dreamily reading or 
 seeming to read. The day was warm outside, and the liglit
 
 306 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 was shaded to a cool dimness. A servant brought in Mr. 
 Varian. Dorla started, and laid down her book. 
 
 "To what are you indebted for the honor, etc.?" began 
 Felix ; " I will tell you. Mrs. Glover and Mrs. Bishop want 
 to go to the falls of Montmorenci this afternoon, and they 
 hope you are ready to go with them." 
 
 Dorla had a sudden, wicked suspicion that she was to go 
 with the elderlies, and that Abby was to be driven by Felix, 
 and this she resented hotly. Not that she was not elderly, 
 but Felix was much more so, and Abby had become intoler- 
 able in her youthfulness. "No," she said coldly, "lam 
 afraid I cannot go with them. I am a little tired and want 
 to rest." 
 
 Felix bowed. " Miss Abby said she was quite sure you 
 would not go." 
 
 " Miss Abby is very wise, considering her tender years." 
 
 " Yes, very wise," said Felix " and you cannot go ? " 
 
 " No, I am very sorry ; but it would be a bore to me, and 
 I only want to rest. We have been travelling for two weeks. 
 It is a luxury to have a room of one's own to rest in." 
 
 " You look very homelike here," said Felix, glancing 
 around the room. " I don't wonder you want to stay. I hate 
 a hotel. I always feel so restless in one." 
 
 " I should have thought you would have got used to them 
 by this time." 
 
 " No," said Felix dreamily, " I never have got used to 
 them, and have not even learned to fancy that I am con- 
 tented with my way of life. But I go on in it, and very 
 likely shall go on in it to the end." 
 
 There was a pause ; it was impossible for either to doubt 
 of what the other thought. Dorla thought she knew that 
 Felix was thinking of the different life he would have led if 
 that March day had a different ending, thinking of the pros- 
 iness and dulness of a life with her he who was companion- 
 able to girls of seventeen. And Felix felt sure she was full 
 of cold and slighting thoughts of the past, that they might
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 307 
 
 each despise but never could forget. Her voice had been 
 always cold since her rejected kindness of the night before, 
 but it was a shade colder when she came out from this revery. 
 She reverted to the drive and said, with the manner of one 
 who does not want to keep a district telegraph boy an unneces- 
 sary length of time in waiting, " I am sure Mrs. Bishop 
 will understand, for she knew that I was tired. I hope it 
 has not detained them, sending iu for me." 
 
 " No, I think not," answered Felix, determined not to be 
 rebuffed. There was something in the shaded, cool room, 
 that was much more attractive to him than the hot hotel 
 parlor, with servants passing and repassing, and a few bored 
 sojourners occupying the best sofas. Besides, it was rather 
 a rare chance to see Mrs. Rothermel without interruption 
 from her daughter or the aspirant for her hand, and he was 
 self-willed enough to be resolved to make the most of it. 
 So he did not take up his book, like a district telegraph 
 youth, and make his exit, R. C., but he sat quite still and 
 looked at Dorla, as he said, 
 
 " No, I think their going depended much on yours. "But 
 it is too warm to go for pleasure yet. I think Mr. Stanfield 
 will strongly advise giving up the expedition." 
 
 Dorla was very angry with herself for coloring. She 
 would gladly have met the insinuation with the coldness 
 that she felt, but instead of doing so, she was reddening 
 like a girl of seventeen, and was sitting before Felix with 
 h'-r eyes cast down and cheeks in a glow. He did not 
 t;;ko his eyes off her, the insolent. And there was a kind 
 of amused triumph in his voice when be spoke, as if he 
 thought it most diverting that a person of her ago should 
 blush so, or have a suitor, or do anything that implied the 
 existence of life and feeling. At least so Dorla looked upon 
 it. 
 
 " And he is so busy preparing for the Saguenay to- 
 morrow," he said, at lust breaking the oppressive silence. 
 " I beard Miss Abby tell him that Missy would need a new
 
 308 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 doll, and various illustrated nursery books, to get her through 
 the journey. And I interrupted a caucus over guide-books 
 and Canadian literature." 
 
 " You will need it all," said Dorla, " if you have not 
 read up recently. I was going to offer you my Parkman, 
 and two or three stray books which I have picked up here." 
 
 " But you will need them yourself." 
 
 " No, I shall not," said Dorla, looking up full at him, 
 " for I am not going up the Saguenay." 
 
 " Not going ! " said Felix, with a blank expression ; for 
 he had not thought of such a possibility ; and he had not 
 prepared his mind for two days and a half of seventeen ; 
 caramels and story books might possibly pall upon his 
 senses. " Surely you will change your mind." 
 
 " No, it is not possible. I do not want to go, to begin 
 the matter, for I am tired and want to have a quiet time. 
 And besides, it is no place for Missy. She is not strong 
 enough to go about on such expeditions, and she would be 
 unhappy all the time." 
 
 " Could you not leave her here ? " asked Felix. " It 
 would be for such a little time." 
 
 Dorla gave him a look which would have been contemptu- 
 ous if she had not been well-bred. " No," she said very 
 quietly. " It would be impossible. I never am separated 
 from Missy." And the contemptuous glance, in all its cold 
 repression, wandered to the sofa, and changed to a solicitous 
 and loving one as it fell upon the figure of the child. Felix 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I confess my ignorance," he said, " both of the necessi- 
 ties of children, and of their attractions. I never realized a 
 parent's cruel bondage before. Do all mothers and fathers 
 endure this sort of thing ? " 
 
 " What sort of thing ? " she said, really almost tartly. 
 " Giving up the bliss of going up the Saguenay, for the 
 health and comfort of a child ? Yes. I imagine a good 
 many are capable of even that tremendous sacrifice."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 309 
 
 " "Well," he answered, " I think it must be a wretched 
 life, that's all." 
 
 " Yes ? " And when she said " yes " interrogatively, it 
 was a clash of silvery icicles, and was meant to put an end to 
 further conversation on the subject. A sort of " Finis " in 
 a frost work. But Felix was not in a mood to be put an end 
 to in that fashion. He defied Dorla and her interrogatory 
 yes-es, and boldly laughed and said : 
 
 " Most people who have children are depressed and 
 dull, I know ; but I always thought it was because they had 
 grown old, and not because they were under such an iron 
 rule." 
 
 " I suppose it must be both," retorted Dorla. " People 
 who have nothing to live for, slide along glibly, and have a 
 sort of perpetual and unmeaning youth." 
 
 " That is possible, if parental affection is the only devel- 
 opment that is worth speaking of in the history of the 
 heart." 
 
 " It certainly is the only one that produces any marked 
 and lasting revolution." 
 
 At this moment Missy turned and threw herself into an- 
 other not ungraceful attitude, and muttered a little in her 
 sleep ; which had the result of bringing Dorla quickly to her 
 side, and dispersing the cloud upon her brow. Missy's 
 cheek was flushed, and Dorla laid her hand quickly and 
 lightly on it, with attentive touch, and then went across the 
 room and brought a light embroidered blanket and threw it 
 over her. Felix and his hateful speeches were quite forgot- 
 t'-u in the satisfaction of feeling that soft moisture on the 
 baby skin. Felix saw it and it almost put him in a passion. 
 
 At that moment, the servant brought up Mr. Stanfield's 
 name. In the interval that elapsed before she could return 
 with him, Dorla said, " Please do not say anything about my 
 not gf'ing with the; party to-morrow. I do not want any dif- 
 ference made, and it will be time enough to mention it to- 
 night."
 
 310 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I doubt whether that will soften the blow," said Felix 
 with perverseness. " But of course I will respect your 
 wishes." 
 
 Mr. Stanfield came in, truly enough, laden with a bundle 
 that had the unmistakable outlines of a big doll indeed, the 
 feet were sticking out and bearing also a number of 
 colored nursery books. His face had an expression of 
 anxious fervor. He had, as Abby said, no sense of humor, 
 and was not suspicious. He did not look displeased at see- 
 ing Felix, (though probably he would rather not have found 
 him there,) and but faintly surprised. He had not the least 
 idea of being ashamed of his devotion, and his open honesty 
 in the matter was a great trial to its object. While she 
 approved of his singleness of purpose, and unquestionable 
 sincerity, she was constantly embarrassed by their manifes- 
 tation, and saw always the ludicrous side of the situations 
 into which they led her. Still, this was perhaps in the end 
 in his favor, for she felt so angry with herself for returning 
 such loyalty with ridicule, that she was doubly kind to him 
 on the next occasion of their meeting, and was being slowly 
 drawn into a net-work of gratitude and penitence. His 
 tenderness for Missy, and the child's great love for him, gave 
 him of course a place that nothing else could have done. And 
 when he entered the room, where Felix, cool and taunting, 
 sat spectator, with the huge doll and its droll feet in one 
 hand a,nd the gaudy pictures in the other, she felt in a rage 
 with him for making himself absurd, and yet in a moment 
 was melted with shame at so rewarding his atfectionate de- 
 votion to the child. It was felt to be a relief by both when 
 Felix, a moment after his entrance, rose to go. Certainly he 
 could do nothing else. 
 
 " I am sorry, Mrs. Rothermel," he said, " that you will 
 positively refuse our drive." 
 
 " That is one thing that I came about," said Henry, put- 
 ting down the doll with care. " They are waiting, and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 311 
 
 seem to take it for granted that you mean to go. Miss 
 Abby and Mrs. Bishop are already in the carriage." 
 
 Then Dorla felt ashamed of herself, when she found her 
 suspicions were unjust, and that Abby was really going in 
 the carriage, and not tCte-fr-ttte with Felix. She also began 
 to feel that it would have been very nice to go out to the 
 Falls, but it was too late to entertain the proposition. So 
 she could only reiterate her refusal and send first one and 
 then the other away, respectively, exasperated aud dejected. 
 
 The next morning at seven, Mrs. Glover and Abby and 
 Felix were waiting on the steamer for the coming of 
 llfury Stanfield. The defection of Dorla was made known 
 to them late on the night before. Mrs. Bishop had at once 
 given out, and poor Henry was rent with anxiety and disap- 
 pointment. Having headed the party as it were, even to his 
 single eye, the situation was perplexing. 
 
 " He will not come, you may be sure," said Abby, lean- 
 ing over the rail and gazing into the crowd below. " And 
 I am sure I hope he won't. We shall have to be comforting 
 him all the time. It will be like taking a family in affliction 
 for an airing. Our spirits will be extinguished, and he will 
 not be revived." 
 
 Speculations were soon superseded by certainty; as the 
 last whistle blew, the figure of Henry Stanfield was seen 
 hurriedly making its way down across the wharf. " He 
 has not any valise," cried Abby, clapping her hands. " Be- 
 hold the President of the Widow's Society ! He cannot 
 leave his post." 
 
 It was even so. He hastily explained that the last few 
 days of travel seemed to have told upon his aunt, and that 
 she was really unfit to be left alone in a hotel, and that she 
 could not make up her mind to go without Mrs. Rothermel. 
 Altogether, he thought it was best for him to stay ; it would 
 be so uncomfortable for both of the ladies to be left without 
 protection in a strange city. : It was all very transparent 
 "thin," Abby was vile enough to call it. But the with-
 
 312 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 drawal of die plank cut short the awkwardness of the situa- 
 tion, and their regrets were vaguely ended in a shout of all 
 aboard. Henry regained the wharf with alacrity, and was 
 seen hurrying away without a look behind. 
 
 " Glad to be quit of us," said Felix, with a sardonic laugh. 
 And so the Sagu'-may party was cleft in twain : Abby, Mrs. 
 Glover and Felix launched upon the waves, and Dorla, 
 Henry and Mrs. Bishop anchored by Missy in the harbor of 
 Quebec. 
 
 It was the third day after this unwept parting, that Felix, 
 bathed and dressed and rested from his journey, sauntered 
 out from the Hotel St. Louis. The afternoon was beautiful ; 
 the long shadows were lying across the market-place, and 
 the soft air was freshened by the low sinking of the sun. 
 He sauntered down past the Jesuit Bari-acks, not caring 
 where he went. He had nearly an hour before dinner, and 
 he had nothing better to do with it than to saunter up and 
 down the precipitous old streets, and feast his eye upon the 
 picturesque and venerable. 
 
 A little crowd was gathering in the square, and he idly 
 drew towards it. The centre point was a tall Frenchman, 
 with blonde, beard and black eyes, who stood upon a sort 
 of cart, and marshalled about him a flock of trained doves. 
 He held up a white flag and called out in a not unmusical 
 voice, " a vous, Capitaine," and from the flock flew the 
 Capitaine and perched upon it. Then he shook out another 
 of another color, crying, (( a vous, Caporal," and the Caporal 
 fluttered down upon it : and so on, till all the many colored 
 flags were claimed by the gentle little army. The crowd 
 never seemed to tire. Felix watched their faces with 
 amusement. And after a few moments, his glance wandered 
 to the sidewalk, where people, who had not energy to come 
 nearer to the show, were gazing at it listlessly. Girls leaned 
 out of the wide-open casement windows, men lounged about 
 the doorways. Time is not gold in the City of Quebec. 
 And upon some stone steps sat Dorla, making a very
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 313 
 
 pretty picture in her light summer clothes, holding Missy, 
 entranced, beside her, and with Marie cap and big parasol 
 most prominent standing just behind her. In an instant 
 Felix made his way to them ; for by some oversight Henry 
 was not there. Dorla greeted him pleasantly, and Missy 
 was too much enthralled by the Caporal and Capitaine to do 
 more than twist herself away from him and fling her head 
 against her mother's shoulder. 
 
 " You are safe back," said Dorla. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And how are the rest of the party ? " 
 
 " O, well, I think, only a little tired." 
 
 " You were enchanted with the scenery, I suppose ? 
 Everybody is." 
 
 " Yes, that is, I felt that I ought to be, but I was not. 
 The fact is, there were noisy people on the boat. And I 
 have confided to you many times that I don't like noisy 
 people." 
 
 " I remember," said Dorla, with the sweetness of old 
 days. " You would like to go up the Saguenay in a bark- 
 canoe or in a special steamer." 
 
 But this was too pleasant to last; Missy began to pull 
 her mother's head down with both her hands, and whisper 
 something eagerly. 
 
 " You can't," said Dorla, a shade less gentle in tone than 
 usual. " I cannot go in such a crowd with you. You can 
 see very well from here." 
 
 But Missy was persistent and eager, and there was very 
 little prospect of more conversation. At last Felix finding 
 the drift of her whispered frettings from her mother's an- 
 swers, offered to take her out iuto the neighborhood of the 
 doves, and bring her safely back when her curiosity should 
 be satisfied. Missy looked at him askance, when her mother 
 said ho was very kind and that she might go with him. She 
 bated him as ever, but she longed with all her vehement 
 littlu soul to set; Caporal and Capitaine face to face, nnd to 
 11
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 hear exactly what the Frenchman said from under his blonde 
 beard. She was so little, she went through life, at least had 
 gone through it so far, under a disadvantage people from 
 their waists up were always in her way. 
 
 " And I will put you on my shoulder, Missy," said Felix, 
 suavely. " You will be higher than anybody in the crowd. 
 And we will go quite near." 
 
 This was more than she could resist ; she would not con- 
 sent in words, but she permitted herself to be lifted in 
 his arms and carried towards the coveted position. Dorla 
 looked quite happy as she waved her hand to them. Felix was 
 doing his best to explain the pageant to her, and to amuse 
 her and make the most of his time, and Dorla was watching 
 them with an amused smile ; when Henry Stanfield, drawn 
 by envious fate, crossed the square, and Missy, following the 
 downward swoop of one of the birds, caught sight of him. 
 
 She called his name in a shrill voice, and when he ap- 
 proached her, stretched out her arms and demanded to be 
 taken. Felix, looking upon Mr. Stanfield's joining them as 
 an impertinence, tried to ignore him and divert her. But 
 Missy was not the sort of child one " diverts " with success. 
 She made it evident with feet and hands, though she scorned 
 to speak to him, that she meant to get away from him. 
 In iact, she kicked him quite defiantly in the chest, before 
 she succeeded in getting herself transferred to the arms of 
 her slave. 
 
 " You will not be so high, Missy," said Felix, with the 
 double purpose of covering his wrath by speaking carelessly, 
 and of annoying his rival by an allusion to his undersize. 
 Missy's answer was to put her arms around her bearer's 
 neck, and kiss him defiantly. Felix laughed, and went 
 back to the sidewalk where Dorla sat. But he was flushed, 
 and Dorla knew he was angry. 
 
 " I am so sorry," she said, looking distressed. (( Missy is 
 so wilful." 
 
 The gentleness of her tone soothed Felix, and he sat down
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 315 
 
 beside her, feeling that he had the best of it, and hoping 
 Missy would insist on keeping her servant in the crowd for 
 an horn- at least. 
 
 " Yes, it is true, Mrs. Rothennel," he said, " I have been 
 thrown over with contempt. In fact, I have been kicked 
 into the bargain." 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, coloring and looking infinitely 
 distressed. 
 
 " I hope you will use your influence with your daughter 
 to treat me with more leniency." 
 
 " I shall certainly punish her," said Dorla. " And I 
 thiuk you are very kind to bear it, and not be angry. She 
 is very naughty." 
 
 " Well, if you will only be good, I'll agree not to think 
 anything more about it." 
 
 This Felix said in a natural, boyish sort of way, taking off 
 his straw hat and fanning himself, for carrying Missy through 
 the crowd had made him warm, to say nothing of his rebuff. 
 Dorla laughed, a little uneasily, and did not push the dis- 
 cussion any further. They talked a little, and watched the 
 doves idly, with the rest of the people. Capitaine and 
 Caporal performed their duties with diligence and vigilance. 
 But bye and bye at a signal, the flock all flew away, up to 
 the chimney-pots, and the ledges of the neighboring heuses, 
 and Missy's eyes grew amazed and disappointed, for she 
 thought the end had come. Then the man blew a shrill 
 whistle, and the obedient birds, fluttering from the ledges 
 and roofs, swept down in a graceful circle against the blue 
 sky, down above the heads of the gazing crowd, and settled 
 around their master's hand. 
 
