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Page 17
"There! I have preached you a sermon, I am afraid. Are you tired?" and
his bright glance searched the faces about him.
Their expression would have been satisfactory without the eager
protestations that answered his question.
When, a little later, Barbara and Bettina, each seated before her dainty
toilet-table, were brushing their hair, they, as usual, chatted about
the events of the day. Never had there been so much to talk over and so
little time to do it in as during these crowded weeks, when pleasure and
study were hand in hand. For though they read and studied, yet there
were drives, and receptions in artists' studios, and, because of Robert
Sumner's long residence in Florence, they had even begun to receive
invitations to small and select parties, where they met charming people.
This very morning they had driven with Mrs. Douglas through some of the
oldest parts of Florence. They were reading together George Eliot's
"Romola," and were connecting all its events with this city in which the
scenes are laid. Read in this way, it seemed like a new book to them,
and possessed an air of reality that awakened their enthusiasm as
nothing else could have done. And then in the afternoon had been the
meeting with the new friend; tea in the little garden behind the house;
and the evening on the balcony.
Naturally their conversation soon turned to Howard Sinclair.
"What a strange life for one so young!" said Bettina. "Malcom says there
is no limit to his wealth. He lives in the winter in one of those
grandest houses on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston, and has summer houses
in two or three places. And yet how poor in many ways!" she continued
after a little pause--"so much poorer than we! No father and mother,--no
brothers and sisters,--and forced to leave his home because he is so
ill! Poor fellow! How do you like him, Bab? He seemed to admire you
sufficiently, for he hardly took his eyes from you."
"Like him?" slowly returned Barbara. "To tell the truth, Betty, I hardly
know. Somehow I feel strangely about him. I like him well enough so far,
but I believe I am a bit afraid, and whether it is of him or not, I
cannot tell. Somehow I feel as if things are going to be different from
what they have been, and--I don't know--I believe I almost wish Malcom
had not known him."
"Why, Bab dear! what do you mean? Don't be nervous; that is not like
you. Nothing could happen to make us unhappy while we are with these
dear people,--nothing, that is, if our dear ones at home are well. I
wish he had not stared at you so much with those great eyes, if it makes
you feel uncomfortable, but how he could have helped admiring you,
sister mine, is more than I know,--for you were lovely beyond everything
this afternoon;" and Betty impulsively sprang up to give her sister a
hug and a kiss.
"To change the subject," she added, "how did you like Mr. Sumner's talk
this evening?"
"Oh! more than words can tell! Betty, I believe, next to our own dear
papa, he is the grandest man alive. I always feel when he talks as if
nothing were too difficult to attempt; as if nothing were too beautiful
to believe. And he is so young too, in feeling; so wise and yet so full
of sympathy with all our young nonsense. He is simply perfect." And she
drew a long breath.
"I think so too; and he practises what he preaches in his own painting.
For don't you remember those pictures we saw in his studio the other
day? How he has painted those Egyptian scenes! A perfect tremor ran over
me as I felt the terrible, solemn loneliness of that one camel and his
rider in the limitless stretch of desert. I felt quite as he must have
felt, I am sure; and the desert will always seem a different thing to me
because I looked at that picture. And then that sweet, strong,
overcoming woman's face! How much she had lived through! What a lesson
of triumph over all weakness and sorrow it teaches! I am so thankful
every minute that dear Mrs. Douglas asked us to come with her, that our
darling papa and mamma allowed us to come, and that everything is so
pleasant in this dear, delightful Florence."
And Bettina fell asleep almost the minute her head rested on her
pillow, with a happy smile curving her beautiful lips.
But Barbara tossed long on the little white bed in the opposite corner
of the room. It was difficult to go to sleep, so many thoughts crowded
upon her. Finally she resolutely set herself to recall Mr. Sumner's
words of the evening. Then, as she remembered the little lingering of
his eyes upon her own as he bade his group of listeners good night, the
glad thought came, "He knows I am trying to learn, and that I appreciate
all he is doing for me," and so her last thought was not for the new
friend the day had brought, but for Robert Sumner.
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