Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 36

He was silent for a good while, in one of his abstracted moods; and, thinking the lesson was over for that day, I was about to leave the room.

He arose, and, going to the window, stood looking out into the night--I quietly watching him, and wondering of what he was so busily thinking.

Presently he turned, and, coming to the table where I was sitting, stood looking down intently at me.

"Medoline, has it ever occurred to you that you are an unusually attractive bit of womanhood?"

I drew back almost as if he had struck me a blow. He smiled.

"You are as odd as you are fascinating," he said.

He went to his writing-desk. I watched him unlock one of the drawers and take out two envelopes. He came back and stood opposite me at the table.

"I received, a few days ago, a letter from my friend Bovyer, in which he enclosed one for you, which I was at liberty to read. Probably I should have submitted it to you earlier, but----"

He did not finish the sentence, and stood quietly while I read the letter. The hot blood was crimsoning my neck and brow, and, without raising my eyes, I pushed the letter across the table, without speaking.

He handed me another. A strong impulse seized me to fly from the room, but I had not courage to execute my desire. The second letter was fully as surprising as the first. It was from another of Mr. Winthrop's friends, who had frequented our hotel in New York. I recalled his face readily, and the impression his manners and conversation had made on my mind. He had fewer years to boast than Mr. Bovyer, but more good looks. I finished his letter, and, still holding it in my hand, unconsciously fell to recalling more distinctly my half-forgotten impressions of his personality. I remembered he could say brilliant things in an off-hand way, as if he were not particularly proud of the fact. I remembered, too, that he had genuine humor, and had often convulsed me with a merriment I was ashamed to betray; but, strange to say, of all those who had haunted Mr. Winthrop's parlors in those two weeks, not one had paid me so little attention as this Maurice Graem; and now both he and Mr. Bovyer had written, asking my guardian's permission to have me as life-long companion and friend.

"What shall it be, Medoline? You cannot say yes to both of them."

The question startled me.

"Are you very anxious for me to leave Oaklands?" My lips quivered as I spoke.

"Why, child, that is my trouble just now. I am not willing ever to lose you--certainly not so soon as these impetuous youths desire."

"Mr. Bovyer is not young," I said, with a lightened heart.

"What shall I say to them, then?"

"That I do not want to leave Oaklands. I am so happy here."

He made me no reply, but turned again to his writing-desk, and was locking the letters safely away when I left the room. Then I bethought me of the letter still unopened in my pocket, and was hastening to my room, when Mrs. Flaxman intercepted me.

"Won't you come into my room, Medoline, just for a few minutes?"

I followed her with some reluctance; for Mrs. Flaxman's few minutes, I imagined, might extend into a good many, if she got to talking.

"I want to show the presents Mr. Bovver has sent us from New York--one for each of us."

She lifted the cover from a box on her stand, and handed me the most superbly-bound book I had ever seen.

"Yours is the prettiest," she said, admiringly, as I turned over the leaves, looking at the engravings.

"Don't you like it, dear?" she asked, surprised that I was so silent over my prize.

"Yes--if it had not come from Mr. Bovyer."

"Why, Medoline! not like a gift coming from one so kind and true as he is?"

"I wish I had never seen him." I threw down the book and burst into tears.

"Surely, Medoline, you have not fallen in love with him? I should be so sorry, for he is not a marrying man."

"No, indeed," I cried, indignantly; "but----" And then I stopped; for what right had I to tell his secret?

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, is it not dreadful to be young? Men are such a trouble."

"Why, my child, what is the matter? You act so strangely I do not understand you."

"No? Well, I cannot explain. But won't you ask Mr. Winthrop, please, if I must keep this book?"

"Why, certainly you must keep it. It would be rude to return Mr. Bovyer's gift."

"But you will ask?"

"Oh, yes, if you insist; but he will only smile, and say it is one of Medoline's oddities."

I went to my room. But the traces of my tears must be removed, and the dinner-bell was already ringing. However, at the risk of being late, I broke the seal of my letter. I was getting terrified lest it might be another proposal of marriage from some unexpected quarter; for, I reflected, when misfortunes begin to come they generally travel in crowds; but this was not a love-letter. It read:

"Dear Miss Selwyn:--I have been informed of your kindness of heart and sympathy for all who are in distress, and therefore am emboldened to come to you for help. If you would call on me to-morrow, at 3 P. M., at Rose Cottage, Linden Lane, you would confer a lasting favor on a sorrowing sister. I am yours, very respectfully,

"Hermione Le Grande."

P. S.--I must ask for perfect secrecy on your part, and that no mention whatever of my name, or letter, be made at Oaklands. I trust to your honor in the matter.

H. L.

I locked the letter up in my drawer and hastened to the dinner that certainly would not be kept waiting for me. I was hoping that the question about Mr. Bovyer's book would be asked and answered in my absence; but was disappointed; for just as Mr. Winthrop arose from the table, at the close of dinner, Mrs. Flaxman mentioned the arrival of the books, and whence they came.

"It is quite profitable, chaperoning young ladies, you will find;" he said, dryly.

"But, Medoline does not wish to keep hers. She acted quite strangely about it; and insists that I must ask you, if she shall keep it."

"Mr. Bovyer would feel aggrieved if we returned his present. I think you must keep it," he said, turning to me.

"Most young ladies I have known are proud to get keepsakes from your s.e.x."

"I hope Medoline is not going to be a regulation young lady."

"Why, Mr. Winthrop, what has caused you to change your mind? You used to condemn me for being so very unconventional."

"I have made the discovery that you have something better in its stead,"

he said, quietly. I looked up quickly to speak my thanks, but kept silent.

"Yes, Medoline is the only one of us that tries to do her duty by others.

She has helped the poor more in the few months she has been here, than I have done in nearly twenty years."

"But she confines her benefits to the poor and bereaved solely. She seems to forget the prosperous may be heavy-hearted," Mr. Winthrop suggested with a smile.