 Then Missy gave a shrill cry of delight, that made every- 
 body turn and look at her. She saw the show was going 
 endlessly on, and it was to be hoped Henry's arms were not 
 tired, for she, had no idea of ^oinjj away at present. Felix 
 with inward .v him shift her from one shoul- 
 
 der to the oil. . ijio the penjuratioQ off hi*
 
 316 A- PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 forehead. How comfortable and cool he felt, in the shadow 
 of the old stone house! And how gentle Dorla was, and 
 how beautiful she looked, in her pretty summer dress ! They 
 did not talk much : he occupied himself in making out the 
 legend on a bracelet she wore on the arm that lay nearest 
 him. She did not move for many minutes ; and he read 
 it quite perfectly. And then he thought of the day that he 
 had looked at her hand as it lay outstretched on the table in 
 the car. How strange, that he should be again beside 
 her, with such strangely different feelings ! Were they two 
 the same beings who had gone through that storm of passion 
 and temptation ? It all seemed like a dream. But her hand 
 was very beautiful, even though he might not feel ready to 
 risk time and eternity for the touch of it, as he once had 
 been. Bye and bye she stirred it, and beat a little idle tune 
 with it, following the notes of a violin within. Then some 
 one wanted to pass, and she had to rise. 
 
 " It is twenty minutes to six," she said ; " I must go 
 home to dinner." 
 
 (l Must Missy go too ? " he said rising. " She looks as 
 if it would break her heart." Tender Felix ! How much 
 he cared about her heart. 
 
 " No," said Dorla, looking at her wistfully. " She has 
 had her dinner. She can stay with Marie. Marie, be sure 
 not to lose sight of Mr. Stanfield, and to bring Missy home 
 as soon as she is willing to come away from here." 
 
 Then they moved slowly along the sidewalk, looking back 
 at the patient Henry and the absorbed Missy, neither of 
 whom saw them go. 
 
 " You're not afraid she may enlist ? " said Felix. 
 
 " No," said Dorla. 
 
 " She doesn't look unlike it," continued Felix, " such a 
 white mite, perched on Mr. Stanfield's shoulder. She 
 might fly off at any minute." 
 
 " I'm reassured by thinking that she would not be likely 
 to pass muster in a regiment of doves," returned her mother.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 317 
 
 Then Felix laughed and said he must admit it, remem- 
 bering the rancorous way in which she had pecked at him. 
 They walked up the steep little street, and past the hotel. 
 
 " Dreary place! " cried Felix. " Five and seventy differ- 
 ent smells from every window of the kitchen." 
 
 " But, hear this cheery little song. I always stop for it," 
 said Dorla. From the window of the laundry came a gay, 
 young voice, so full of energy and vigor, that it gave one 
 fresh life to listen to it. Stooping down and looking in the 
 basement window, they saw a be-soaped and hard-at-work 
 young figure, bending and lifting itself again monotonously 
 over a wash-tub, and trilling out this careless merriment. 
 
 " She knows me," said Dorla, giving her a nod, as they 
 moved away. " I hear her every day. It makes me 
 ashamed to think what a different song I should sing if I 
 were shut up there." 
 
 " Probably you would not find the policemen and the 
 hackmen as inspiring an audience as she does." 
 
 " Oh, don't say you think she sings for them to hear her." 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel, I fear to tell you that I think she 
 does." 
 
 " Well, I am sorry that I called your attention to her. I 
 shall always believe she sings because she is light-hearted ; 
 but your hateful suggestion will always come into my mind 
 to spoil my pleasure in her song." 
 
 " Then I am very sorry that I made it, I am sure. I am 
 quite willing to modify it, and say she sings because she 
 hasn't anything to worry about, and because the policemen 
 are standing just outside." 
 
 Dorla felt sure she was meant to suffer from the allusion to 
 worry, so she did not pursue the subject. 
 
 " May I come in ? " said Felix, as they stood on the stops 
 of the house in Mount Carmel Street. " It is still ten min- 
 utes to your dinner hour." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Dorla, " and we are not rigid as to punc- 
 tuality."
 
 318 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 When Felix found himself in the great, easy chair by the 
 open window, he could have wished dinner an hour off. 
 Dorla sat down and began to change the paper between 
 some ferns that she was pressing, taking off her hat and 
 laying it beside her on the sofa. 
 
 " This we got on the way from Lorette, where we went 
 yesterday to drive," she said. " It is a meagre little speci- 
 men ; but I suppose you don't know anything about ferns." 
 
 " No," he said, " very little. I have never had a lesson 
 since that picnic in the Conneshaugh." 
 
 Dorla felt his eyes upon her as she bent over the press- 
 ing board. " The drive to Lorette is very pretty," she said : 
 " we went in the morning." 
 
 Then there was a silence, for Felix would not talk about 
 Lorette. A silence, but a short one, for the door burst 
 open, and in flashed Abby, who fell upon Mrs. Rothermel 
 with kisses. 
 
 " I had six minutes before dinner, and I ran around here 
 to tell you what a lovely time we've had." Then she gave 
 a start and said, " you here ! " when she caught sight of 
 Felix. 
 
 <f Yes," said Felix placidly ; and the sight of him seemed 
 to take away her exuberant enjoyment. 
 
 " I supposed you were resting, you talked so much about 
 your terrible fatigue," she said, taking her arm off Dorla's 
 waist and turning from them. 
 
 " I have been walking about an hour or more with Mrs. 
 Rothermel ; I found being in a civilized place rested me 
 immediately." 
 
 Then Dorla felt sure he was playing her off to make his 
 young victim jealous, and she began to freeze at once. 
 
 " We have not walked very much," she said, " and Mr. 
 "Varian has not exerted himself much in the matter of con- 
 versation ; I think that he has rested." 
 
 " What is all this about ? " thought Felix, puzzled and a 
 little angry. For though he was very quick he could not
 
 A PERFECT ADOPTS. 319 
 
 follow the delicate intricacies of Dorla's jealous distrust. It 
 was certainly rather hard upon him ; but the very sight of 
 Abby's shining youthfulness, and the confident brusque- 
 ness of her manners, changed Dorla instantly into coldness 
 and suspicion. It was impossible for him to do right, for 
 Abby's presence in itself put him in the wrong. And Dorla, 
 keenly alive to her own errors, knew very well that it was 
 so, but felt sure she could not help it. " Now, I shall have 
 no more peace," she sighed. " How I wish the girl would 
 go away and leave me at least Quebec ! I do not care whom 
 she takes with her, I only do not want to see her and be 
 put out of temper." 
 
 The ten minutes were soon up, and Abby rose to go, and 
 Felix rose to go with her. Dorla saw them walk down the 
 street together, Abby laughing in restored good humor, 
 and she hated herself for the feelings that the sight engen- 
 dered. After dinner, and after Missy's prayers were said 
 (no inconsiderable matter), and she was fast asleep, Mrs. 
 Glover and Mrs. Bishop came to interrupt Dorla's quiet 
 twilight hour by the open window. 
 
 " I thought you might be lonely," said the first lad*y, who 
 never permitted herself to be alone, " and I thought we had 
 better run over to sit awhile with you. The young people 
 are gone to walk on the terrace ; and we will have a quiet 
 time by ourselves." 
 
 The mother of a handsome young girl is willing to have a 
 great many quiet times, and to be put very far back on a 
 very high shelf; not unfrequently, she classes all women 
 out of girl hood with herself, and that is not always pleasant. 
 That Dorla was offended was certain, but Mrs. Glover, in 
 the magnitude of her complacency, did not find it out. 
 After Mrs. Bishop was comforted by an easy -chair and a 
 footstool and the closing of a window, Mrs. Glover said, 
 " Nov.". I'm sure you want to hear all about our journey." 
 
 " Yes," said Dorla sweetly, " all that I haven't heard from 
 Mr. Yariau and Abby."
 
 320 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Oh, as to what you heard from them," cried Mrs. 
 Glover, " I should not consider it very worthy of belief. They 
 were in such a state, laughing at everything like a pair of 
 children, and so engaged in their jokes and nonsense, that I 
 do not believe they could tell a thing about the Saguenay 
 without looking at the guide-books. You know what young 
 people are." 
 
 " It must have made it very dull for you," said Dorla 
 politely. 
 
 " O, you know we must get used to that," returned Mrs. 
 Glover laughing. " It is the fate of mothers to be put 
 quite aside. You will find that out when Missy comes 
 upon the carpet." 
 
 " It will be happily some years yet," said Dorla. 
 
 " The years go by quick enough," answered Mrs. Glover, 
 and she sighed a little. " It seems but yesterday since Abby 
 was to be tucked up in her little crib at night, and there 
 was an end of bother about her till to-morrow morning." 
 
 Mrs. Bishop laughed. " That's over, sure enough," she 
 said, " and you may consider the bother has about begun. 
 Abby is a handful. I don't believe you will have much 
 peace till she has settled down into a married woman." 
 
 Mrs. Glover and Mrs. Bishop were old friends, and it was 
 quite allowable to discuss the daughter in this way, provided 
 always the faults mentioned were of an engaging nature. 
 
 " Abby is a good girl," said the mother, " but she is so full 
 of spirits, it is really a hard matter to control her." 
 
 " What can you expect ? " returned Mrs. Bishop. " You 
 and Charles have always let her have her own way, and she 
 is cleverer than you both, you know." 
 
 " Upon my word," said Mrs. Glover laughing. 
 
 " And she is so handsome, sjie will always find plenty of 
 people to humor her, if you don't; so you had better make 
 up your mind to letting her be captain. Nothing will be 
 gained by disciplining her now ; you ought to have done that 
 years ago."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 321 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel, she is reading you a lesson over my 
 shoulder." 
 
 Yes ? I did not take it so." 
 
 " O, no ; I give my lessons to Dorla at first hand. She 
 is spoiling Missy. She knows my opinion about that. But 
 Missy is very different from Abby." 
 
 " In age," said Dorla coldly. 
 
 " Yes, of course in age, but in character, in in circum- 
 stances. Now Abby, with such remarkably good looks, 
 ought to have been trained with more than usual strictness. 
 But dear me ! What's the use of talking ? I never knew a 
 mother yet that had a particle of sense. Dorla, my dear, 
 those tuberoses are giving me a headache. Will you put 
 them in the hall till I go away ? " 
 
 When Dorla came back from expatriating the tuberoses, 
 she found them still on the same subject. Mrs. Glover 
 could not possibly talk of anything else. 
 
 " She certainly seems to have made a good beginning," 
 Mrs. Bishop said laughing. " Most girls would have opened 
 the campaign with a college boy or two. But she has flown 
 at the higher game at once. She couldn't have done better. 
 Felix Varian is worth an effort." 
 
 " O, Abby doesn't think of that. She is only taken with 
 his good looks. She is too thoughtless, I'm sorry to say. If 
 he had been a music teacher, it would have been the same." 
 
 " Then it's lucky he isn't a music teacher." 
 
 " Absurd, all this. You're talking as if it were a serious 
 matter." (Mrs. Glover longed to be assured that it was a 
 serious matter.) 
 
 " Well, as to that, of course no one can say as yet. But 
 1 must confess I think he seems to be unusually absorbed." 
 
 " Men of the world like Mr. Varian are apt to be taken 
 with very young, fresh girls," said the mother modestly. 
 " It isn't anything about Abby that is different from others, 
 but she is so fresh and full of life. She really makes you 
 forgot that you've ever been bored or worried." 
 14*
 
 322 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Well, we'll see, we'll see," said Mrs. Bishop. They 
 might both do worse. Abby's a good girl at heart, and she's 
 handsome enough to satisfy anybody. And Felix has got 
 more money than he knows what to do with, and an old 
 name, and a handsome face. And I suppose he is no better 
 and no worse than most men of his age. Altogether, I should 
 let things take their 'course if I were you." 
 
 " O, as to that," cried Mrs. Glover, with an honest little 
 laugh, " I am very willing to let things take their course. 
 I am not such a hypocrite as to say that I should not be 
 pleased." 
 
 Then she began to be ashamed of herself, and a little 
 frightened, perhaps, by Dorla's silence. So she hastened to 
 exclaim, " But bah ! What nonsense ! When he, they I 
 mean may never have thought of such a thing. Mothers 
 will be mothers. If a man looks at your girl, you begin to 
 wonder whether he is to be your son-in-law. I began my 
 speculations before Abby wore long dresses. I have no 
 doubt, Mrs. Rothermel, you have had your apprehensions 
 about Missy for a year or two." 
 
 " No," said Dorla calmly, " I do not remember any." 
 
 l( O, don't take it seriously," exclaimed Mrs. Glover quite 
 uneasy. " Really you know, we have only been joking about 
 the whole matter. I hope that is I believe you haven't 
 any dislike for Mr. Yarian ? I notice you do not talk very 
 much with him. And I think he told me that he used to 
 know you. It was rather awkward, forcing him upon the 
 party so. But Abby is so impulsive. It was all done be- 
 fore I thought much about it, one way or the other." 
 
 " I am sure," returned Dorla, frightened in her turn, " it 
 can't be anything but a pleasure to have Mr. Varian. He 
 is so good a traveller and so entertaining. It is a good many 
 years since I have seen him, but I never should feel as if he 
 were a stranger, I knew his mother and his sister so well." 
 
 It was Mrs. Bishop's turn to be uneasy now. Somehow' 
 she did not like the feeling she detected in Dorla's voice,
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 333 
 
 She began to tremble for her beloved Henry. She felt it in 
 her heart to hate Felix, who had come in to spoil the little 
 family arrangement, upon which she had spent so much ex- 
 ertion. So she said, like a wily old diplomat : 
 
 " Why, no ; nobody can have any objection to Felix Va- 
 rian. I never heard anything against him in my life, except, 
 it may be, some angry speeches from girls he had flirted with ; 
 one can't blame him for that. I truly hope he has got tired 
 of flirting, and may make up his mind to be very much in 
 love with Abby." 
 
 " That would certainly make him a very much pleasanter 
 travelling companion," said Dorla, with a careless laugh. 
 She was quite on the defence now, and began to take an 
 active part in what was said. She was quite vivacious for 
 the remainder of the evening. About ten o'clock the faith- 
 ful Henry came to take the two ladies home. She was quite 
 unkind to him, and the poor fellow went away with a woun- 
 ded spirit. 
 
 " Where did you leave my daughter, pray ? " Dorla heard 
 Mrs. Glover say as soon as they got out into the hall. 
 
 She did not hear the answer. She went back into the 
 room, and shut and bolted the door, and opened wide the 
 windows to the summer night. As little of her kind, and as 
 much of air and stars and sky as she could get. She sat 
 silent and absorbed, gazing out into the star-specked dark- 
 ness, for an hour. Then Missy moaned and moved in an 
 adjoining room, and the revery was at an end. 
 
 Since Mrs. Glover had observed that she avoided Mr. 
 Varian, and since Mrs. Bishop had so unnecessarily given it 
 as a part of her experience that no one ever did avoid him, 
 except those with whom he had once flirted, there was no 
 course for her but to make it very apparent that she did not 
 avoid him. At an early hour next morning, the humble and 
 harassed Henry came to know if she would take a walk. 
 They were all going to take a walk, even Mrs. Bishop. 
 With alacrity, Dorla said that she would go, though she ha<l
 
 324 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 been secretly hurrying Missy's breakfast in the hope that 
 she could get away before any " party " plans were forced 
 upon her. At the corner they were met by the two old 
 ladies ; in the distance were Abby and Felix lounging at a 
 shop door. 
 
 " This way," signalled Abby, and led the way. It was 
 quite natural that she should choose the walk, and that they 
 all should follow. Nobody objected but Dorla. She had to 
 be silent, but every step after the gay, flaunting figure in 
 advance, was a bitter penance to her. Mrs. Glover and Mrs. 
 Bishop fell gossiping and mumbling to the rear. Henry, 
 with Missy by the hand, followed Dorla, at her side when the 
 exigencies of the march permitted, and the width of the side- 
 walk, but always very near. It was a cold, bright day, the 
 wind keen, the sky cloudless and very brilliantly blue. 
 
 " I'm cold," said Missy shivering, and Henry stooped and 
 tied his handkerchief around her throat, and Dorla looked 
 anxiously to the buttons of her stout little walking jacket. 
 
 " Let us have a race, and that will warm you," said the 
 unselfish guardian. So quite unconscious of the fact that 
 he did not appear to advantage on a jog trot, he started ofF 
 at this pace to match Missy's feeble run. Dorla felt herself 
 crimsoning with vexation, when Felix and Abby turned and 
 watched them. Finally the race ended by a return to 
 " mamma," who was the stake or goal. It had had the ef- 
 fect of putting a little tinge of color on Missy's cheeks, but 
 her retrouss6 nose was still blue with the cold. 
 
 " That will do," said Dorla ungraciously, stung by seeing 
 that her darling was not beautiful, and that the man she 
 wanted to like was making himself absurd. 
 
 " I thought it would do her good," said Henry apologeti- 
 cally. 
 
 " I have no doubt it lias," returned Dorla, moving for- 
 ward, " but I do not want her to be tired, and we may 
 have to walk a long way ; Miss Glover has not told us."
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 325 
 
 They were not within speech of the two leaders yet, who 
 were nearly a square in front of them. 
 
 " It is thoughtless of Miss Abby," said Henry, seeking 
 for some excuse for his sovereign's ungraciousness. " I will 
 go and ask where they are going, and why they walk so fast." 
 
 " If you please not," exclaimed Dorla almost with impa- 
 tience. Then Henry sighed, and walked after her humbly, 
 and thought her more beautiful than ever. A great Cana- 
 dian with red whiskers who passed them evidently thought 
 so too, for he turned and looked after them with great sim- 
 plicity. She had never given up wearing black ; greys, 
 lavenders, and pearl were the amelioration. This day 
 she was all in black, black silk, velvet, embroidered cash- 
 mere and lace, all in graceful sweep about her, and her hat, 
 with its velvet band and long black feather, gave her quite 
 a regal air. Presently Abby and Felix paused and waited 
 for them to come up. 
 
