Was It Right to Forgive? A Domestic Romance. Barr Amelia E.

all their small differences and offences.

      “What a charming old house, Yanna!” cried Rose.

      “What a perfect costume you have on, Rose!” cried Adriana.

      “I knew you would like it. Put on your hat, Yanna. I want you all day, and all day to-morrow, and every other day you can spare.”

      “I must tell father. I shall be delighted to go with you, Rose; but I cannot do so without his knowledge.”

      “Certainly. I saw an old gentleman tacking up vines, as I drove through the garden.”

      “That was father.”

      “You can find him in two minutes and a half, I know.”

      In very little more, Adriana came back with the old gentleman. He looked so kindly at Rose that she could not help being pleased, and she set herself to win the old Dutchman. She made him talk about his flowers, and she listened with that air of being charmed and instructed which even when it is merely a cultivated grace is an irresistible one. She praised Yanna. She said with a frank enthusiasm, “I love Yanna dearly,” and while entreating for her company she acknowledged “it was a great favor to ask.”

      Peter said “it was.” He assured Rose that Yanna “was the sunshine of his life, but that to make them both happy, he would gladly give up his own pleasure.” She thanked him with many pretty speeches, and when Adriana came down ready for her visit, Peter helped the girls into their seats, and put the reins into Rose’s hands. Then he watched them out of sight, with a face beaming with satisfaction.

      From this excited and exalted tone, it was impossible to fall at once. Rose gave herself up to it. She patted Yanna’s hands; and as they went through the woods kissed her many times. Then the new house was to be gone through, and exclamations and adjectives were the only possible speech, so that everything naturally enough conduced to an emotional condition. At last Rose said, “I have not shown you my apartments yet, Yanna. They are a picture in pinks;” and she led her into a suite that was lovely with peach-bloom papers and hangings, with snow-white willow chairs cushioned with pink silk, and pink silk draperies trimmed with white lace. “I have chosen for you the room just across the hall,” she added, “so we shall be very near to each other. Listen! that is the lunch-bell. Come and see mamma. In the afternoon we can talk over things.”

      Mrs. Filmer was very pleasant and good-natured. She chatted with the girls, and ate a salad, and then went away with her housekeeper: “Only a part of the house is in order yet,” she explained to Adriana; “and neither workmen nor servants seem able to do without me. What will you girls talk about until seven o’clock?”

      “Oh!” cried Rose, “we shall have a long, delightful afternoon.” And probably to Rose it was delightful, 19 for she told Yanna the tale of ball-rooms, in which Rose Filmer had been chief among a thousand beauties; she showed the photographs of many youths, who were her adorers; and she read specially eloquent sentences from her many love letters. Indeed, after a long session of this kind, Rose said heartily, “I declare, I have not had such a sweet time since you left me at college. But really we must rest an hour before dinner. I always do. Come, I will take you to your room.”

      Adriana was glad to rest, and the soft, dim light of the carefully-shaded room tempted her to complete physical relaxation; but her mind was actively curious and alert. She had been hearing of a life entirely new to her, “a pretty lute-string kind of a life, quite within the verge of the Ten Commandments,” she thought; “yet I do not believe it would please me long. Its feverish unrest, its small anxieties and petty aims have told already on Rose. Her mind has sunk to the level of what engages it. She no longer plans for study and self-improvement; she talks of her duties to society instead, and of its claims upon her. After all” – she thought a few moments, and then added emphatically – “after all, I am satisfied with my lot! Even upon the testimony of so prejudiced a witness as Rose, fashionable life is not a lofty thing. Its two principal standards appear to be money and smartness; and I do believe the world has a far higher ideal. It is only a very small minority who worship the great goddess Fashion, and the image which the Parisian Jupiter sends over here; the true élite of the world have always been those whose greatness was in themselves. There’s father! In any kind of clothes, or in any company, he would always be one of the élite. 20 I never could be ashamed of him. But I might be, if I saw him haunting the gay places of the world, criticising ballet girls, and shuffling cards.” She indulged this train of thought, and lived over again the fantasy of life Rose had shaped in her imagination.

      A knock at the door roused her from it. A maid was there with some flowers, and an offer of her services, if Miss Van Hoosen wished them. The flowers were welcome, but the service would have been an embarrassment. Adriana knew her good points, and was quite able to do them justice. In her case, it was not the modiste that made the woman.

      When she was dressed she went to the drawing-room. It was full of flowers and bric-a-brac, but there was not a book to be seen. No one was in the room; no one was apparently downstairs; she was evidently early, which at least was better than being late. So she walked about, looking at this and that, and speculating as to where the curios came from, and what queer histories they might have. Opposite one entrance to the parlor, there was a large mirror, and before this mirror a small gilded table. As Adriana passed it, she noticed that it held a portfolio; and the ribbons which fastened it being untied, she threw back the cover, and saw that it was full of photographs. Some faces were young and pretty; others, middle-aged and old, graven all over with the sharp tools of worldly strife, sorrow, thought, and experience of various kinds. The aged faces pleased her most; they were not merely calendars of so many years old, they had most of them a story to tell.

      Presently she came to the pictured face of a young man which was very attractive. The countenance was full of force, and though the personality was at a 21 stand-still, “pulled up” for the second in which it was taken, it was both an expressive and an impressive personality. For the bit of prepared paper had caught something of that fiery particle, that “little more” which in the real man was doubtless a power going from him and drawing others to him, in spite of their own resolves and inclinations.

      She held the photograph in her hand, and looked earnestly at it. As she did so, Harry Filmer stepped between the folds of pale blue plush which shielded the doorway. He stood motionless and watched Adriana. The mirror showed him at a glance beauty of a high and unusual kind. He took rapid note of every element of it – the thick dark hair drawn backward from the broad white brow – the white drooping eyelids, heavily fringed – the richly-colored oval face – the bow-shaped lips – the rounded chin – the straight white throat – the tall figure robed in soft, white silk, with purple pansies at the bosom and belt – and most of all, the air of freshness and of grave harmonious loveliness which environed her. He could have gazed his heart away; but in a few moments Adriana felt the unseen influence and turned. The presentment was still in her hand; the living man stood before her.

      She put the picture back into the portfolio, and advanced a step or two. Harry bowed, and was at her side in a moment.

      “I am sure you are Miss Van Hoosen,” he said, with a pleasant smile; “mother told me about you. And Rose has told me a great deal about you. So, you see, we are old acquaintances. Is it not a most perfect day? Have you been riding, or walking? Or has Rose kept you all day ‘talking over things’?”

      He was really nervous under Adriana’s smiling 22 eyes, and he felt it easier to go on talking than to take the next step. Fortunately Rose entered at the proper moment, and put every one conventionally at ease. And if people eating a good dinner together cannot get agreeably familiar, then there is something radically wrong with one-half the company, and perhaps also with the other.

      Now, women are undoubtedly different beings in the presence of men. Adriana was a new Adriana to Rose. She was more mentally alert, more assured and dignified in manner, and she even contradicted Harry in many things. But then she had an agreeable way of dealing with those from whom she disagreed; and Harry was only stimulated by her opposition to his views. The dinner went delightfully to the chatter of tongues and the light clash of crystal and china, and when it was over, Harry exclaimed:

      “What a charming