As she turned from the glass
her gaze fell fully upon me. I could see that she was not
disappointed, but her generous admiration in no way interfered with
the consciousness which filled her of her own superior dignity and
grace. She may have envied me my youth, for she was loth to grow old
among these gay distractions, however, she only said "you'll do nicely
Amelia" and we left the room.
We went down to the dimly-lit drawing-room where a cheerful fire
burned in the polished grate, and my stepmother rang for tea. The
little French parlor maid appeared a moment later and laid the tiny
table beside us. Two steaming cups stood invitingly on the tray, but
before taking hers my step-mother suddenly remembered she had left her
jewel case unlocked, and she hurried out of the room in a state of
anxious excitement. I turned my back to the fire and in utter
abstraction riveted my gaze upon the butterfly handles of the teacups.
I was thinking. Such circumstances as these always brought back my
simple yesterdays with a renewed force to my memory. I was thinking so
profoundly that I neither heard nor saw my father, who had appeared in
the doorway and was standing on the sheep-skin rug looking strangely
at me.
I must have felt the power of his steady gaze, for suddenly and almost
involuntarily, I raised my eyes and beheld him leaning against the
polished casement, the heavy red curtain over the entrance hanging
loosely and gracefully behind him, making an effective background for
his white hair and pensive face.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98