 " How slowly you walk," cried Abby, as they joined them. 
 " Is it to be queenly, or do you like it? " 
 
 "It is not to tire Missy, I believe," said Dorla calmly, 
 looking at her. Dorla was taller than Abby, and that an- 
 noyed Abby, who was used to being the tallest among her 
 companions. 
 
 " I should think you would freeze, creeping so," she said. 
 
 " It is chilly," returned Dorla simply. All this time 
 Felix had not spoken, but had been looking at her. Now 
 he moved to her side. 
 
 " What are we going to see ? " she said, not waiting for 
 him to speak. " I hope we are not wasting our time." 
 
 " O no, this is to see a sight," he answered. " I supposed 
 that you all knew you were doing your duty by history." 
 
 " This does not look like history," said Abby, going to- 
 wards the door of a little old wooden house, with a window 
 on eacli side of the door, and in the steep roof two dormer 
 windows, that opened like casements. It was built between 
 a house of stone and one of brick, both looking very high,
 
 326 A. PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 because it was so low ; but neither of them modern, (as 
 nothing is in Quebec.) In one of the windows of the little 
 old house, was a small display of cakes and apples ;' across 
 the other a curtain was drawn, as if private life and public 
 were divided by the door. 
 
 " But may I ask," said Mrs. Rothennel, while Abby 
 knocked, " what makes this old house of more interest than 
 all the others?" 
 
 " O, don't you know ? " cried Abby ; " why, it's the house 
 where Montgomery's body was laid out." 
 
 Then Dorla's face took a strange, wistful look, as she 
 gazed at it, without speaking, while Henry and Abby in 
 turn thumped upon the door. 
 
 Missy pulled her mother's dress, " What is it ? " 
 
 " What is what ? " said her mother, absently, still looking 
 at the house as if she saw the forlorn procession of that De- 
 cember night filing through the narrow doorway, with its 
 stark and silent hero borne feet foremost by worn and 
 gloomy men from the " lost battle." 
 
 " What does she mean what is it to be laid out ? " fret- 
 ted Missy, in awe of a mystery, and in anger at a want of 
 attention. 
 
 Abby, who had stopped shaking the door, heard her shrill 
 whisper, which was not meant to be heard but by her mother, 
 and exclaimed with a little laugh, " To be laid out is to 
 be a cold corpus, and to have no voice in the arrangement of 
 your last grand toilet." 
 
 Dorla shuddered. The laying out of dead bodies sug- 
 gested more to her than it did to the speaker, possibly. 
 Missy whimpered and began to twitch at her mother's hand 
 in a way that foreshadowed a scene. She was nervously 
 afraid of everything connected. with death, and wilfully op- 
 posed to having her questions made light of. So her mother, 
 with patient care, began in a low voice to explain to her 
 about the attack and its failure, and the death of General 
 Montgomery.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 327 
 
 "But what did they bring him here for?" persisted the 
 child, morbidly bent on hearing details. 
 
 " To to wash his wounds, and change his clothes, and 
 make his poor body ready for the grave, Missy," said her 
 mother in a low voice. 
 
 "What good would that do?" said Missy, beginning to 
 cry, and kick. Her sensitiveness had this unpleasant man- 
 ner of expressing itself. This new and terrible subject had 
 overwhelmed her, and she was in a rage of nervous shame at 
 being seen and laughed at. Henry, who hurried to her, was 
 driven off with the announcement that she hated him. She 
 even included her mother in this condemnation. Dorla 
 sighed and attempted no pacification. It is needless to say 
 she wished that they had stayed at home. The storm would 
 perhaps soon spend itself; but her comfort was at an end. 
 (Though, to be sure, she hadn't been too comfortable be- 
 fore.) It was impossible to attempt to explain or excuse the 
 child to such an aiudience. She even saw, or thought she 
 saw, a merry, meaning look of derision pass between Abby 
 and Felix ; whose attention however was happily diverted by 
 the opening of the door by a small Irish boy. She kept 
 Missy quietly by the hand till they reached the threshold ; 
 farther than that, Missy refused to go. Abby was in the 
 advance. From the room where the curtain hung, came an 
 old Irish woman in a cap. She preceded to cross the room, 
 and install herself behind a little counter; probably with 
 the intention of being official. The intruders took but little 
 noiiee of her, but gazed about the little, low, dark room, 
 which they almost filled. 
 
 " And this," said Abby, glancing about her with a mo- 
 mentary thoughtfulness, " is where poor Montgomery was 
 brought ! " 
 
 " No," said the woman, with emphasis, " it isn't the room 
 at all. It's another room entirely. And we've mado up 
 our minds," she went on, taking an attitude of great resohl-
 
 328 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 tion, " we've made up our minds that the gentry must pay 
 ten cents, if they want to see the i-oom." 
 
 Abby burst into a laugh, and walked towards the door. 
 
 " Come," she said, " this is extortion." 
 
 " If it's worth seeing at all, it's worth ten cents," said the 
 woman, angrily. 
 
 " I consider that we have seen it," returned Abby, going 
 out, followed by all but Dorla. " There is no doubt in my 
 mind that he was laid out in this very room. In fact, I 
 don't believe there is any other room in the house. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 And the young lady made her a very absurd salutation as 
 she stepped into the street. Henry, engaged in the pacifica- 
 tion of Missy, stood outside. Felix, on the threshold, 
 awaited Mrs. Rothermel, who walked up to the little coun- 
 ter, and laying down some small Canadian coin, said, civilly, 
 
 " I am sorry we intruded. I am much obliged to you." 
 
 Then the tide set in the opposite direction. With profuse, 
 Irish gratitude, she implored Dorla to stay and see the room. 
 But Dorla had got enough of it ; between Missy, Abby and 
 the Irish woman, she felt as if her poor little bit of senti- 
 ment had been quite crushed out; and she stepped upon the 
 pavement with a sensation of relief. 
 
 Abby was so diverted by the occurrence that she said a 
 dozen tolerably good things, and laughed at them and made 
 Felix laugh so much that the few passers-by turned to look 
 at them in amazement. This time Dorla took the lead, for 
 she had quite made up her mind that she was going home 
 Felix and Abby followed close behind. About half a square 
 off, they met Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Glover, who stopped 
 them to hear particulars, and insisted upon going on. 
 
 " Why, yes, you can go in and see all Mrs. Rothermel's 
 money's worth," said Abby. " I shouldn't wonder if it en- 
 titled you to spend the morning there, she was so lavish. 
 Shall we come back for you about four o'clock ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, Abby," said her mother, " you must come-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 329 
 
 back with us now ; it will serve you right for leaving us so 
 far behind." 
 
 " Indeed I shall do no such thing. At this rate we shan't 
 see anything to-day ; the morning is half gone already. We 
 are going to the Ursulines now ; and you can come after us, 
 or you can give up going to see the trumpery old place." 
 
 " We don't know the way to the Ursulines, and it will 
 not take you five minutes to walk back." 
 
 " Five minutes ! You will be twenty minutes mooning 
 about the old shanty, asking questions ; and we haven't got 
 the time. Come, Mr. Varian." 
 
 Missy looked from one to the other in amazement, as 
 Abby, putting her hand in Mr. Varian's arm, moved away 
 with resolution. 
 
 " You're a self-willed girl," said her mother, forgetting 
 diplomacy in anger as she turned to follow. 
 
 " I will go back with you. I don't care for the Ursulines 
 to-day," said Dorla. 
 
 " No," returned Mrs. Glover, hardly grateful. " It is best 
 not to break up the party." 
 
 " Henry, dear, you must give me your arm," sighed Mrs. 
 Bishop, very tired and not much pleased with the little family 
 scene. 
 
 At the corner, Dorla said, in dread of having the Chapel 
 of the Ursulines desecrated by such associations, " I think 1 
 will leave you now, and take Missy home." 
 
 Thereupon Missy cried and insisted upon not being taken 
 home. And the general clamor was too much for Dorla, 
 who yielded and went on. Abby was by this time out of 
 sight, around the corner of Parloir Street, down which they 
 followed her. Before they had reached the entrance to the 
 Convent, Felix met them, saying the Chapel door was 
 opened by some visitors coming out, and they could enter at 
 once. 
 
 " What is it particularly about the Ursulines' Chapel ? " 
 asked Mrs. Glover, who, in a sort of mother-in-law appropri-
 
 330 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 ation, joined herself to Felix. She had got over her rage at 
 Abby, and thought her a clever creature for getting her own 
 way and making a conquest of Felix. Felix for his part was 
 not actively attentive to Mrs. Glover ; perhaps that grati- 
 fied her, as being son-in-law-ish. She took his arm coming 
 down the narrow street. 
 
 " The ridiculous old place," she said, as he had to walk in 
 the middle of the street, or near it, to give her the benefit of 
 the sidewalk. 
 
 " Well, what have we got to go to this chapel about ? " she 
 reiterated. 
 
 " Why, to see Miss Abby, who is waiting for us there." 
 
 " O, absurd, I don't mean that. But what is there to see, 
 or hear about ? " 
 
 " Well, there is to see, several passable pictures, and 
 much curious old gilding and decoration." 
 
 " O, but I thought there was something remarkable 
 something historic, and all that." 
 
 " Well, if you put any historic value on poor defeated 
 Montcalm's bones." 
 
 " O," cried Mrs. Glover all afire, " why, of course. I 
 wouldn't have missed it for the world." 
 
 Then Missy, who always heard what was unprofitable for 
 her to hear, was thrown into great agitation by the prospect 
 of more mortuary details. Her little face was puckered into 
 anxious distortion. As they entered the chapel door, a 
 shiver ran through the hand her mother held. She had in- 
 tense feeling for chapels and churches, and always came out 
 of them so overstrained as to be detestable. 
 
 " Missy, you are tired ; we had better go back." But Missy 
 pushed her way into the door, and dragged at her mother's 
 hand. 
 
 In the chapel they were met by Abby, accompanied by two 
 young pupils of the pension. They had just bid adieu to 
 some friends who had gone out the door, and were very glad 
 of the presence of a few strangers to break the monotony of
 
 * 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 331 
 
 iheir long vacation days. One was a pretty, red-cheeked 
 English Canadian, the other a very plain young French girl. 
 Each had about two yards of black lace like a veil or scarf 
 over her head. One was a Protestant, the other a Catholic. 
 Neither showed much reverence or devotional feeling, but 
 both were well-behaved and modest. Abby fraternized with 
 the English girl at once, and with eager curiosity drew her 
 about from one spot to another. Henry, with Mrs. Bishop 
 leaning heavily on his arm, walked business-like down the 
 aisle, as if they were going to hail an omnibus, or put a let- 
 ter in the Post Office. Mrs. Glover, who had seized the 
 young French girl, was making discoveries and inquiries in 
 a very naive manner. She made many shrill exclamations 
 of wonder, and went from one picture to another more rap- 
 idly than was consistent with much appreciation. Felix from 
 some reason kept aloof from the rest, remaining near the en- 
 trance. Dorla sank into a seat, and holding Missy beside her 
 pointed to the tablet in the wall, " Honneur a Montcalm ! " 
 and made her translate the sentence, hoping to divert her 
 horror-struck attention from Abby. But this was in vain. 
 History was little to Missy, and church was much. She was 
 very simple and sincere in her own devotion, and Abby's 
 conduct filled her with amazement. 
 
 " What is she going to do now ? " she said in a shrill whis- 
 per, as Abby ran up the altar steps, followed by the Cana- 
 dian at a little distance, who, with a mechanical and unmean- 
 ing reverence as she passed in front of the altar, answered 
 her questions in a common conversational tone. " Is she 
 wicked ? " said Missy, coming to the point at once. 
 
 " I should not like you to do so, Missy." 
 
 " But is she wicked ? " reiterated Missy. 
 
 That was an unpleasant habit of mind with Missy. She 
 reached her point without circumlocution, and she insisted 
 upon having it settled. Her mother was inclined to be 
 vague from motives of charity and good-breeding, but this 
 always enraged her,
 
 * 
 332 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Is she wicked ? " she cried, twitching her mother's hand, 
 with her light eyes dilated, and her face white. Missy's 
 faith was a very real one, and it was suffering a sharp trial 
 at the moment. 
 
 " Let us go," said her mother, rising hastily. 
 
 " I won't," cried Missy, pulling away her hand. There- 
 upon Dorla secured the other hand, and half dragged her to 
 the door. 
 
 " You are all of you wicked together," cried Missy, burst- 
 ing into passionate tears, as her mother led her out 1 into the 
 street. 
 
 " I don't know any one more wicked than you, speak- 
 ing to your mother in that way, and acting so in a 
 church." 
 
 That sent her off into a rage of crying ; it was a real stab 
 to her unhappy little conscience, and Dorla was sorry she 
 had said it when too late. Felix followed them. 
 
 " Can I go home with you ? " he said. His presence 
 seemed to add fuel to the flame. She showed herself a little 
 vixen, pushing her mother away from her, stamping with her 
 feet, and screaming with rage. Dorla tried to ignore it, 
 leaving her standing in the middle of the street, and walking 
 on quietly with Felix. Missy would have stayed there till 
 Christmas. As they reached the corner of the street she said, 
 turning back : 
 
 " I will leave you. Come to me at once." 
 
 " Not till he goes away," cried Missy, frantically. Then 
 Dorla, with wretchedness in her face, said to him in a low 
 voice, not looking at him for very shame : 
 
 " Please go away. I can manage her best alone." 
 
 Felix bit his lips, lifted his hat goldly and walked away, 
 not going back to the chapel, nor giving a second glance 
 towards the miserable child in her fury. " Friend Stanfield's 
 joy will not be unalloyed," he said to himself derisively, as 
 he joined a newly arrived friend on the steps of the St. Louis. 
 As to Dorla, who can say how bitter that whole morning
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 333 
 
 Lad been. These contests with Missy were wearing enough 
 when she was alone with her ; now she had the sharp morti- 
 fication of knowing that mother and child were both criti- 
 cised and condemned. And not without justice. Dorla felt 
 herself a failure. Surely Missy could not have been what 
 she was, if there had not been some fault in her training. 
 " Not one fault, but a thousand," cried poor Dorla in her 
 self-accusation. 
 
 An hour later, Missy, forgiven, had sobbed herself to sleep, 
 holding fast both her mother's hands. Her mother, with 
 tear-stained face and eyes no prettier than eyes are apt to 
 be after crying, sat motionless beside her for an hour, full of 
 biting self-contempt. The unfortunate outburst had made 
 the child almost ill. She awoke peevish and unstrung, and 
 could not eat her dinner. That put the mother in a state of 
 anxiety and restlessness. And so they managed to make 
 themselves very miserable. 
 
 Some beautiful days followed this ; on one of them, Missy 
 in a caleche with Henry Stanfield, and Dorla, Mrs. Glover, 
 Abby, and Felix in a barouche, went out at Palace Gate, 
 with the Falls of Montmorenci as a destination. Mrs. 
 Bishop was left at home. 
 
 " It was an anniversary or something," Abby said, and 
 she didn't see why there need be anniversaries. Old women 
 were tiresome enough without that. For her part, she meant 
 to be jolly when she was an old woman. People lived twice 
 as long if they were jolly. 
 
 " That might be a reason for not being jolly," Felix said, 
 who occasionally became a little cynical (whenever he had 
 a quarrel with Abby, Mrs. Glover had told Dorla). 
 
 " At any rate, they make themselves less of a nuisance to 
 their neighbors. Whatever happens to me, I shall not shut 
 myself up in my room every few days, because it is an anni- 
 versary, and cry over something in a locket." 
 
 " I am sure you will not," said Dorla, quietly. 
 
 " Nonsense, Abby,'' said Mrs. Glover, uneasily. " You
 
 334 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 will be as broken-hearted as anybody when your time 
 comes." 
 
 " I ! Broken-hearted ! " and Abby laughed a gay laugh ; 
 there was no past for hex-, no anniversaries and no reg ets. 
 She * felt her life in every limb ' ; even Dorla, who did ^.ot 
 love her, looked for a moment with admiration on the fresh 
 and unstained beauty of her face. She saw Felix looking at 
 her too. No wonder ; she could almost excuse him. 
 
 The day was bright and cool ; the sort of day that you 
 drive in an open carriage with the top down. Dorla leaned 
 back in her seat, with a parasol over her head, but more to 
 keep off the eyes of Felix and Abby opposite, than the sun. 
 It was four o'clock. 
 
 " This is neither entertaining, nor instructive," said Abby, 
 who was perfectly happy, but ready to deny it. " We ought 
 to know the objects of interest that we pass. Here is a great 
 edifice on our right. Hasn't anybody a guide book, or 
 doesn't anybody rornernber ? " 
 
 " I don't," said Felix, " though I came here once before." 
 
 " Was it on the occasion of an anniversary ? " said Abby. 
 " For the recollection of it seems to make you very glum." 
 
 " No, I hadn't begun the anniversary business then." 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel, do tell me, did you know Mr. Varian 
 then ? I've the greatest curiosity to know what there was 
 about that journey to Canada. He was here, but he doesn't 
 remember anything about it, and he never seems to want to 
 talk about it." 
 
 " Abby ! that's impertinent." 
 
 " Hush, mamma ! tell me, Mrs. Rothermel." 
 
 " I don't know anything to tell you," said Dorla, faintly. 
 
 " Perhaps I didn't ask questions enough, nor buy guide 
 books enough," said Felix, steadily. " Don't let us fall into 
 the same error again. Let us ask Jehu what the building 
 is." 
 
 The driver was an Irish boy of fourteen, who wore a 
 black and white check coat and a low cap, and who talked
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 335 
 
 without turning his head. Nobody could understand a word 
 he said. 
 
 " The stupidity of getting such a creature ! " cried Abby, 
 who seemed to think, as he spoke Irish, he could not under- 
 stand English. " That was one of Mr. Stanfield's blunders." 
 
