our mortal requirements in divine independence of
fatigue, could have been more considerate for the
shortcomings of humanity. And while they were
legislating this and that for others, they still accepted
hints for their own improvement, as those who have
Perfection in view may do. Lady Gosstre’s
carriage of her shoulders, and general manner, were
admitted to be worthy of study. “And did
you notice when Laura Tinley interrupted her conversation
with Tracy Runningbrook, how quietly she replied to
the fact and nothing else, so that Laura had not another
word?”—“And did you observe
her deference to papa, as host?”—“And
did you not see, on more than one occasion, with what
consummate ease she would turn a current of dialogue
when it had gone far enough?” They had all
noticed, seen, and observed. They agreed that
there was a quality beyond art, beyond genius, beyond
any special cleverness; and that was, the great social
quality of taking, as by nature, without assumption,
a queenly position in a circle, and making harmony
of all the instruments to be found in it. High
praise of Lady Gosstre ensued. The ladies of
Brookfield allowed themselves to bow to her with the
greater humility, owing to the secret sense they nursed
of overtopping her still in that ineffable Something
which they alone possessed: a casket little people
will be wise in not hurrying our Father Time to open
for them, if they would continue to enjoy the jewel
they suppose it to contain. Finally, these energetic
young ladies said their prayers by the morning twitter
of the birds, and went to their beds, less from a
desire for rest than because custom demanded it.
Three days later Emilia was a resident in the house,
receiving lessons in demeanour from Cornelia, and
in horsemanship from Wilfrid. She expressed
no gratitude for kindnesses or wonder at the change
in her fortune, save that pleasure sat like an inextinguishable
light on her face. A splendid new harp arrived
one day, ticketed, “For Miss Emilia Belloni.”
“He does not know I have a second Christian
name,” was her first remark, after an examination
of the instrument.
“‘He?’” quoth Adela.
“May it not have been a lady’s gift?”
Emilia clearly thought not.
“And to whom do you ascribe it?”
“Who sent it to me? Mr. Pericles, of course.”
She touched the strings immediately, and sighed.
“Are you discontented with the tone, child?”
asked Adela.
“No. I—I’ll guess what
it cost!”
Surely the ladies had reason to think her commonplace!
She explained herself better to Wilfrid, when he returned
to Brookfield after a short absence. Showing
the harp, “See what Mr. Pericles thinks me worth!”
she said.
“Not more than that?” was his gallant
rejoinder. “Does it suit you?”
“Yes; in every way.”
This was all she said about it.