She had the valuable gift of sitting still without stiffness, and

not fidgetting with fan, bouquet, or hand-kerchief, as she listened

or talked. Rosa's mercurial temperament betrayed itself, every

instant, in the bird-like turn of her small head, the fluttering or

chafing of her brown fingers, and not unfrequently by an impatient

stamp, or other movement of her foot that exposed fairy toe and

instep. Contemplation of the one rested and refreshed the observer;

of the other, amused and excited him. Mr. Dorrance's phlegmatic

nature found supreme content in dwelling upon the incarnation of

patrician tranquillity at his right hand, and he regarded the

actions of his frisky would-be tormentor very much as a placid,

well-gorged salmon would survey, from his bed of ease upon the

bottom of a stream, the gyrations of a painted dragon fly overhead.

A lull in the geteral conversation--the reaction after a hearty

laugh at a happy repartee--gave others besides Mabel the opportunity

of profiting by his learned remarks.

"But does not that seem to yon a short-sighted policy," he was

urging upon his auditor, with the assistance of a thumb and

forefinger of one hand, joined as upon a pinch of snuff, and tapping

the centre of the other palm; "does not that appear inexcusable

profligacy of extravagance, which fells and consumes whole surface

forests of magnificent trees--virgin growth--(I use the term as it

is usually applied, although, philosophically considered, it is

inaccurate) giants, which centuries will not replace, instead of

seeking beneath the superficial covering of mould, nourishing these,

for the exhaustless riches, carboniferous remains of antediluvian

woods, hidden in the bowels of your mountains, and underlying your

worn-out fields?"

Rosa was shaking with internal laughter--she would give no escape

except through her dancing eyes.

Indeed, Mr. Dorrance's was the only staid countenance there, as

Mabel said, pleasantly, moving her chair beyond the bounds of the

ring, "I, for one, find the combustion of the upper forest growth

too powerful, just at this instant. This is a genuine

Christmas-storm--is it not? Listen to the wind?"

In the stillness enjoined by her gesture, the growl of the blast in

the chimney and in the grove; the groaning, tapping, and creaking of

the tree branches; the pelting sleet and the rattle of casements all

over the house brought to the least imaginative a picture of

out-door desolation and fireside comfort that prolonged the hush of

attention. Tom Barksdale's pretty wife slipped her hand covertly

into his tight grasp, and their smile was of mutual congratulation

that they were brightly and warmly housed and together. Rosa,

preternaturally grave and quiet, lapsed into a profound study of the

mountain of red-hot embers. Several young ladies shuddered audibly,

as well as visibly, and were reassured by a whispered word, or the

slightest conceivable movement of their gallants' chairs nearer

their own.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024