 " You didn't like the Frenchman he got yesterday," re- 
 turned Dorla, with an instinct of defence. 
 
 " No ; because he spoke such beastly French, and so fast 
 no one could understand him. I suppose there are coachmen 
 in Quebec who can make themselves understood in some 
 modern language." 
 
 " Miss Abby," said Felix, who did not see the necessity 
 of defending the absent in all cases. "Twill engage your 
 coachman to-morrow, and we will go with him in a caleche ; 
 you and I, and study every inch of the ground that we pass 
 over." 
 
 Abby's face glowed with pleasure, but she tried not to 
 betray it. 
 
 " That will be very nice," she said, " but it won't console 
 me for not knowing what that great grim building is." 
 
 " Let us try him again. Stop a moment, Patrick. What 
 did you say that building was ? " 
 
 " It's a 'sylum," said Patrick, slacking up; (he drove very 
 fast and his horses were white with foam.) 
 
 " What kind of an asylum ? " 
 
 Patrick hunted for the word a moment, then gave it up. 
 "For the people that's bad in their heads," he said, and 
 then turned back to the horses and drove on more slowly. 
 
 Abby burst into a merry laugh. " The people that's bad 
 in their heads ! " she echoed. " I think there must be ' a 
 many ' of them to fill such a palatial residence. Look at 
 that old woman au Vroisi&rne waving her handkerchief to us. 
 And see those two workmen on ladders, busy at the grat- 
 ings. What fun to go in, if we had only time enough !" 
 
 Dorla's face grew pained, and she turned from the sight. 
 There luul u-jun u few hours in her life when nienUil
 
 336 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 and physical prostration had come upon her together ; and 
 she had had a dim and faint perception of the tortures of a 
 brain verging to its final wreck. The thought of 
 
 " Those cells where fettered spirits moan and pine, 
 Where madness shakes its chain," 
 
 took from, her for the moment all joy in health and freedom, 
 and made the brilliant sunshine misery. For Abby, healthy 
 child, it was only another form of entertainment, a novelty 
 that struck no exposed and sensitive remembrance. 
 
 If anything could wash out the recollection of such a 
 drear abode, it would be the charming little French village 
 into which they drove. The quaint houses stand with their 
 faces turned away from the street, and trimness, and small 
 thrift and humble content abide beside every threshold. 
 Surely Beauport Asylum is not recruited from Beauport 
 village. 
 
 " The prettiness of it ! " cried Dorla, leaning forward. 
 " There isn't a house that 1 wouldn't be glad to live in ! " 
 
 " I confess that I should have a choice," said Felix. 
 " There, for instance, that shop with the paper shades simu- 
 lating lace doesn't look inviting." 
 
 " But I didn't say anything about a shop." 
 
 " It is all the same thing in Beauport." 
 
 " And oh ! the delight of that old two- wheeled cart ! " 
 
 " Which is entirely new." 
 
 " And the women sitting at the windows with their knit- 
 ting. How quiet and afternoonish ! Nobody looks tired, 
 and everybody is clean. See, see that bit of coloring ! Tell 
 Patrick to drive slow." 
 
 Patrick consented to drive slow, past a house which might 
 have been built in Normandy. The casements were all wide 
 open, and the passers-by could see into the barely furnished 
 but cheerful room, where a tidy young woman in petticoat 
 and short-gown moved about the great stove set in the wall. 
 At the shaded doorstep sat an old woman in a white cap,
 
 A PEBFBCT ADONIS. 337 
 
 and at her feet played a child in a red dress, with round 
 brown head and black eyes. A cat slept on the stone. The 
 old woman's knitting needles moved monotonously. 
 
 " I think they are happy," said Dorla, drawing a long 
 breath. 
 
 " Very likely," said Abby, who didn't see much in it. 
 " But you wouldn't be, if Missy were sitting on the grass, 
 like that scrap." 
 
 " It would not hurt her, if she had always lived in Beau- 
 port," returned Dorla, coloring a little. Then they came to 
 a larger old stone house, standing back from the road, on a 
 sort of elevation. It had an effiche in the window, " Maison 
 d louer," but it had evidently been there through storm and 
 shine, a good deal of each. 
 
 " There is your opportunity," said Felix. 
 
 " Mayn't we go in and see it ? " said Dorla, as if she ex- 
 pected to be refused." 
 
 " I am sure we may," said Felix, as if she were not to be 
 refused anything, and stopped the little Irishman. 
 
 " Nonsense," said Abby, who wasn't pleased. " What is 
 there to be seen? It is just like all the other old steep- 
 roofed things." 
 
 And when Felix opened the carriage-door, she refused to 
 follow Dorla out. Mrs. Glover, who felt a little indolent, 
 and showed no interest in unconventional houses, declined to 
 follow. So Felix and Dorla made their way atone through 
 the unused gate, and across the high grass to the house. 
 There were some briars in the grass, and Dorla had to 
 struggle through them, once or twice with the help of Felix's 
 hand. 
 
 "Beauport folk evidently do not add to their private 
 thrift the virtue of keeping their neighbor's unoccupied 
 grounds in order." 
 
 " Who would ? " said Dorla. " But the bliss of these 
 deep windows. I think I should be happy if I lived in a 
 house with window-seats, and walls four feet thick."
 
 338 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " Let us go and see the view from the rear," he said. 
 
 And they made their way to the back of the house, where 
 the tangle of vines and briars was greater. Dorla sat down 
 on the wide stone door-step ; there was an overgrown and 
 wild garden, and then a sketch of fields, and beyond the 
 blue St. Lawrence. The sky was so clear and deep in color, 
 the air so pure and transparent, and the sunshine so still and 
 golden, that neither felt willing to leave the silent spot. 
 They started some birds from among the vines, who twittered 
 and then flew out of sight. 
 
 " What bliss to live here ! " said Dorla, gazing wistfully 
 at the calm fields and the river. 
 
 " Do you think you should be happy? " asked her 
 companion. 
 
 " I don't know whether I should be happy anywhere," 
 she said, trying to keep back a sudden rush of tears ; she 
 had been fighting for so many days with the sense of failure, 
 it was hard to answer this question. " French peasants and 
 a two-wheeled cart would do a good deal though," she went 
 on desperately, with an attempted laugh. 
 
 Felix would not follow her. " I could fancy a life here 
 that would be bliss," he said. 
 
 " It is so easy to fancy, and so hard to realize," she an- 
 swered, getting up quickly. " J don't believe in bliss." 
 
 "No, only in monotony and mediocrity, and a life of 
 duty." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," she said, stepping down into the 
 grass with a sudden confusing recollection of Abby and the 
 present. They were standing in the shadow of the house ; 
 far beyond it on the grass, lay long, slanting shadows of , 
 Jail trees. 
 
 She moved toward the sunshine that lay beyond the old 
 grey-stone corner of the house. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel," said Felix, in a tone that arrested her, 
 and he did not move. She involuntarily stood still, half- 
 turned towards him, " Mrs. Rothermel, I want to ask you
 
 A PERFECT ADO&T8. 339 
 
 something. Are you going to marry Henry Stanfield ? 
 For I think it would be such a pity for a woman to marry 
 twice from a sense of duty." 
 
 The suddenness of this and its audacity, had the effect of 
 stunning her for an instant. And there was something in 
 the tone, derisive above and deep below, that shook her very 
 heart. What was it ? where did they stand ? It was all a 
 dream ; and yet there was Felix not two feet from her, with 
 a calm, indifferent face, and blue eyes that had only scrutiny 
 in* them. It was only the tone that stirred her. The words 
 were too daring and unpardonable to awaken anything but 
 anger. At that moment Abby's high-pitched voice calling 
 them from the gate, made them both start. 
 
 " You have not answered me," he said, following her. 
 " Are you going to marry him ? " 
 
 " I may, perhaps," she said, steadily in a low tone, as he 
 walked beside her. 
 
 " "Well," he said, in a voice that stung, " I have delivered 
 my soul. I have told you that I thought it was a pity. 
 And now I suppose I had much better let the subject alone 
 in future." 
 
 " Very much better," she said, hardly audible. And so 
 they walked in silence to the carriage. Her hand shook so, 
 she would not touch that of Felix as she got into the car- 
 riage. Mrs. Glover and Abby were not blind. Here was a 
 pretty sight. Dorla with burning cheeks, looking as if she 
 had been crying, and Felix white as ashes. For a few 
 moments after they drove on, no one attempted to speak. 
 It was an absurd quartette. Gradually, Mrs. Glover being 
 only angry and chagrined, began to find her voice. Then 
 Felix, though it was like somebody talking in a play, and 
 then Abby, with a keen rush of sarcastic levity. Only poor 
 Dorla could not speak. Poor Dorla, it was as if some one 
 h:'d struck her in the face. If she had been obliged to 
 ik, she surely would have broken down. It was cer- 
 tainly rather poor spirited in a man to speak cruelly and in-
 
 340 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 sultingly to a woman like that, one whose anger was 
 quenched at once in a flood of tears. Insult, to her, only 
 called out the self-accusation that always abode with her. 
 
 " It is my fault. I deserved it. He never would have 
 spoken so to any other woman. He cannot respect me, and 
 I cannot blame him." 
 
 The rest of the drive was a sort of dream to her ; she saw 
 nothing by the road-side, and only heard the voices of her 
 companions with bewilderment. They all seemed to know 
 their parts, to overact them even ; and she alone could not 
 tell what or where she stood. She only longed to get away 
 from them, to hold Missy by the hand, and to reassure her- 
 self of the life to which she really belonged. She was no 
 match for the child Abby, in her jealousy and suspicion 
 strong and passionate as a woman. The contest was just 
 beginning. It had taken Abby a long time to believe it 
 possible, that one so unlikely as Dorla could be her rival. 
 And her mother had never been convinced of it till now. 
 After this there could not be a doubt. They were, in their 
 way, as angry and revengeful as if she had been plotting 
 against them. 
 
 A good deal of this Felix saw, and acted like a demon. 
 He tried to torment Dorla, with the same words that would 
 soothe Abby. He was in such a rage with her, for presum- 
 ing to like two men better than she liked him, that it 
 gave him a sort of satisfaction to see that she was suffer- 
 ing. He gloried in having spoken insultingly to her, though 
 the impulse to do it had been so sudden, he could not 
 explain it. His anger had been kindled by her defence of 
 Henry Stanfield, at the beginning of the drive, and had been 
 suddenly revived by her trifling tone, when he had chosen to 
 be sentimental. 
 
 At last the drive came to an end ; the reeking horses 
 drew up before the little inn. Dorla sprang out of the car- 
 riage without waiting for him, and hurried to meet Henry 
 and Missy, who ran across the street to her. Missy grasped
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 341 
 
 her hand, and she took the arm of Henry, and vanished from 
 sight into the woods that border the enclosure round the 
 Falls. That was a pleasing sight to Mrs. Glover, who made 
 the most of it. To Abby, who watched the face of Felix, 
 not half as pleasing. She was in no hurry to follow them, 
 though Felix was, alas ! He was very absent-minded, and 
 forgot to be devoted as he had been when Dorla was their 
 vis-a-vis. After many delays, they passed through the bat- 
 talion of little beggars at the entrance, selecting one as 
 guide, and going along, grimly enough for a party of pleas- 
 ure. It is a bad sign when pleasure-seekers begin to look at 
 watches. 
 
 " We shall have a late dinner," said Felix, taking his out 
 of his pocket. " It is past five, and we have no chance of 
 getting off on our return, for half an hour, at least." 
 
 " Are you hungry ? " said Abby, spitefully. 
 
 " There is no law against looking at one's watch," said 
 Mrs. Glover, trying to make peace. 
 
 " O, let us hurry," cried Abby, tauntingly. " It will not 
 take many minutes to glance at the Falls. Anything rather 
 than interfere with dinner." 
 
 " The horses have got to rest," said Felix nonchalantly. 
 " Shall we go through this wood-path ? I believe there is 
 rather a pretty ramble." 
 
 Abby, divining that the object of going there was to 
 meet the others who had disappeared so suddenly, wisely de- 
 clined to do anything but go to the Falls by the route the 
 most direct. The grass was slippery and dry, and the path 
 well worn. The little French guide was rather unnecessary. 
 
 " If you are willing," said Felix, " I will pay you and let 
 you go back. For I feel that we are trespassing on your 
 time unjustifiably." 
 
 The boy laughed a littlo, though it is probable he did not 
 understand, and took his money, and made rapidly off on 
 his bare feet. At one point, through the woods, they caught 
 a beautiful view of the Falls.
 
 342 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " There, we have seen it," said Abby. u Now we can go 
 back." 
 
 " No," said Felix, drearily, " there is more we have to see. 
 You go down steps or something opposite the Fall, if I re- 
 member right." 
 
 " Is one permitted to 'be tired and hungry ? " said Abby. 
 " For I am that" 
 
 " It is only a few yards further. Ah ! here are our com- 
 panions." 
 
 " Why, no, I don't think they're exactly our companions. 
 They are each other's companions," said Abby, with malice. 
 
 " They will be our companions, then, when we join them," 
 said Felix, walking determinedly up to them. Abby and 
 her mother could not do anything but follow. Mrs. Glover 
 began to talk a good deal, no one cared much about what. 
 Dorla had regained some composure, and could answer her 
 sufficiently. While they were talking together in this way, 
 standing on the bank of the ravine, no one thought of 
 Missy for a few moments. 
 
 " Where is Missy ? " suddenly cried Henry, in the midst of 
 one of Mrs. Glover's involved sentences. Dorla gave a start, 
 and looked around. Every one was startled not to see her ; 
 it was not just the place to lose sight of a child of six. The 
 precipice beside the path was very abrupt, and so it had been 
 for some distance, though no one had noticed it with inter- 
 est. 
 
 " She has gone back into the woods for some anemones; I 
 am sure she has gone there," cried Dorla, flying back in the 
 direction of the woods. Henry shook his head and hurried 
 away towards an opposite point. Abby, with a wrathful 
 protest, went one way, her mother another. Felix followed 
 Dorla. It smote his heart to see her terror, and her effort 
 to conceal it. 
 
 " I do not see her," she said, her teeth chattering. " Call 
 for her." Poor thing ! she could not call herself. They 
 hurried up and down the paths, asked two or three persons-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 343 
 
 whom they met if she had been seen ; called, but no misera- 
 ble little Missy. 
 
 " Do not be frightened," said Felix. " There are a hun- 
 dred places where she may be innocently at play. We shall 
 find her, in a few minutes, some of us. Really, you are un- 
 necessarily frightened." 
 
 Dorla had been flying along the paths of the shaded little 
 civilized forest, at a pace at which even he could not have 
 long continued. Now she began to tremble and grow 
 white. 
 
 " If the others had found her wouldn't they call out ? " she 
 tried to say. 
 
 " Yes," answered Felix, " but maybe we could not hear 
 them. It is better to go back. I don't think we shall 
 find she is in this wood." He enlisted the services of two 
 obliging English gentlemen, to beat up the wood, and then 
 came back to Dorla, who shook all over, but refused to 
 rest. Then he told her to take his arm, which she humbly 
 did, and walked on as well as she could, back to the spot 
 where they had been when they missed the child. Mrs. 
 Glover and Abby were standing there, and they shook their 
 heads with anxious looks. 
 
 " Those steps, those horrible steps," she said in a moment. 
 " I know she has gone down them." The steps were very 
 steep and dizzy things, which had made Dorla shudder when 
 she looked at them; rickety too, and uncertain with age. 
 The first flight looks interminable seen from above ; then the 
 little platform with a roof, and then another flight sheer 
 down, among the rocks and debris at the bottom of the ra- 
 vine at least, so it had looked to Dorla, who was never 
 strong of nerve. Inspired with this new certainty, she 
 drew Felix to the edge of the bank, which commanded a 
 view of the descent. 
 
 At the moment that Felix was saying, " No, you see she is 
 not there," there was a flutter of a bit of white, far down al- 
 most at the bottom, and there was Missy, toiling painfully
 
 344 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 up, with her arms full of weeds and flowers. Dorla gave a 
 scream and sprang forward. 
 
 The child, unconscious of their eyes, was climbing up the 
 steep ascent only careful of her leaves and flowers, not even 
 taking hold of the railing, and making little childish irregular 
 steps ; but even with this, it seemed to those who looked, the 
 frail fabric shook and rocked. One misstep : Ah ! 
 
 At the same moment that they had seen her, Henry from 
 the top of the steps had seen her too. Dorla saw him dart 
 forward, and go quickly down the stair ; and her heart stood 
 still as she watched him. If Missy caught sight of him sud- 
 denly, she might be startled and lose her footing. At the 
 platform they saw him pause, and call her softly. Dorla 
 grasped Felix's arm to steady herself, and watched breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Felix aloud, with a tone of some relief as the 
 child looked up and moved towards him without affright or 
 unsteadiness. Henry must have told her to take the railing, 
 for she dropped some of her flowers and grasped the balus- 
 ter. But she looked such a mite ; she could hardly reach 
 it ; and she climbed on child-fashion, bringing both feet on each 
 step, and taking a fresh start each time. Henry came down 
 quickly and steadily to meet her ; she toiled on with occas- 
 ional pauses. At last, as they met and he lifted her in his 
 arms, Dorla's nerves gave way, and she began to cry. 
 
 Really," said Abby, sharply, " I shouldn't think there 
 was anything to cry about now." The offence was, Felix 
 seemed so sorry for her. Mrs. Glover had more feeling, and 
 went up to her and talked kindly. But kind talk came 
 upon unheeding ears. She cried with her face hidden in 
 her hands, and heard and answered no one, till Missy's shrill 
 voice sounded in her ears. Henry came hurrying up the path, 
 with the child in his arms, who leaned forward to her 
 mother. Dorla stretched out her arms and caught her, and 
 turned away from them all as if she hated them, and kissed 
 her and cried still. Missy, frightened and subdued by this
 
 A PERFECT ADONI& 345 
 
 unusual violence, was quite silent. If Henry looked for 
 any thanks, he did not get them. Indeed he seemed quite 
 satisfied to be forgotten since he had seen her happy. 
 
