Norman Leslie a tale of the present times |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. | CHAPTER III. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
 | CHAPTER III. Norman Leslie |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
A dutiful Daughter.
“Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters,
By what you see them act.”
—Othello.
“Dear, dear!” exclaimed Rosalie Romain, looking
up after a brown study of a minute, “it is
horrid!”
“Explain, my pretty penserosa,” said the count,
laughing.
“The evidences are strong as proofs of holy
writ,” she sighed, fixing her tender eyes on his,
just sufficiently moistened to be uncommonly
bright.
“Evidences of what?” asked the count.
“You know as well as I,” said Rosalie, winding
a rose-coloured riband round the end of her finger,
and looking down.
“No, on my life!”
“That you are a flirt.”
“As I live!” exclaimed the count, remonstratingly.
The beautiful girl turned partly away, half
pouting.
“Nay, more,” said he, in a softer tone, “as—
as I—”
He took her hand. He was certainly on his
faintly, and only at intervals, she struggled to
escape.
“As you what?” cried she, impatiently, and
slightly stamping her foot.
But a smile, which had been lurking all the time
around her lips, broke over her features like sunshine
through a sudden cloud.
“As I love,” said the count, after a brief pause,
and in his lowest tone.
Notwithstanding the smile, a tear had been
slowly filling in her eyes. It stirred—it fell. It
dropped upon his hand. He kissed it off.
The tableau was picturesque. They lingered in
it a moment, as if they knew it became them.
“Dear! dear! there's pa!” exclaimed Rosalie,
in a sudden fright—and she threw open a large
portfolio of plates.
“An extraordinary taste, count,” said the old
gentleman, “my daughter has for the fine arts.”
“Oh, pa!”
“I never knew such an ear; and as for drawing—”
“Oh dear, pa; how can you!”
“Then for the plain, sweet old English ballad,
my lord—”
“Good gracious, pa! don't you see the count
wants to go?”
“What, are you off, count? Bless me! we must
keep you for dinner.”
“Necessity, Mr. Romain. You know the tyranny
of appointments.”
“My love, can't you persuade him to remain?”
“I have not tried, pa.”
“Heydey! these saucy girls! But we must
not let you off. Besides, the sky looks showery.”
“But showers sometimes,” said Clairmont, with
than sunshine.”
“Let him go, pa; I am sure it will not rain
again to-day.”
“Why, you jade,” cried the old gentleman, “you
will drive him away in earnest. Impudent minx!”
—he drew her towards him as he spoke, and printed
a kiss on her lips—“she is getting incorrigible.”
“Lock her up, Romain; she is mischievous,”
said the count, shaking his finger playfully at the
laughing girl as he withdrew.
“The sky has cleared,” said Mr. Romain.
“Yes, pa.”
“What an elegant young man Count Clairmont
is!”
“Yes, pa.”
“You are going to Mrs. Temple's to-night, Rosalie?”
“Yes, if you please, dear pa.”
“You will see the count there.”
“I hope not, pa; I think him rather disagreeable.”
“The women are pulling caps for him, notwithstanding,
they say, in all directions. He is very
rich; he appears quite fond of us; perhaps—”
“Oh no, pa; only polite.”
“Well, every thing is for the best.”
“Yes, pa.”
“I think Temple's girl will manage to—”
“To what, pa?” said Rosalie, with sudden eagerness.
“Go and get ready for dinner, child,” said the
musing father, recollecting himself; “it is no affair
of ours.”
“Yes, pa—no, pa,” replied the dutiful daughter,
with innocent simplicity, and retired to dress.
| CHAPTER III. Norman Leslie | |