Agnes, or, Beauty and Pleasure — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ee ae ee TS jG hae AGNES; OR, BEAUTY AND PLEASURE. “ And yet I am convinced that my mother had no very high opinion of him,” responded Miss Lister. “ Why do you entertain this sentiment ?” asked Agnes. “Because my mother did not leave us to the guardianship of Mr. Timperley, nor entrust our money to his keeping,” replied Floribel. “Facts speak for themselves.” * Alas!” gaid Agnes, in a mournful voice ; 99 But leaving the fair cousins fog awhile, let us return to young Do Vere, whom we left pursuing his way homeward.» Much as he deplored the alarm which the beautiful damsels had experi- enced—and deeply as he shuddered at the thought of the danger they had escaped —he was neverthe- | less in one sense pleased that the incident should ' have occurred. It afforded him that introduction to Miss Lister and Miss Evelyn which he had longed to obtain, but for which he had hitherto ‘ your mother, Floribel—that kind aunt whom I | found no opportunity. For the four or five months myself loved as if she had been my mother also— died too suddenly to make any arrangements for our guardianship.” * And that at least is not to be regretted,” in- terjected Floribel : “for deeply as I deplore my dear mother’s loss, as you are well aware, I cannot feel sorry because she did not leave us under the care of persons who would perhaps have swayed a tyrannical authority over us. Thank heaven! we are our own mistresses—we havea sufficient income—we have a beautiful little villa and gar- den # “And yet, Floribel,” interjected Agnes, “ you were only a few minutes back deploring what you term the hermit-like existence which we lead.” “T only meant, my dear cousin,’ responded Miss Lister, “ that we ought to encourage a little more society at our residence: for we really seo nobody. A friend now and then to drop in for a morning call—there surely is no harm in that! But come, Agnes, our discourse has grown almost into a dispute; and I think it is the first time since my dear mother’s death, two years and a half back, that we have ever talked so warmly.” “Heaven forbid that we should dispute, sweet cousin!” rejoined Agnes emphatically. ‘‘ Perhaps my words were grave and serious: but they assuredly were not warm—at least not in the sense that you imply. However, let the subject drop: for here we are at home.” The two young ladies had continued their walk while thus conversing; and they now reached an iron gate in the wall surrounding the somewhat spacious garden in the midst of which their villa stood. It was situated on the outskirt of the dis- trict of St. John’s Wood, and had a most pic- turesque appearance. The front of the building had a verandah running its whole length, shading the windows of the drawing and dining-rooms, as | well as the breakfast parlour, which were all on the ' ground-floor. The garden was beautifully kept; and several handsome statues were scattered about _ the grounds. Tbe front door was opened by a parlour-maid of about thirty, and of most respectable appear- ance; and if an observer had been by, he would have seen that it was with a glance of pride min- gled even with affection that she surveyed her two beautiful young mistresses as they returned home after their ramble. Having put off their walking apparel, they repaired to a species of boudoir which they habitually occupied — and which, with its easements reaching down to the ground, looked upon a lawn at the back of the house. There Floribel- threw herself with a lan- guid air upon the sofa, where she began caressing ‘a pet spaniel; while Agnes at once took a seat at her work-table and soon busied herself with some “ embroidery. that he and his mother had dwelt in that neigh- bourhood, Charles De Vere had been interested in those two young ladies who dwelt by themselves in the picturesque villa. . He met them frequently in his walks; he saw them regularly at church every Sunday; he often beheld them, through the bars of the iron gate, rambling in their grounds: but until this day he had never been enabled to address them. The interest which he had at first experienced in both, had gradually merged as it were into a tender admiration of owe; and this one, as the reader has seen, was Agnes. Whether he actually loved her, Charles De Vere had not reasoned sufficiently with himself to arrive at any conclusion on the point: but if he had searched deeply into his heart, he would have found that her image had made no ordinary impression there! Thus was he supremely happy that be had at length formed her acquaintance, and that he had a sufficient excuse for calling at Sidney Villa on the following day. it was with even a lighter step and a more animated countenance than usual, that he burst into the little parlour where his mother was seated at Belmont Cottage; and having imprinted the usual filial kiss upon her cheek on returning from his office, he exelaimed, “ Ob, such an adventure! Do not be alarmed, dear mother !—no misfortune has happened! But if I have been a few minutes later than usual ——” “In that case,” said Mrs. De Vere, smiling . with maternal pride and affection upon her hand- some son, “I am sure that my dear boy has © proper and sufficient explanation to give.” “Only conceive!” cried Charles: “a gentle- man’s horse was unmanageable in the Park—it nearly ran over two young ladies—and I saved them! And who do you think they were? Those beautiful girls in whom you and I have both been so much interested A singular expression for a moment flitted over the countenance of Mrs, De Vere: but it was so transient that her son perceived it not; and she quietly said, “ You mean the two young ladies who reside at Sidney Villa?” “Yes—Miss Evelyn and Miss Lister,” re- sponded Charles. ‘‘ But the gentleman who rode the unmanageable horse, and whom I really think I saved from a severe fall—who do you fancy he wasP None other than the Hon. Mr. Heotor Hardress—the son of Lord Mendlesham, you know, who procured me the Government situa- tion.” Mrs. De Vere dropped her kerchief; and as she stooped to pick it up, she again composed her fea. tures, over which an expression still more strange than the former had flitted—not quite so tran- siently—but of a more marked character: and yet again her son perceived it not—for that pretextof ComicloOoks (©)