 M Well, may we go now ? " said Abby, with a contemptu- 
 ous gesture of the hand to the others, as if to say she had 
 seen quite enough. 
 
 " I think we are all ready," said Felix, coldly. And 
 Mrs. Glover and Abby moved away with him. 
 
 Henry stayed behind with Dorla and Missy. 
 
 Ten minutes later, these three came across the road to the 
 little inn. Dorla had a veil very tight across her face, and 
 was quited one with crying. Missy, like a dutiful little 
 daughter, was looking up at her and being very silent. The 
 carriage and the caleche were standing before the door ; 
 in the former sat the two ladies with ill-disguised impatience. 
 Felix stood with the carriage door open. 
 
 " I think you must have forgotten we were going back to 
 Quebec, to-night," said Abby, tartly. 
 
 *' I ? O, I am sorry you waited for me. I am going back 
 in the caleche," returned Dorla, walking towards that vehi- 
 cle, as if it were amazing that they had not known where 
 she had made up her mind to drive. She did not attempt 
 any apology, nor in fact look again towards them. 
 
 Felix stepped quickly into the carriage, and pulled the 
 door- to sharply, and they drove on. Looking black, however, 
 from where he sat, he could see Henry putting her into the 
 caleche with tenderness and care, and could see him take 
 his place beside her, with the mite Missy on his lap. 
 
 " I really think it would have been more civil to have 
 made some apology," said Mrs. Glover, much out of humor. 
 
 " I suppose it is to reward the faithful Henry for his feat 
 of gallantry," returned Abby. 
 
 " Yon shall have sprats 
 For your humanity, 
 My seven fine cats, 
 
 Said Dame Wiggins of Lee." 
 15*
 
 346 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I do not see the prowess, though, in walking down a 
 flight of steps that every tourist walks down every time he 
 conies to Montmorenci." 
 
 " No, you do not see it, because he is not your Henry." 
 
 " But it is quite impossible to say what it may result in," 
 said Mrs. Glover. " With these deadly sentimental women, 
 such things are often made the turning-point." 
 
 Felix had not much reverence for Mrs. Glover's judgment 
 ordinarily, but on this occasion he felt that she had spoken 
 sooth. It was quite impossible to know what estimate 
 Dorla was going to put upon the walk of Henry down the 
 steps ; but it was not possible to doubt that it would be an 
 exaggerated one. 
 
 '' I do like common sense," said Mrs. Glover, leaning back 
 in the carriage, as they rolled over the white rod through 
 Beauport village. Abby was eminent for common sense, 
 or rather for the absence of sentiment, and Mrs. Glover 
 hoped that that quality would strike Felix favorably after 
 having been put through a scene. She knew men hated 
 scenes ; and Dorla had made such a fool of herself. " The 
 future of that child Missy really weighs upon nie," she 
 went on, as no one responded to her praise of common 
 sense. 
 
 " I think her present is enough of a nuisance without 
 troubling one's self about her future," said Abby. 
 
 " Don't you think," said Mrs. Glover, addressing herself 
 to Felix, " that a child so situated is certain of an unhappy 
 womanhood ? " 
 
 " I know so little about children, I am sure I cannot 
 judge," Felix answered, non-commital. 
 
 " But think," said Mrs. Glover, meditatively, " of such 
 a temperament remaining so ungoverned. Think of the 
 mother's foolish fondness, of her foolish apprehensions, and 
 her emotional tendency. I really don't know what will 
 happen to the child, if she finds herself in a different posi- 
 tion some day. If her mother marries Henry Stanfield "
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 347 
 
 " I ain sure Le wouldn't hurt a mosquito," cried Abby. 
 
 " But if there are ever other children," persisted Mrs. 
 Glover. 
 
 " Then undoubtedly, Missy will be let alone a little more," 
 said Felix in an irritated tone, and as if he had heard more 
 than he wanted of the matter. 
 
 Mrs. Glover found herself snubbed, and not being a prac- 
 tised diplomat, subsided into silence and brooded over her 
 wounds. She had yet to learn that the walks of diplomacy 
 require complete self-abnegation. People must not brood 
 over their wounds, if they want to gain their point in any 
 matter. 
 
 The summer twilight was gathering faintly ; the green 
 fields and the quaint Norman houses lay quiet by the road- 
 .side ; men sat in the doorways now, smoking after the labors 
 of the day ; now and then, a little black-eyed child ran 
 forward and held up a bouquet to the silent .carriage, as 
 it rolled by. No one noticed the little offerings. Abby 
 waved the first away contemptuously, and after that showed 
 her contempt by not looking towards the offerers. The pre- 
 valence of ill-humor was apparent even to the little Irish 
 driver, who looked around occasionally, in wonder where 
 were the gibes, the jests that had made the outward voyage 
 so noisy. As they passed over the Bridge they came up 
 with a party of acquaintances from the hotel. 
 
 " What makes you all so quiet ? " cried one. 
 
 " I hope you haven't quarrelled," said another. 
 
 " Those people are insufferable in their familiarity," said 
 Abby, drawing farther back iuto the carriage, though she 
 had played whist with them for hours the night before. 
 
 When at last they drew up before the door of the hotel, 
 she said, " thank Heaven," with irreverent ill- temper between 
 her teeth, and sprung out spurning the offered hand of 
 Felix. This was the second time that afternoon that Felix 
 had had that experience ; and Mrs. Glover took his hand as 
 if she would not have done it if it could have been avoided.
 
 348 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I am becoming unpopular," thought Felix, with grim 
 humor. 
 
 " Come," cried the officious friends of the Bridge, meeting 
 them at the door of the reception room. " We shan't have 
 time to lovelify for dinner, let us go in shabbily together." 
 
 Abby was ready to cry " I don't want any dinner, let me 
 alone," when she bethought herself this was not the way 
 people acted when they were jealous, unless they wanted 
 every one to know about it. So, as there was a young man 
 in the offensive party, she wisely concluded to make him of 
 use, and they all went in to dinner together, Abby very 
 much engrossed by the young man, and Mrs. Glover restored 
 by the sentiment of admiration with which her daughter's 
 conduct inspired her. 
 
 By which means Felix was left at liberty ; and after din-, 
 ner, " when all the ways were dim," he wandered with his 
 cigar up and down Mt. Carmel Street, and had at last the 
 doubtful recompense of seeing Henry come out from the 
 house where Dorla lodged, with, 'as he fancied, a brisker step 
 and a more uplifted head than was his wont. 
 
 " Then it's all settled," he said, knocking the ashes off his 
 cigar; and with a shrug of the shoulders, he resumed his 
 walk. " It's all settled, but if there is such a thing as Fate, 
 why did it bring me here to this dull town, to assist at the 
 denouement ? If I had read it in an Eastern paper while I 
 was off in California, it would not have impressed me much." 
 
 That was not true, but it was his belief, or at least it was 
 the belief he meant to hold. And he tried in the same 
 breath to convince himself that he only fel^ sorry that she 
 was throwing herself away, because of a lingering tender in- 
 terest that a man must always feel for a woman after he has 
 loved her. It was a pity, as he had rudely told her, for a 
 woman to mafry twice from a sense of duty. Henry seemed 
 such a pitiful piece of mediocrity to him, in this wise only 
 better than his predecessor, that he was a gentleman. And 
 the child was so miserable an object for which to sacrifice so
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 349 
 
 rare and beautiful a mother ! The idea that she was fur- 
 nishing a protector to Missy, and securing her future happi- 
 ness and safety, was, he saw, leading Dorla into this second 
 misery. The child's unreasonable fondness for him "was 
 making the tangle more complete. " If he had only stepped 
 on her hand, alas ! " 
 
 But there was no use in wasting words or thoughts about 
 it ; he had better go away from Quebec at once, and forget 
 about this hazy, passing vision, this dream of a dream that 
 he had had. To-morrow he would go. So he strolled 
 again up Mt. Carmel Street, and felt that it was his last 
 night in Quebec. He looked at Dorla's windows, where the 
 light burned dim ; and then he passed on up the street, and 
 leaned over a low wall, where two poplars stand guard over 
 a garden, and looked across a sea of roofs, where many lights 
 twinkled through the dim soft air. " I am glad to have 
 been here," he said to himself. " There is nothing to be 
 sorry about." And so he flung the end of his cigar away, 
 among the trees and roofs below him, and, with a sort of 
 sigh, went slowly from the spot. 
 
 r ERY one knows it is not so easy to get away 
 from places as to go to them, (especially if you are 
 not very determined about it.) Felix thought he 
 surely would go away from Quebec that next day, but many 
 things combined to make him stay. In the fh'st place, every- 
 body had recovered his or her temper ; the weather was fine, 
 in the second ; no one expected him to go, in the third ; and 
 in the fourth, he didn't want to. It would surprise them 
 all, to have him go away, and all would say there was a 
 cause in his disappointment about Mrs. Rothermel. He re- 
 sumed his old place with Abby. Indeed she was a little 
 softer and more attractive since her passionate fit of jeal- 
 ousy, and he was in proportion more gentle in his manner to
 
 350 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 her. Mrs. Glover's hopes revived, and Mrs. Bishop seemed 
 perfectly well satisfied with the progress of events. Dorla 
 refused to go out with them at all that day, and Felix only 
 saw her once, on her knees in the Seminary Chapel, whither 
 he had strayed in the unannounced hope of finding silence, 
 and a half hour to himself. She had been crying, he saw, 
 when she passed out of the door ; he took pains that she 
 should not see him. The next day he encountered her in 
 Fabrique Street, but she had Missy, Marie, and Henry with 
 her, and that was reason enough for passing with a bow. 
 There was time enough for him to see, however, that she 
 flushed painfully. And so the next day passed. 
 
 Henry was becoming insufferable. Not from airs of s\ic- 
 cess ; blessed soul, that was not his way of sinning ; but 
 from unspeakable in-love-ness. He was so absent-minded, 
 so engrossed in his own thoughts, that at the table, Abby 
 never addressed him without making several loud raps with 
 the handle of her knife or fork to ensure his attention, before 
 beginning her observation. This always had the effect of 
 making Felix furious, and of giving Mrs. Bishop's nerves a 
 great shock, and of irritating even Mrs. Glover. Only Henry 
 was entirely unmoved, and seemed to forget she had ever 
 done it before. Bub nothing interfered with the practice, 
 as Abby was in the habit of riding rough-shod over the 
 prejudices of her associates. Felix sometimes said to him- 
 self, he would alter his dinner hour and let them have the 
 round table and the scarlet geranium, to themselves ; but he 
 never had the resolution to break away from them. It be- 
 gan to be quite apparent, however, that he had little to gain 
 from their connection with Dorla. Of course he dared not 
 go to Mt. Carmel Street, and she had completely withdrawn 
 herself from them, when there was any danger of encounter- 
 ing him. Henry and Mi-s. Bishop were with her incessantly, 
 it seemed to him, from the talk at the table ; Mrs. Glover 
 and Abby occasionally, though with much distaste. Still it
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 351 
 
 was " amusing " enough to keep him in Quebec, these little 
 chances and glimpses. 
 
 On the fourth morning, however, after the drive to the 
 Falls, Felix came down early, after rather a hot and sleep- 
 less night. It was an hour before the breakfast time ob- 
 served by the party, and while walking up and down the 
 reading room, and debating in his own mind the wisdom of 
 getting through with that meal in peace and taking the 
 morning to himself, he caught sight of a well-known figure, 
 crossing the dark hall, from the reception room, through 
 trunks and porters and news stands. Dorla moved with the 
 hesitation and discomfort of a young woman, unaccustomed 
 to take care of herself in such places. She told a porter to 
 bring a clerk to her, and then she grew frightened aud told 
 the porter to bring her to a clerk. All were very busy, as 
 a train or boat was just arriving, and no one paid much heed 
 to her as she stood beside the desk among a dozen dusty, 
 hurrying, and ill-humored travellers. Felix threw aside the 
 newspaper he had taken up, and went out to her. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Rothermel? " he said, 
 speaking in his ordinary tone ; but when she turned her 
 face to him, he saw there was something the matter. 
 
 " O, yes," she said, " I want a doctor Missy is very ill. 
 I am trying to get them to send a servant up to Mr. Stan- 
 field." 
 
 Felix said, '- Come back to the reception room. I will 
 send up." 
 
 She followed him, and while he called a servant to him, 
 she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh, it will be so long ! He may not yet be up." 
 
 " What do you want him for? " asked Felix abruptly. 
 
 " To get the doctor for me." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I can do that as well." 
 
 " Oh, if you only would." 
 
 Then Felix dismissed the srr\;:nt, and getting from the 
 oliiuethe address of the only homoeopath in the city, sprung
 
 352 A PERFECT AD01TI8. 
 
 into a caliche, and departed on his mission, Dorla being al- 
 ready on her way back to Missy's bedside, without so much 
 as a look at him. 
 
 The doctor lived outside the gate ; it was a long drive, 
 and the end of it was not reached when his house was 
 found. Felix hunted him out of the abode of a desper- 
 ately sick man at some" distance, and bore him back with 
 him in the caleche. He bribed the Frenchman to drive fur- 
 iously. When they rattled up to the door in Mount Carmel 
 Street, the maid opened it as if she had been watching for 
 them, and said : " Would Mr. Varian please go up to the 
 parlor and speak to Mi's. Rothermel a moment ? " 
 
 Felix went \7p after the doctor. Dorla met them with an 
 anxious face, forgot Felix's existence, and took the doctor 
 into the adjoining room. Felix walked about the room, not 
 ill pleased to be there. It was in a sort of confusion, be- 
 tokening sudden illness. One of Missy's sacks lay on a 
 chair, and one of her tiny, tiny shoes. A bowl of gruel and 
 some lemons and some ice stood on the table where flowers 
 and ferns had been wont to stand. The pillow of the sofa 
 was crushed down, and a shawl lay on the cushion as if some 
 one had lain there to snatch a moment's rest, and half under 
 the pillow was a little, well-worn book of prayer, with D. R. 
 stamped upon the cover. The windows were open, for the 
 day was warm. Marie crept out of the bedchamber, with a 
 torpid face. It was very little to her that Missy was in a 
 tearing fever; but much, that breakfast time was passing 
 unobserved. She cast a stealthy glance at Felix, wondering 
 how he came there, and mechanically began to pick up the 
 stray sack and shoe, and put the room in order. Felix 
 thought her an oyster for intelligence and sympathy, and 
 wondered vaguely how Dorla ever could have taken her into 
 her service. He did not feel any surprise that Marie did not 
 love Missy, but that Marie should be endured, lacking that 
 affection. Perhaps maids that love Missies do not grow on 
 every bush, howevei% That was a new thought. In all the
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 353 
 
 world, one person loved the little, fever-stricken creature in 
 the other room. It was a love worth all the rest, perhaps ; 
 but still it was but one. He wondered how it felt to love a 
 child like that. It was strong, that mother passion. But 
 all women do not love their children so. All the world fell 
 away out of Dorla's sight and thought, if a shadow fell on 
 Missy. 
 
 At that moment she came out of the room with a slip of 
 paper in her hand. She looked from Felix to Marie as if un- 
 certain which would do her errand best. She decided upon 
 Felix and went up to him, and giving him the paper, with- 
 out preface, said, " Get this for me just as quickly as you 
 can, please. Poirier, St. John's Street, near the Gate." 
 
 " I remember the shop," said Felix. 
 
 And she disappeared into the room while he went out the 
 door. When he came back from the druggist's, he found 
 the doctor in the parlor sitting quietly, with his watch in 
 his hand. This person also treated him as errand-boy, and 
 said, "Just sit down and wait a minute, I may want you 
 to go out again ; " and went into the bedroom. 
 
 After a time he came out again, and took up his hat. " I 
 will come back in an hour," he said ; " I haven't had my 
 breakfast." 
 
 " How do you find the child ? " said Felix, wondering 
 what relation the doctor thought he was to the little patient. 
 The doctor said the child looked ill ; it might be scarlet 
 fever, it might be half a dozen things. She had a very bad 
 pulse, but he did not know what her pulse generally ran. It 
 was difficult to judge. A few hours would decide the mat- 
 ter. He would watch her closely, and then, hungry and cool, 
 the doctor went his way. 
 
 To do Felix justice, he had not once thought of his break- 
 fast. He was very well contented to sit in the shaded, cool, 
 and now tidy room, and know that Dorla must in a few 
 moments, more or less, come out from that door. When 
 she did, she seemed in a sort of maze at seeing him.
 
 354: A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " The doctor told me to wait, he might want something," 
 said Felix, apologetically. " But now, I suppose he will 
 not need me." 
 
 " Don't go till he comes back." 
 
 " I will not, surely," returned Felix earnestly. 
 
 Then Marie, who stood in the doorway, said in a low voice, 
 Monsieur had not had his breakfast, nor for the matter of 
 that, had any of them. This recalled Dorla to her senses, 
 and to the cold knowledge that she alone was suffering, and 
 that other people could think of what they had to eat. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she said. " I hope you will go at 
 once ; I do not know how I could have forgotten." 
 
 " I do not want my breakfast and had not thought of it," 
 said Felix, almost angrily. " Send the woman down, for I 
 suppose that is the secret of her care for me." 
 
