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She turned to Harold with sparkling eyes and words of pleasure upon her lips. "I should wish to be near and dear to both of you," said he, as he took her hand. "I should wish Ida to be my sister, and you my wife." She said nothing. She only stood looking at him with parted lips and great, dark, questioning eyes.
"Don't mind what he says, Jack," whispered Ida, fearing that he would leave her. "Don't be afraid, Ida; I won't leave you. I'll attend to his business another time. I guess he won't trouble us to-morrow." Meanwhile the boy, emboldened by Jack's passiveness, followed, with more abuse of the same sort.
I think it is better not." "Well, I will try not to," said Evelyn, with a sigh. "He told Amy Jones I was the prettiest girl in school. Of course we couldn't be married for a long time, and I wouldn't be Mrs. Jenks. But, now you've come home, maybe I sha'n't want to think so much about him." Maria found new maids when she reached home. Ida did not keep her domestics very long.
Well, the owners had left that young man's photograph among some other odds and ends in what they probably called the library." Ida had no doubt upon the matter, for she recalled the curious intentness of Weston's face as he sat in the firelight listening to Kinnaird's description of the house in question. Still, she was not prepared to display her interest. "Well?" she inquired again.
The whole countenance combined that brilliant health and that classic beauty which we associate with the idea of some nymph tripping over the dew-bespangled meads of Ida, or glancing amid the hallowed groves of Greece. Although the lady could scarcely have seen eighteen summers, her stature was above the common height; but language cannot describe the startling symmetry of her superb figure.
The pazunta is invested with divine curative power, according to the Indians. When he got back to his wigwam with the satin-lined "last-sleep-box," Porcupine Bear found his to-wea cooking supper; so the old brave, it was said, slept in the good soft bed himself. "Why not?" said Ida Mary.
She worked at this of an evening, while Miss Wendover, who had a fine full voice, and a perfect enunciation, read aloud to her. Then, when Miss Wendover was tired, Ida went to the piano and played for an hour or so, while the elder lady gave herself up to rare idleness and dreamy thought. These were home duties only. The two ladies had occupations abroad of a more exacting nature.
When Ida came down to breakfast she found her father busy poring over some more letters from the lawyers. "What is it now, father?" she said. "What is it now?" he answered irritably. "What, it's another claim for two hundred, that's what it is. I keep telling them to write to my lawyers, but they won't, at least they write to me too. There, I can't make head or tail of it.
We were too weary to light a fire. On a trunk which we used as a table, we spread a cold lunch, tried to swallow a few bites and gave it up. The empty space and the black night had swallowed us up. "We might as well go to bed," said Ida Mary dully. "We'll start back home in the morning," I declared, "as soon as it is daylight."
She repeated what Ida had written, that it was a long journey, and expensive, and she did not think it best for her to go home, although she had longed to do so. Ida sent Aunt Maria a set of Shakespeare. When it was unpacked, Aunt Maria looked shrewdly at her niece. "How many sets of Shakespeare has she got?" she inquired. "Do you know, Maria?" Maria admitted that she thought she had two.
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