 At that moment a slight sound, perhaps a moan, came 
 from the inner room } where the child lay in the stupor of 
 her fever, and in an instant Dorla had vanished. After 
 that, all was silence, but Dorla did not come back. At, length 
 Felix told the woman to go down to her breakfast. She 
 went with lively interest, and in a glow of gratitude 
 brought him up a cup of coffee and a roll, before she ate her 
 own. These he ate with a relish, but with a little shame 
 that he could do so, while poor Dorla was in such misery. 
 He was afraid she would come out while the coffee cup was 
 at his lips. It was, altogether, an absurd position. He was 
 afraid, at the same time, that some of the party from the 
 hotel would arrive abruptly. He also thought the people of 
 the house might think it odd that he was there. All these 
 incongruities and their little goads, struck him as so abomi- 
 nable, in view of the suffering of the poor young mother. 
 He knew he was outside of that, could not enter into it by 
 one step. He wondered if that other man, who had en- 
 tangled his fate in some way with hers, could go any farther ; 
 if he really could feel any interest in the child for herself. 
 At that moment Felix would have been very glad to have
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 355 
 
 been fond of Missy, even a very little fond of her. When 
 his roll aiid coffee were disposed of, he put the cup and plate 
 out of sight ; and feeling so much refreshed, began to won- 
 der if it would be possible to induce Dorla to eat something. 
 But she did not come out into the parlor again. All was 
 very still ; he could hear the quick breathing of the sick 
 child, but that was all. Bye and bye Marie came back ; but 
 she shook her head when he spoke of getting her mistress 
 some breakfast. 
 
 " Monsieur does not know Madame Rothermel. She is 
 ready to give up her life if the little one has a pulse too 
 many. She never eats, she never sleeps. She will die be- 
 cause of her some day." 
 
 Marie walked about the rooms softly, and at last got her 
 phlegmatic sewing, and sat down at a window. Felix made 
 himself as comfortable as he could at another, and read one 
 of Dorla's pious little books. He was outside of this part 
 of her life too ; no wonder that she did not care for him. 
 He could have found it in his heart to wish that he were 
 pious, even a very little pious, at that moment. 
 
 Presently the doctor came back, a little within the hour. 
 Then he caught another sight of Dorla, stony calm, as she 
 came to meet him at the door. When the doctor came out 
 from the bedroom he looked a little disturbed. He told 
 Felix that the child was pretty sick ; the remedies didn't 
 seem to take effect. He would have to wait another week 
 or two and watch the effect of the one he had just given. 
 He didn't like the look of two or three things about her. 
 
 " I haven't said this to your wife," remarked the Doctor, 
 " for women are so easily alarmed." 
 
 Felix rather angrily explained that he was not the 
 husband of the lady, that he was simply a member of a 
 travelling party, the rest of whom were at the hotel, and 
 iliat he was only waiting there to see if he could be of use 
 till some of the ladies came around. 
 
 " O," said the Doctor, rather put aback. Then he gatlx-
 
 356 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 ered himself up professionally, and went on to talk of 
 Missy's state and prospects. " I don't mind telling you," 
 he said, " I don't altogether like her symptoms. It has 
 been a bad season for children. I haven't had so much bad 
 luck in years." 
 
 At this moment Dorla, stony calm, came walking out of 
 the bed-room, having left Marie by the unconscious little 
 sufferer. She went towards the Doctor and said, " I want 
 to know just how it is with the child. You need not 
 deceive me ; is she very ill ? " 
 
 The Doctor, misled by her calmness, said uneasily, 
 " Well, yes, I am afraid she is ; but we've only got to wait 
 and watch her for a while." 
 
 Then Dorla gave him a wild, appealing look. She had 
 not expected to have her fears confirmed, for she had told 
 herself it was -only her foolish over-fear, and that if she 
 asked the Doctor he would reassure her. " I will do all I 
 can," he said, looking away, for man-like he hated to see 
 a woman's agitation. 
 
 " You are not going," said Dorla, trying to command her 
 voice, for the Doctor was getting hold of his hat and stick. 
 
 " Only around to the hotel to see a patient ; I will be back 
 in twenty minutes," returned the Doctor, who was most 
 fervent to get away before there was a scene. He would 
 have suffered less in taking a child's leg off than in witness- 
 ing a woman's tears. For the child could have ether and 
 the woman could not ; one could be treated professionally, 
 and the other could not. He got out of the door very 
 quickly, hoping the storm would expend itself while he was 
 away. 
 
 Dorla walked to the window and stood gazing out; but 
 she did not see the hot, narrow street, nor the wide-open 
 casements of the houses over the way. Then she turned 
 suddenly and said, (l What have I done that she should be 
 taken from me ? " There was no intermediate condition ; 
 she never hoped where she had any excuse for despairing.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 357 
 
 Missy was going to die; the heavy certainty had settled 
 on her heart. " It is of no use to talk to me of trust," she 
 said, seeing Felix was about to speak. " It is of no use. 
 I do trust that I shall be able to live through whatever 
 comes. But why should I trust that Missy will be spared 
 to me when better women have their children taken from 
 them. God is good. But it is hard to suffer." 
 
 " I don't see," said Felix, " why you let yourself think 
 about the chance of losing her. There are many chances 
 that she may recover. You are only weakening yourself by 
 letting in this imagination. She is always in danger ; 
 everybody is. You might as well any day give yourself up 
 to the fancy that she would die before night. Just make up 
 your mind that she is to get well. It will not alter matters 
 for her, and it will save you pain." 
 
 These words of wisdom fell rather coldly on poor Dorla's 
 ears, but they had their effect in somewhat suppressing if 
 not quieting her emotion. 
 
 Another moment there were voices heard in the hall. 
 Mrs. Bishop and Henry, who had met the Doctor in the 
 street, and had heard from the servant at the door a terrible 
 account of Missy, came hurrying towards the room. 
 
 " O," said Dorla, " if they only wouldn't come ! " 
 
 But before she had said it, they had come. 
 
 " What is this, my dear," cried Mrs. Bishop, throwing 
 her arms around her. " Why have you not sent for me ? " 
 
 " Nobody could do me any good," she said almost sul- 
 lenly, as she submitted to the embrace. 
 
 " My dear ! But we could have been sorry for you, at 
 least." 
 
 " Yes," said Dorla, turning away. " I suppose so." 
 Then catching sight of Henry, who had not spoken, but who 
 stood with honest grief upon his face, she suddenly broke 
 down ; and stretching out her hand to him, said brokenly, 
 " I believe you would care if she did not get well. My 
 poor little Missy ! O, how can I live through this ? "
 
 358 <* PERFECT ADONIC 
 
 Henry caught her hand and led her to the sofa. Felix 
 could not hear what he said, but it was evidently more 
 acceptable to her than his wise words had been. 
 
 "Wisdom, to cure a broken heart, 
 Must not be wisdom preached. " 
 
 Henry had sympathy where he had only pity. Mrs. Bishop 
 and he had not loved poor little Missy, and they both felt 
 conscious of the shortcoming. But Dorla and Henry were 
 not aware of their confusion. They could only think of 
 one thing. In a few moments, Henry followed Dorla to 
 the door of Missy's room ; and, horror to behold, followed 
 her, after a moment's pause, into the room and out of sight. 
 Felix walked about and looked out of the window. He 
 knew he ought to go away, but he was enraged to think of 
 Henry left in charge. Mrs. Bishop took off her shawl and 
 gloves and settled herself in an easy -chair as if she meant 
 to be permanent. 
 
 "This is a sad business," she said to Felix, with a sigh. 
 " There is no knowing how long we may have to stay, even 
 if she should get better." 
 
 " I trust there is no question about that," returned Felix, 
 with the chilling superiority of a man of sense. Mrs. 
 Bishop at once felt ashamed of herself, and began to wonder 
 whether' Missy were really very ill. 
 
 " But the Doctor," she went on humbly. " The Doctor 
 seemed to think it was pretty serious." 
 
 Felix shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 At this moment Henry came out of the room, with a 
 face of great anxiety. " She is very ill, I am afraid," 
 he said, going up to his aunt. 
 
 " Dear, dear, Henry, this is a dreadful piece of work. 
 I wish we had gone home a week ago." 
 
 " It is 'time the Doctor came. I should think," said " 
 Henry, looking at his watch. " Aunt Hester, if there is 
 anything you want from the !;otel, Marie can go round and
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 359 
 
 get it. I of course shall stay ; and you will have to be 
 here all the time." 
 
 " Dear me. Yes, of course. But this upsets one so. 
 There are my pills to take at twelve. And I did not bring 
 a cap ; and my slippers and the tonic and my glasses 
 and that little breakfast-shawl, if I have to sit by a win- 
 dow" 
 
 " I should think Marie could get them all," said Henry, 
 anxiously, " if you told her justwhat it was you wanted." 
 
 " Ah, my dear Henry, I would not send Marie to my 
 trunk. I never felt confidence in that woman." 
 
 " Perhaps Mrs. Rothermel can lend you the things." 
 
 "Her slippers would not fit me." 
 
 " No, of course they wouldn't." 
 
 " And I am suffering torments already with this boot." 
 
 At this moment Dorla came out, her eyes red with cry- 
 ing. " Hasn't he come yet ? " she said. That meant the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " No," said Henry, looking at his watch, which was still in 
 his hand. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Bishop, " I am going to stay with 
 you of course, and I was just arranging with Henry. Now 
 don't you think you could go to another room, and rest a 
 little while, and let me sit by Missy ; you look so very 
 tired." 
 
 " No ! oh, no ! " cried Dorla, as she started backward to 
 the door. " I don't want to rest. And I am sure you 
 needn't stay." 
 
 " Of course I shall," said Mrs. Bishop, with great firm- 
 ness. " I shall not leave you while she is so sick. And I 
 am talking of sending Marie around to get some things." 
 
 " Yes ? " said Dorla, wearily, retreating to the door. 
 
 " I wish I could avoid it though. I suppose you haven't 
 such a thing as a light worsted shawl ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Dorla, looking distressed. " Marie 
 will see."
 
 360 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " And the slippers, of course you haven't any that -would 
 do. I really am afraid I shall have to send Marie for the 
 slippers, if for nothing else. These walking-boots are so un- 
 comfortable. I suppose it is the warm weather." 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Bishop, don't stay; really I do not need 
 anything. Henry will be here, and that is really all I 
 need." 
 
 At this moment the doctor entered, and Felix took occa- 
 sion to withdraw, washing hj.s hands of the whole business. 
 It was the very last chapter of his interference and his hopes. 
 If the child died, she would marry Henry from gratitude ; if 
 she lived, she would marry him from duty. A woman that 
 had set her heart upon sacrificing herself, might as well be 
 let alone ; there was not any hope of turning her. 
 
 For the next two days there was a great doubt 
 about poor Missy. Mrs. Bishop never got away for a 
 moment, and Marie and Mrs. Glover had to be trusted to 
 get the tonic, and the slippers, and many additional details of 
 comfort. Henry was not seen at the hotel, and Abby with 
 amiable merriment wondered if he carried up Mrs. Rother- 
 mel's meals to her and fed her with a spoon. But while a 
 woman's child is lying in danger of death she is not apt to 
 give much thought to meals and spoons as connected with 
 herself, nor to the appearances of things in the eyes of the 
 world. That Mrs. Bishop was there, in her heavy imbecility, 
 for the purpose of making it proper that Henry should be 
 in the chamber of anguish beside the unconscious sufferer, 
 never entered Dorla's brain. There was no room for that. 
 The doctor was there many times a day. The people in the 
 house were very kind. The weather was unbearably hot. 
 Mrs. Glover came often, but rarely saw Dorla, and Abby, if 
 she had not had the companionship of Felix and a party of 
 friends recently arrived, would have been much bored. 
 
 "How is the little thing? " she would say to her mother 
 as she came in from a drive and drew off her gloves sitting 
 down to lunch. And Felix could not forgive her that she
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 361 
 
 sometimes spoke to the waiter about the cold chicken before 
 she heard her mother's answer. What a good appetite she 
 had. How merry her laugh was. And how handsome she 
 looked. Felix wondered whether she would ever bend over 
 a little child in a fever and forget cold chicken and lockets 
 and round hats and the opinion of the world. 
 
 But after two days of this suspense, Missy suddenly rallied, 
 and without explanation began to get well. The doctor 
 could not account for it ; it was probably one of those 
 unheralded attacks of fever to which many children are 
 subject while they are " amang the teeth," as the Scotch say.. 
 It was very possible that she had not been in as great danger 
 as she appeared. Every one, a little out of temper, began 
 to be peevish about the fright she had given them. Mrs. 
 Bishop came back to the hotel, slippers and all, and felt that 
 she had been wronged. Felix felt that Abby had been the 
 wisest of them not to let anything interfere with the cold 
 chicken. Mrs. Glover sneered at the doctor, and did not 
 believe she should have been deceived a moment if she had 
 been admitted to the child. Even Henry came back, looking 
 worn out and indifferent, and went to his room and slept 
 hours on the stretch. Only Missy's mother did not blame 
 her for the unnecessary expenditure of emotion incurred by 
 her illness and recovery. She felt indeed bruised and 
 wounded, as if she had been cast up on the hard shore of 
 every-day, after a desperate storm that had been beyond her 
 strength ; she could have the joy of reason not the joy of 
 feeling, after such a struggle. 
 
 Missy was troublesome as a convalescent. But then she 
 was troublesome in all estates and conditions. Her exactions 
 alone would have prevented those about her from feeling 
 unalloyed happiness in the sight of her recovery. JI 
 
 no secret of her feelings and gave warning publicly. 
 
 " As soon as we reach home, Madame will please look out 
 
 another Btaid for Missy." This is such pleasant news to 
 
 hear, two or three hundred miles from home, and with a sick 
 
 10
 
 S62 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 child upon your hands. A servant of course, under these 
 circumstances, feels that she has discharged her conscience 
 when she has said this, and seeks no more to please or 
 mollify. Though it was the best thing that had happened 
 to Missy for a long time, to get rid of Marie, Dorla took it 
 quite to heart. She had a great dread of strange faces about 
 her, and would have endured the dull-eyed Marie to the end 
 of time rather than have made the change. 
 
 A week after Missy's illness, Dorla was so dejected that 
 she had to remind herself what she had escaped, in order to 
 be thankful. On the day before, Mi.ssy had driven out ; she 
 was unmistakably as well as she ever had been. This morn- 
 ing, she was to be taken to sit for an hour or two in the 
 Governor's Garden acvoss the way, when a hasty ^summons 
 came from Mrs. Bishop. Dorla, establishing her with Marie, 
 in the Garden, went hurriedly around to the hotel. In her 
 own room, she found Mrs. Bishop in much agitation; a 
 despatch had just been received, which Henry was even now 
 answering, communicating the news of the severe illness of 
 Henry's mother, the sister of Mrs. Bishop. They were to 
 start in the train at one o'clock. Dorla surely would go 
 with them ? There was but one answer to that, but it took 
 a long while to convince Mrs. Bishop that it must be. 
 Missy could not take such a journey. Dorla was down on 
 her knees packing Mrs. Bishop's trunk while she said this. 
 The poor old lady was quits unnerved. 
 
 " I am sure there is no time to lose," said Dorla, folding 
 up a wrapper. 
 
 " Henry said we must not waste time," she said. " Poor 
 Henry ! Dorla, I think you ought to go." 
 
 " I wish it were possible," she returned, " for your sake. 
 But it cannot be. Dear Mrs. Bishop, which hat shall you 
 put on?" 
 
 " The black straw. I may need my crape one fresh. Oh, 
 dear! But when shall you come home yourself? and how 
 will you get home alone? "
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 363 
 
 " O, I shall manage some way. The others are all going, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, I believe so. It was all quite hurried but I think 
 the Glovers are very tired of Quebec. And I think Felix 
 only wanted an excuse to get away. He and Abby are out 
 now, paying some bills and getting some things they had 
 ordered, and Mrs. Glover is busy packing. Lunch at twelve, 
 you know. And dear me, it is now nearly half-past eleven ! " 
 
 At quarter before twelve the trunk was packed, the 
 shawls strapped, and while Mrs. Bishop sat down by the 
 window aud fanned herself aud cried softly, Henry entered 
 the room, looking pale and harassed. He showed surprise 
 at seeing Dorla. 
 
 " I have been in Mt. Carmel Street and through the Gar- 
 den, looking for you," he said. 
 
 Then Mrs. Bishop upbraided him for this waste of time, 
 and asked him if he had sent the telegram and paid the bill 
 and engaged the omnibus and ordered the lunch. The worm 
 turned at this, and said that was his business, if she would 
 only attend to her part. Thus grief affects the most amiable 
 minds. Mrs. Bishop cried more at this, and said she felt a 
 presentiment she should never live through this dreadful 
 journey. She even spoke reproachfully of Missy's illness, 
 which alone had kept them from going home a week ago. 
 She was as unreasonable as a woman of any age can be. 
 
 " We are wasting time. You are positive you cannot 
 go ? " said Henry to Dorla. 
 
 He had no hope that she could, but he gave her a very 
 appealing look as he spoke. The worst of poor Henry was, 
 lm was so genuine. He looked all he felt: a mother dying, 
 a sxvc-etheart to be left behind. His face expressed those 
 
 There came a knock at the door. " Trunks ready ? " 
 Another, with the bill. Another, with * telognuu. The 
 next fifteen minutes were a turmoil. At twelve, Dorla took 
 Mrs. Bishop down to lunch, Henry being absent on some of
 
 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 the endless business of preparation. Soon the Glovers came 
 in, and then Felix, not in any hurry, and then Henry, white 
 and in a hurry too. Poor fellow, he could not eat anything. 
 Felix said it was rather early for lunch, bat ate some soup. 
 Abby, who was in high spirits, called for her favorite cold 
 chicken. 
 
 " You have concluded not to go," said Felix to Dorla, 
 who sat watching Mrs. Bishop's efforts at a meal. 
 
 " O yes." 
 
 " And how is the little girl ? " 
 
 "A great deal better, thank you." 
 
 " Well," said Abby, " I hope you will pay us the compli- 
 ment of missing us." 
 
 " Abby," cried her mother, with a sudden misgiving, 
 known only to women on a journey ; " did you lock the can- 
 vas-covered trunk ? " 
 
 " O, what a shock you gave me ! Yes, of course I locked 
 it. Here's the key." 
 
 " There ! There ! " cried Mrs. Glover, " those photo- 
 graphs at the shop opposite. I knew there was something 
 that I had forgotten." 
 
 " Let me go for them," said Dovla, getting up, " while 
 you all get your lunch." 
 
 There was a hubbub and a discussion about permitting 
 her to go, and then a catalogue raisonne of the photographs ; 
 aud then Dorla got away. In a moment Henry arose, 
 saying he must see about the omnibus, and followed her. 
 Felix shrugged his shouldei-s, and Abby laughed. 
 
 " It would be too bad," she said, " not to have had a 
 chance to say good-bye. But I hope he won't forget about 
 the omnibus." Felix, from the parlor window, a few minutes 
 later, saw Dorla and Henry come out of the shop, silent, 
 and both rather pale. 
 
 " "Well, did yoi get the photographs ? " said Abby, meet- 
 ing them at the door. Mrs. Rothermel had the package, 
 and told her the prices she had paid, without any appear-
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 365 
 
 ance of indecision. But poor Henry was not so self-pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 " When will the omnibus come around ? " said Mrs. 
 Bishop ? "I will go and see about it," he answered, turn- 
 ing towards the door. 
 
 "That is just as I supposed," cried Abby. "He hasn't 
 been to order it, and we shall all be left." Such a thought 
 put Mrs. Bishop in great excitement. She insisted that 
 Felix should go and see about the omnibus himself. 
 
 Now I am going to bid you all good-bye," said Dorla, 
 quickly, as soon as he went away. " I cannot do you any 
 more good, and I have left Missy longer than I ought al- 
 ready. You will not be off for fifteen minutes yet." 
 Thereupon Mrs. Bishop was agitated again, but the 
 adieux were hurried through, and Dorla left the three ladies 
 in the parlor and went down the stairs. At the foot of 
 them she met Felix. 
 
 " You are going ? " he said, taking off his hat and stand- 
 ing aside for her to pass. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I can't be away from Missy any longer." 
 
 " Well, good-bye, then," he said, putting out his hand. 
 " I hope Missy will continue to improve." 
 
 " Thank you ! Good-bye," said Dorla, giving her hand 
 without looking up, and in a moment half a dozen people 
 were between her and him, and she passed out of the door 
 into the midday heat, with a strange feeling of disenchant- 
 ment. And so it was all over. And this was the end. 
 And how hot the pavements were ; and how steep the 
 street. Missy must be wanting her gruel. And this was 
 the end. What else had she looked for, she said ; and yet 
 it seemed miserably prosaic. It was with a feeling of im- 
 uce and of shame that she pulled the brass bell-handle 
 at the door of her lodgings. It was so hot to stand there 
 while the servant cleaned her last knife, or laid her last 
 plate. Every one took his or her time in Quebec. But no 
 one had ever been blamed for it before by Dorla. Every-
 
 366 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 thing dragged and worried to-day. There was Missy's gruel 
 at twelve, and her chop at two, and her nap at three, and 
 her walk at five, and her tea at six, and at seven her going 
 to bed. And between them all, a good deal of story-telling, 
 and entertaining and exercising of patience. But through it 
 all, Dorla felt a weariness that was unusual, almost a want 
 of interest in what had been, and what she had chosen, 
 should be, her life. Missy, finally, was soothed to sleep ; 
 the room seemed warm and close to Dorla, as she stole out 
 from it into the fresher air of the parlor. There the large 
 windows were open, and all was very still. She walked 
 about the room, and failed to interest herself in anything. 
 After all, it did feel lonely to be in a strange city without a 
 single friend. She had called them bores, sometimes, but 
 she would really be glad to see Mrs. Bishop coming in, with 
 her cap in her hand, and her slippers in her pocket. Inde- 
 pendence and time to rest your brain are all very well, but 
 there is such a thing as having too much of them. " What 
 should I do if Missy should be ill again ? " she thought. 
 She wondered how far they were upon their journey, and 
 she took the " Railway Guide " to the window, and studied 
 it out in the dim light, and really hurt her eyes. Then she 
 leaned upon the casement, and wondered how they were all 
 sitting, and what they were all doing. Felix and Abby 
 together, no doubt, feeding upon endless courses of cara- 
 mels and grapes, pears and sandwiches, macaroons and 
 sardines. All that was incongruous, and that was portable, 
 it was fair to suppose, formed part of their refreshment. 
 Abby would be laughing at every one in the cars, and Felix 
 would look as if he did not object, and was quite willing to 
 be entertained. Mrs. Glover would be sitting alone sur- 
 rounded by the shawls and bags, and Mrs. Bishop and poor 
 Henry would be silently watching the telegraph poles and 
 barren, cheerless lauds. " Poor Henry ! " thought Dorla, 
 with a sigh. " It is so seldom a man feels that way." 
 
 " That way " meant a good deal. After a while, she began
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 3G7 
 
 to think a walk would be so much better than staying in the 
 Louse. But it was getting dark. The more she thought of 
 the matter, the more she wanted to go to take a walk. 
 Alas ! There was no one to go with her. 
 
 " I shall have a headache if I do not go," she said, and 
 having thought so much about it, the room felt very stifling. 
 " At my age," she thought, " what difference can it make ? " 
 and throwing something about her shoulders she stole out, 
 calling Marie to watch Missy. At the door she had to pass 
 through a file of young Englishmen, smoking peacefully in 
 the summer twilight. Dorla had to remind herself how old 
 she was, not to be embarrassed. She had seen them some- 
 times at the table. They were tall, awkward, gentle, un- 
 gainly, like most young Englishmen. They would not have 
 harmed a hair of her head, or thrown one impertinent glance 
 after her, but it made her quite uncomfortable to pass out 
 before them. She went down the street and into the Gov- 
 ernor's Garden. It was cool and quiet there, with a faint 
 smell from the damp shaded earth, and from the beds of 
 common garden flowers in bloom. She walked slowly along 
 the paths, feeling refreshed by the air. But the trees 
 drooped rather low over her head. It was growing pretty 
 dark, and the silence made it even more lonely. As she 
 came out by the monument it was lighter, and she went 
 down to the gate and leaned against the fence, and gazed 
 over the tree tops and the river to where the lights of Point 
 Levis were gleaming faintly out of the twilight. Presently, 
 on the opposite side of the street, came by two young 
 Canadian girls, with pretty faces, but dressed in Anglican 
 taste. They were going towards Durham Terrace, to meet, no 
 doubt, some square-shouldered military hero, for they looked 
 expectant, shy and happy. 
 
 " The village maid steals through the shade 
 
 Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
 To beauty shy, by lattice high 
 Sings high-born cavalier."
 
 368 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 Dorla blushed when she found this verse wandering through 
 her thoughts, accompanied by a regret at the certainty that 
 she had no suit to hear, nor song. What reflection for a per- 
 son of her age; for the mother of a family, (no matter how 
 small a family.) She tried to shake the feeling off, and 
 walked quickly up and down the path to change the current 
 of her thoughts. But soon she was standing by the gate 
 again ; dreaming again and vaguely sad. No doubt, she 
 looked pretty and graceful, for two good-looking, black-eyed 
 Frenchmen who were passing, turned and repassed, gazing 
 at her. It was not till they had passed her a third time that 
 she saw them, and became aware of their impertinent looks. 
 Then she started, and in much fright took the nearest path 
 towards the upper end of the garden. She was certain that 
 they were following her, though she dared not stop to listen 
 for their steps. The garden now was very dim indeed, the 
 path a little rough. Her feet stumbled ; she nearly fell 
 against a bench that stood beside the way. " I should not 
 have come out," she thought, nearly crying. " Age doesn't 
 make any difference. All my life I shall have to stay at 
 home, since I haven't courage to stand things like these, and 
 haven't anybody to take care of me." 
 
 There were steps behind her surely. At a turn of the 
 path where another path intersected it, she caught sight of 
 a dark figure coming towards her. Whether to be more 
 
 O O 
 
 afraid of this than of the two behind her, she knew not. It 
 might be another black-eyed Frenchman like the others. 
 She was sheer bewildered, and began to run. 
 
 " What is the matter," said this new terror, instantly be- 
 side her, notwithstanding all her running. She stopped and 
 panted. " Has anything frightened you ? " 
 
 " You ! " she said, stretching out her hands in a sort of 
 joyful confusion ; for it was Felix Varian. 
 
 " Yes," said Felix. " What are you doing out so late 
 alone ? "
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 369 
 
 " I don't know. I came out for a walk ; I was lone- 
 some, you know. I am so glad to see you." 
 
 " But what were you running for? " asked Felix. 
 
 " There were two Frenchmen," she said, looking back, 
 " who followed me up from the gate. But they are gone." 
 
 " Let us go back and look for them," said Felix, for they 
 had nearly reached the upper gate. 
 
 " Very well," she replied, laughing a little nervously, for 
 she felt veiy safe now. So they turned, and she began to 
 wonder how her arm got in her companion's. In the agita- 
 tion of meeting him, she had probably given him both, hands 
 and he had kept one, and put it on his arm. She could not 
 remember ; it was rather irregular, but very protected and 
 pleasant. The garden did not seem particularly dark now, 
 but only dim and pleasant. Some lights had been lit in the 
 street beyond, and they gleamed faintly through the foliage. 
 
 "But tell me," she said, gradually recovering herself, 
 " how you happened to be here ? 1 thought you were a hun- 
 dred miles away." 
 
 " I met some friends at the last moment," said Felix, 
 " who persuaded me to stay." 
 
 " Oh," said Dorla, with a little vague disappointment in 
 her voice. 
 
 " Besides," said Felix, detecting the intonation, " I didn't 
 like the idea of your being left quite alone in this strange 
 place." 
 
 " I don't believe you stayed at all for that," she said. 
 
 " Then you prefer to believe that I stayed from the per- 
 suasions of my friends? If I only knew positively which 
 you preferred, I almost think I would tell you the truth." 
 
 She did not answer, and they walked on silently a little 
 while. Here it was lighter, and they stood beside the monu- 
 ment. 
 
 " I do not see your Frenchmen," said Felix. 
 
 " No," said Dorla, slipping her arm a little further out of 
 his. " They were afraid of you and have gone away." 
 "lO*
 
 370 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 " I think you are not strong-minded, Mrs. Rothermel," 
 said Felix, pulling some leaves off a bush beside him. 
 
 " I am afraid not," returned Dorla, with a sigh. She 
 wondered what he would think if he knew what had been 
 her thoughts as she stood there by the gate, ten minutes ago, 
 envying the little Canadian girls going to the terrace. She 
 did not envy them particularly now. 
 
 *' Shall we go to the terrace ? " he said, as if he knew what 
 she was thinking of. 
 
 " O, no," returned Dorla. " There are so many people, 
 and it is too late." 
 
 So they walked about the garden, talking little. 
 
 " You do not seem to care about knowing why I really 
 stayed," said Felix, in rather a forced way after a silence 
 of a minute or two. 
 
 " O, I care, yes," she said, rather confused. " But peo- 
 ple that have so many reasons " 
 
 " But there must be one that is the reason." 
 
 " I don't know why. They all mix up, and if they hap- 
 pen to go one way, you follow.'.' 
 
 "I particularly?" 
 
 " O, no, I, you, anybody." 
 
 " Then you think that I have no one reason that keeps me 
 in Quebec. Now I do assure you that I have. Do you 
 want to hear it ? " 
 
 " Why, no. I I don't know that it's necessary." 
 
 " Very well. Then I will not tell you." 
 
 " But you might tell me instead how long you are going 
 to stay in Quebec." 
 
 " That, oh, I should have to ask you. You know better 
 than I how long I am to stay." 
 
 Dorla found assurance enough to shrug her shoulders, and 
 look unmoved under the light of the lamp near the entrance. 
 They turned and walked back into the garden without speak- 
 ing. It was the second time to-day that Dorla had had a 
 suit pleaded if this were a suit. But what diverse suitors !
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 371 
 
 Perfect Adonises make lovo very differently from Henry 
 Stanfields, pale and passion-mute. But was this making love 
 at all ? She did not clearly soo. Perhaps it was only his in- 
 sufferable arrogance once more ; perhaps her eager welcome 
 of him had inspired him with a fancy to revive her memory 
 of the past. So gradually, very gradually, her hand slid 
 further and further from his arm, and in a feint of gathering 
 up her dress, freed itself at last entirely. 
 
 " They do not keep the paths in very good order in this 
 old garden," she said, in exrenuation of her fault, which 
 she felt to be a fault as soon as it v, r as done. 
 
 " Not very," said Felix, distantly. And they walked on 
 in silence. When they had reached the centre of the gar- 
 den again, they passed quite close to a seat, standing near 
 the walk, under the low boughs of a tree. 
 
 " Shall we emulate the servant-maids, and sit down 
 awhile ? " said Felix. 
 
 " I am afraid it is too cold," said Dorla. 
 
 And Felix said : " Are you ? " in a tone that made her 
 very quickly sit down. 
 
 The smell of the flowers, and the softness of the air, made 
 it absurd to talk of being cold. She had better have said 
 too warm, though it was not that. A faint sound of city- 
 life came to them wheels rolling over the stony pavement, 
 the distant striking of a bell ; but so far away, it seemed to 
 add to the stillness rather than take from it. 
 
 " It does not seem like being in a city," she said. 
 
 " No," he returned, absently. 
 
 " I think there is a fascination in the street-lamps, even, 
 of this place, though I don't know what it is. I bought a 
 picture of one the other day, and am studying to see what 
 makes it more agreeable to the eye than those we see at 
 home." 
 
 This, Dorla said, vainly trying to speak with indiffer- 
 ence, and to find things to talk about that would seem natu- 
 ral. Felix would not take any notice of the street-lamps.
 
 372 4 PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 Then she was silenced by her own embaiTassment, and noth- 
 ing was attempted in the way of conversation. Bye and 
 bye a policeman came by, and she- hoped that her companion 
 would take it as a suggestion, and would look as if he were 
 willing to go. She said at last, as the policeman's steps 
 died away down the path : 
 
 " Hadn't we better go ? Maybe they lock up the garden." 
 
 " Maybe they do," said Felix, not moving, however. 
 
 " And we shouldn't like |o be a pair of Goody-two- 
 shoeses," exclaimed Dorla, with desperate levity, half- rising. 
 
 But as her dress had swept across the bench when they 
 sat down, Felix's boot was on some of the flounces, and as 
 he did not move, she had to sink back, a prisoner. 
 
 " You are on my dress, please," she said quickly, and 
 half-frightened. 
 
 " Mrs. Rothermel," he began abruptly, not noticing what 
 she said, " we have wasted a great deal of time already, 
 don't you think so ? Four or five years, it seems to me. 
 And I think we ought to understand each other." 
 
 " Yes, I think we ought," she returned, hardly knowing 
 what she said, and trembling very much. 
 
 " Sometimes I have imagined that you had nothing to say 
 to me that would give me any pleasure ; but lately I have 
 begun to hope you have not forgotten all. I don't want to 
 revive the past ; there is a great deal that is very painful. 
 But you know, at least, that you were very hard upon me, 
 when you sent me away without a word, when I had come 
 back to you the very moment that I heard that you were 
 free. I should not be half a man if I had sought you after 
 that. I resolved never to look upon your face again, and I 
 do not blame myself; but fate threw me with you once 
 more, and I cannot help the result. I prided myself on 
 having forgotten you, but it seems I had not." 
 
 " You feigned it very well," she said unsteadily. It is 
 undermining to show jealousy and to speak unsteadily. He 
 caught her hand.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 373 
 
 " I want to go," she cried, trying to free herself, and to 
 rise. 
 
 " And I want you to stay," he said, " till you have given 
 me my answer."
 
 V. 
 
 HERE was a second wedding-day ; this time no 
 white silk and orange blossoms ; no dull elderly 
 people in the way, and no smell of fried oysters. 
 Dorla and Felix walked down the long aisle of a silent, 
 crowded church. (To fill it had been Harriet's business and 
 pleasure.) There might have been ten or ten thousand peo- 
 ple, it would have been the same to Dorla ; she walked be- 
 side the man she loved through this gay crowd, as she would 
 have walked through a forest, or through a flowering garden. 
 There was a dreamy look on her face ; she plainly was not 
 occupied with the thought of how her dress hung, nor how 
 her back hair would look from the chancel steps. She even 
 forgot to hold her bouquet in a tight grasp against her waist, 
 but walked past the attentive spectators, with the unfortu- 
 nate flowers trailing against her dress, as they hung in her 
 hand. She wore pearl-color, and her dress was beautiful. 
 
 " She looks youngish for a person of her age," said Abby 
 to a cavalier beside her, who was gaping after the beautiful 
 apparition on her way to the foot of the altar. 
 
 Abby had not dared to speak while they passed her, but 
 now, under cover of the prayers, she talked incessantly. 
 She hated the prayers, and meant to laugh at everything; 
 she no longer looked as if the world lay before her, but as if 
 she had passed through one very dreary and hateful part of 
 it, and as if she were resolved to gain a reckless enjoyment 
 from the present. She looked years older than she was, and 
 much like other women now, for prettiness. The charm of 
 freshness was quite gone. During the benediction, she 
 talked in a stage whisper about the bride's bonnet ; but
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 375 
 
 when they passed down the aisle beside her, she drew her 
 breath quick ; that Quebec experience had gone deep. 
 There walked the man to whom in his perfect beauty she 
 had given her heart ; and in a certain way, a woman has but 
 one heart to give. She did not love him now ; but she 
 could never be the same again, for having loved him. 
 
 When the newly married people had passed out of the 
 church, the assembly relaxed its attention, and broke up in 
 babble and confusion. Miss Greyson, in a waterproof suit 
 and felt hat, was joined by Mr. Oliver, well preserved, and un- 
 impaired by time or by emotion. Miss Greyson's father had 
 failed, and she had been permitted to teach school, and to 
 attend medical lectures, and to do every strong-minded thing 
 that her soul delighted in. She held Dorla in great contempt. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Oliver," she said, " you see what it is to be 
 constant." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Greyson," he returned. " It has been the 
 error of my life to take the first answer." 
 
 And so on, pages of old-bachelory talk. He felt sure Miss 
 Grey sou did not know that he had once offered himself to 
 Dorla ; indeed he could hardly believe it now himself. It was 
 quite safe to talk to Miss Greyson in this way. He had 
 talked so forty times, indeed he always talked so, and no 
 one would suspect where the truth lay. 
 
 Mr. Davis, who had been married several years, and 
 whose wife was dowdy, made his way over to them, and said 
 with a sigh : " Ah, Miss Greyson, it doesn't seem like six 
 years since that morning in the Conneshaugh ! Who would 
 have thought it? But Mrs. Rothermel, I beg her pardon, 
 Mrs. Varian, doesn't look a day older than she did then." 
 
 This was not pleasant to Miss Greyson in her felt hat, 
 who knew that lectures and teaching, blissful as they were, 
 did not tend to youthful looks. 
 
 " Nor a day wiser," said she with contempt. 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Davis. " I think marry-
 
 376 -4. PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 ing Varian is a step beyond marrying Rothermel in point of 
 wisdom." 
 
 Then the dowdy beckoned him away to look up the car- 
 riage. She was always recalling him, and that he did not 
 get very far away, was owing as much to her assiduity as to 
 his want of ingenuity. 
 
 Mrs. Bishop was crying a good deal, and got out of a side 
 door with the help of a nephew (not Henry). Poor Henry 
 was now in South America trying to learn the ways of a 
 great mercantile house, and saving up beetles and butterflies 
 for Missy ; working with one part of his brain, and dreaming 
 with the other. He could not get over the habit of loving 
 his love with a C. Mrs. Bishop had not more than half 
 forgiven Dorla, but it was very necessary to her to have 
 some friends who were not weary of her age, and who would 
 fill up the many empty hours of her days, and Dorla was the 
 most conscientious friend she had, and so she had to be 
 forgiven, wholly or in part. Felix was quite resolved this 
 sort of thing should not go on, after he had power to stop 
 it. " This sort of thing," was a daily visit of Mrs. Rothermel 
 to Mrs. Bishop, and endless arrangements for her comfort or 
 pleasure. It was naturally not all that a lover could ask, to 
 have the drive in the park daily spoiled by the addition of 
 a cross child or a querulous old lady. But a man who 
 marries a conscientious woman must make up his mind to 
 this sort of thing, till he has power to put a stop to it. 
 
 Possibly he felt as if the time had come to put a stop to 
 one nuisance at least, when, an hour after the benediction 
 had been said over Dorla's head and his, he stood in the hall 
 waiting for her to come from her room, where he knew she 
 was saying good-bye to Missy. The carriage was at the door ; 
 the trunks had long been sent away ; Dorla in. her travelling 
 dress at last came down the stairs. There had been a 
 tempest, he knew. But all was silent now, and Dorla was 
 very pale. She had just reached the foot of the stairs, and 
 Felix was saying with a smile, " Do people ever get left on.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 377 
 
 their wedding journeys? " when there was a rush of pursuer 
 and pursued, and Missy, with a white face, slid down the 
 stairs like a spirit, and flung herself upon her mother with 
 a cry. 
 
 " Mamma ! Mamma ! " 
 
 " Missy, you will kill me! " cried poor Dorla, putting her 
 hands up to her face. 
 
 Missy got her tiny, fierce fingers clutched in her mother's 
 dress ; she was like a little maniac ; all attempts to take her 
 away without positive violence, were unavailing. It was 
 pitiful to see her. Her wedding finery had not been taken 
 oiT. She was white to her fingers' ends. Her short, pale 
 hair stood out in a frizz about her poor, passionate little face ; 
 her light eyes were full of an expression of violent emotion, 
 strange on such baby features. The servants who had come 
 into the hall to see their mistress' departure, stood around 
 in perplexity and dismay. The nurse coaxed, wrestled, was 
 despairing. 
 
 At last Felix, opening the hall door, said, " We shall be 
 late," and stepped outside. 
 
 Dorla said hoarsely, " Missy, I must go ; good- by," and 
 stooping down, with her own hands attempted to release 
 herself from the child's grasp, and made a movement towards 
 the open door. 
 
 Then poor little Missy, with a great cry, sprang before 
 her, and flung herself upon the groxind across the threshold 
 of the door. 
 
 " For shame, Missy, get up, for shame ! " cried the nurse, 
 stooping to interfere. Dorla bent down and tried to lift 
 her up ; but she clutched the sill of the door with all her 
 strength, and screaming and sobbing, lay face down, a barrier 
 between her mother and the outer world. Felix standing 
 outside with lips compressed, looked on, a moment silently. 
 
 " Dorla," he said, at last, and put out his hand. 
 
 She took it, and stepping over Missy as she lay, followed 
 him down the steps and into the carriage without a look
 
 378 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 behind. The servants picked up the little figure and hustled 
 her off into the house, before the carriage door shut after 
 Felix. 
 
 But what a beginning for a wedding journey! For two 
 minutes Dorla tried to command herself, but then she either 
 stopped trying, or it was no use, and she burst into tears. 
 
 " Felix," she said, " be good to me this once ; I never will 
 be so weak again ; just let me go back. It will kill the 
 child. I know she will be ill to-night. All alone with ser- 
 vantsand they do not love her think of it, Felix. How 
 can I go away and leave her? " 
 
 Tiien Felix's face grew very cold, and he did not take the 
 hand that she put out to him. 
 
 "You are not angry," she said, frightened. 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid I am," he answered, gravely. Then 
 she turned away her face, and tried to stop her tears. This 
 made him feel sorry for her, and he said : 
 
 " We cannot go back, you must see that is impossible. 
 But we need not stay very long away, nor go far off from 
 the city. You shall have a telegram every hour while we 
 are away, if that will comfort you." 
 
 " You must think me so unreasonable," said Dorla, in her 
 tears. 
 
 " Well, I can't deny I do," he returned. 
 
 " But Felix," she said, timidly, " it would comfort me to 
 have a telegram to-night, to know whether they have got 
 her pacified, if you won't be very much ashamed of me." 
 
 So Felix called to the coachman, and stopped at an ofSce, 
 and had arrangements made by which a telegram should 
 reach them by the hour of nine ; and it is to be presumed he 
 felt wrathful and mortified to have to give the order. But 
 \vhen he went back to the carriage, he found Dorla looking 
 relieved. It had taken a great load off her heart to know 
 that she should hear again from Missy that night ; the sepa- 
 ration would not seem so monstrous, she would yet watch 
 over her going to sleep, as she had never failed to do.
 
 A PERFECT ADONIS. 379 
 
 " It's a bad beginning," he said, trying to smile as h,e shut 
 the carriage door, " but I have sent a telegram at the same 
 time, countermanding my orders to Philadelphia. We will 
 just go over to and maybe we can get some decent rooms, 
 and maybe we can't. But you'll have the happiness of 
 knowing that you can get to Missy in an hour, if she does 
 not enjoy her bread and milk without you." 
 
 " Felix ! " cried Dorla, reddening with shame, while at the 
 same time a weight was lifted from her heart. " You are 
 better to me than I deserve. You must think me so un- 
 reasonable ; but I can't tell you how cruel it seemed to me 
 to be going away, and leaving poor Missy there crying in her 
 jealousy and misery." 
 
 " She has often cried so before, and it hasn't killed her." 
 
 "Ah, yes! but, Felix, it wasn't the same thing; you 
 know I wasn't going away from her. She realized it all." 
 
 " She realized that she had a little extra work to do, and 
 she did it. You see she conquered." 
 
 " I don't call it conquering," said Dorla, crying a little at 
 the thought, " to have me walk over her and go away with 
 you. Ah, dear! It was like S. Jane Frances de Chantal 
 and her boy." 
 
 " What was S. Jane Frances de Chantal going to do ? " 
 said Felix, relenting, with a little caress. " Had she been, 
 getting married V " 
 
 " O, no," exclaimed Dorla, with a faint shudder. 
 
 " I suppose saints don't do that ? " 
 
 " She was going away to found an order of nuns. Ah ! 
 it was very different from me." 
 
 " Yes, I should hope it was," said Felix, cynically. " I 
 may be a terrible fate, but I hope I'm not as bad as bread 
 and water, and stone floors, and hard beds, and a nagging lot 
 of women." 
 
 " Ah, Felix! You do not understand." 
 
 " Then you really wish you were on your way now to found 
 an order of nuns ? "
 
 380 A PERFECT ADONIS. 
 
 "I didn't say that." 
 
 " What did you say then ? " 
 
 " I said you didn't understand." 
 
 " Maybe I don't. But it is too late now for you to change 
 your mind. You must make the best you can of what you've 
 done, and try to be contented." 
 
 " Ah ! I am afraid it will be only too easy ! " said Dorla, 
 with another sigh. 
 
 " "Well," said Felix, " you may add again, that I do not 
 understand. For I'm sure I don't." 
 
 " This you may understand, at least," said Dorla, " that I 
 am not fit to be a nun, or I suppose I should have been one. 
 I am a failure, don't you see, Felix. I've spoiled Missy. 
 I've never been able to make a good housekeeper. I am 
 afraid I never helped poor Harry any. I don't know that 
 I was ever any comfort to mamma. And I wasn't I 
 And 'perhaps, I shall not make you happy after all. I can't 
 see what I was created for." 
 
 " I can't either, except to make people want to possess 
 you. To have and to hold you," he said, with a fierce sort 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 " But" said Dorla. 
 
 " But " said Felix, kissing her. 
 
 And then she forgot all about S. Jane Frances de Chan- 
 tal, and the Order of the Visitation, and for the moment 
 about poor Missy, too. 
 
 it is a blessing that when you are a failure, you can forget 
 it sometimes for a while. But the fact remains the same. 
 
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 Ceo. W. Caricton. 
 
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 Our Artist in Peru. Do i 50 | Our Artist in Mexico. Do. ..150 
 
 Fanny Fern's Works. 
 
 Folly as it Flies i 50 I Caper-Sauce (new) Si 50 
 
 Gingersnaps i 50 | A Memorial. By James Parton % oo 
 
 Josh Billings' Comic Works. 
 
 Josh Billings' Proverbs Si 50 I Josh Billings' Farmer's Alminaz, 25 cts- 
 
 Josh Billings on Ice i 50 | (In paper covers.) 
 
 Verdant Green. 
 
 A racy English college story with numerous comic illustrations $i 50 
 
 Algernon Charles Swinburne. 
 
 Laus Veneris, and Other Poems. An elegant new edition i 50 
 
 French Love-Songs. Selected irom the best French authors .... x 50 
 
 Robert Dale Cwen. 
 
 The Debatable Land Between this World and the Next $2 oo 
 
 Threading My Way. Twenty-live years of Autobiography , i 50 
 
 The Came of Whist. 
 
 Pole on Whist. The late English standard work $i oo 
 
 Mother Goose Set to Music. 
 
 Mother Goose Melodies. With music fcr singing, and many illustrations $i 50 
 
 M. M. Pomeroy "Brick. 
 
 Sense (a serious book) 15 
 
 Gold-Dust Do 150 
 
 Our Saturday Nights i 50 
 
 Nonsense v a comic book) $i 50 
 
 Brick-Dust Do. 150 
 
 Life of M. M. Pomeroy i 50 
 
 Joseph Rodman Drake. 
 
 The Culprit Fay. The well-known fairy poem, with ico illustrations 2 QO 
 
 The Culprit Fay. Do. subcrbly bound in turkey morocco. 6 oo 
 
 Richard B. Kimball. 
 
 Was He Successful ? i 75 I Life in San Domingb $i 50 
 
 Undercurrents of Wall Street i 75 , Henry Powers, Banker i 75 
 
 Saint Lcgcr 175 
 
 To-Day i 75 
 
 Romance of Student Life 175 Emilie. (In press.) 
 
 Colia E. Gardner's Novels. 
 
 Stolen 'Waters (in verse; $i 50 I Tested (in prose). $t 75 
 
 Broken Dreams Do i 50 | Rich Medway's Two Loves Do.. 175 
 
 Mrs. N. S. Emerson. 
 
 Betsey and I are Out And other Poems. A Thanksgiving Story $i 50 
 
 Louisa M. Alcott. 
 
 Morning Glories A beautiful juvenile, by the author of " Little Women." i 50 
 
 Coo. A. Crofutt. 
 
 Trans-Continental Tourist frcm New York to San Francisco. Illustrated.. $i 50
 
 G. W. CARLE TON &> COS S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works. 
 
 How to Make Money ; and How to Keep It. By Thomas A. Davies ^ 
 
 Tales from the Operas. A collection of Stories based upon the plots 
 
 New Nonsense Rhymes. By W. H. Beckett, with illustrations by C. G. Bush. . 
 
 Wood's Guide to the City of New York. Beautifully illustrated 
 
 The Art of Amusing. A book of home amusements, with Illustrations 
 
 A Book About Lawyers. A curious and interesting volume. By Jeaffreson 
 
 A Book About Doctors. Do. Do. Do 
 
 The Birth and Triumph of Love. Full of exquisite tinted illustrations 
 
 Progressive Petticoats. A satirical tale by Robert B. Roosevelt 
 
 Ecce Femina ; or, The Woman Zoe. Cuyler Pine, author "Mary Brandegee." 
 
 Women and Theatres. A bright and readable book by Oliver Logan 
 
 Souvenirs of Travel. By Madame Octavia Walton Le Vert 
 
 Woman, Love and Marriage. A spicy little work by Fred Saunders 
 
 Shiftless Folks. A brilliant new novel by Fannie Smith 
 
 A Woman in Armor. A powerful new novel by Mary Hartwell 
 
 Female Beauty and the Art of Pleasing. From the Fiench 
 
 Transformation Scenes in the United States. By Hiram Fuller 
 
 The Fall of Man. A Darwinian satire. By author " New Gospel Peace." 
 
 The Chronicles of Gotham. A modern satire. Do. Do. 
 
 The Story of a Summer. Journal Leaves by Cecelia Cleveland 
 
 Phemie Frost's Experiences. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens 
 
 Miscellaneous Novels. 
 
 A Charming Widow. Macquoid.i 75 
 
 True to Him Ever. By F. W. R. . i 50 
 
 The Forgiving Kiss. By M. Loth, i 75 
 
 Loyal Unto Death i 75 
 
 Bessie Wilmerton. Westcott i 75 
 
 Cachet. Mrs. M. J. R. Hamilton. .. i 75 
 
 Mark Gildersleeve. J. S. Sauzade. i 75 
 
 Crown Jewels. Mrs. Moffat i 75 
 
 Avery C'-libun.--Orpheus C. Kerr... 2 oo 
 
 The Cloven Foot. Do ... i 50 
 
 Romance of Railroad. Smith i 50 
 
 Fairfax. John Esten Cooke i 50 
 
 Hilt to Hilt. Do. 150 
 
 Out of the Foam. i 50 
 
 Hammer and Rapier. 150 
 
 Kenneth, My King. S. A. Brock. . i 75 
 
 Heart Hungry .-M. J. Westmoreland i 75 
 
 Clifford Troupe. Do. i 75 
 
 Four Oaks. Kamba Thorpe 
 
 Maurice. From the French 
 
 Purple and Fine Linen. Fawcett. 
 
 Faustina. From the German , 
 
 Adrift with a Vengeance 
 
 Adrift in Dixie. Edmund Kirke.. 
 Among the Guerillas. Do. 
 Among the Pines. Do. 
 
 My Southern Friends. Do. 
 Down in Tennessee. Do. 
 Ebon and Gold. C. L. Mcllvain.. 
 Robert Greathouse. J. F. Swift. 
 Warwick. By M. T. Walworth... 
 Lulu. Do. 
 
 Hotspur. Do. 
 
 Stormcliff. Do. 
 
 Delaplaine. Do. 
 
 Beverly. Do. 
 
 i 50 
 i 50 
 i oo 
 i oo 
 
 1 50 
 
 2 oo 
 200 
 i oo 
 i 50 
 i 50 
 
 1 50 
 
 2 oo 
 i 50 
 i 75 
 i 50 
 i 50 
 i 50 
 
 50 
 25 
 
 i 50 
 i 75 
 
 i 75 
 i 50 
 i 75 
 i 50 
 i 50 
 I 5 
 i 5 
 i 5 
 i 50 
 i 50 
 
 1 50 
 
 2 OO 
 
 i 75 
 i 75 
 i 75 
 i 75 
 i 75 
 i 75 
 
 Miscellaneous Works. 
 
 Beldazzle's Bachelor Studies $i oo I Northern Ballads. Anderson, $i oo 
 
 Little Wanderers. Illustrated 
 
 Genesis Disclosed. T. A. Davies.. 
 
 Commodore Rollingpin's Log 
 
 Brazen Gates. A juvenile 
 
 i 50 O. C. Kerr Papers. 4 vols. in i.... 2 oo 
 
 i 50 I Victor Hugo. His life 2 oo 
 
 i 50 ; Beauty is Power i 50 
 
 i 50 Sandwiches. Artemus Ward 25 cts. 
 
 Antidote to Gates" Ajar 25 cts. Widow Spriggins. Widow Bedott. i 75 
 
 The Snoblace Ball Do, 25 cts. Squibob Papers. John Phoenix .... 150 
 
 Miscellaneous Works. 
 
 Bill Arp's Peace Papers. Full of comic illustrations $i 50 
 
 A Book of Epitaphs. Amusing, quaint, and curious. (New.) I 50 
 
 Ballad of Lord Bateman. With illustrations by Cruikshank (paper) 25 cts. 
 
 The Yachtman's Primer. For amateur sailors. T. R. Warren (paper) 50 cts. 
 
 R ural Architecture. By M. Field. With plans and illustrations 2 oo 
 
 What I Know of Farming. By Horace Greeley i 50 
 
 Twelve Views of Heaven. By Twelve Distinguished English Divines j 50 
 
 Houses Not Made With Hands. A juvenile, illustrated by Hoppin i oo 
 
 Impending Crisis of the South. By Hinton Rowan Helper 2 oo