Bressant

"No necessity for you to write, my dear," observed the professor at this

point. "I've been intending to do it myself for some time, and I'll

thank her for her hospitality, and so forth."

Cornelia nodded, yawned, and then allowed her eyes to wander around the

room.

"How nice and cozy and home-like every thing does look! And so small.

Why, I should almost believe I was looking through the small end of the

telescope, or something."

"New York houses are so big, I suppose?" said Sophie.

"Gracious, dear!" exclaimed Cornelia, laughing again. "Why, the very

cupboards are bigger than this whole house. It'll take me ever so long

to get over being afraid to knock my head against something when I stand

up."

"You can sit out-doors until the weather gets too cold," observed the

professor. "The sky is as high here as in New York, isn't it?"

Cornelia ignored this remark with admirable self-poise. "Aunt Margaret

was asking a good deal about Mr. Bressant, too," said she. "She said

she'd only heard about him from you, papa; but I thought, sometimes, she

must be fibbing. Once in a while, you know, she acted just as if she had

forgotten having said she didn't know him. However, that's absurd, of

course. By-the-way, where is he? Here still?"

"Oh, yes. O Neelie dear, I have such news to tell you. But--yes, he's

out there by the fountain, I believe. Go out and speak to him, and then

come up to my room and hear the secret."

"All right, I'll be there directly;" and, springing from her chair with

a sudden overflow of animal spirits, drowning out the small growth of

affectation, the beautiful woman danced out upon the balcony, and down

the steps. Sophie went to her chamber, and the professor remained in his

study to indulge his own thoughts, which, by the way, appeared to be

neither light nor agreeable.

As Cornelia neared the fountain, her steps grew more staid. The

clustering shrubbery hid Bressant from sight until she was close upon

him. She thought, perhaps, in the few moments that passed as she walked

down the path, of that other time when she had picked her way, in his

company, between the rain-besprinkled shrubs. Here was the same tea-rose

bush, and hardly a flower left upon it. Yes, here was one, full-blown,

to be sure, and ready to fall to pieces; but still, perhaps he would

smile and remember when he saw it in her bosom; or perhaps--and Cornelia

smiled secretly to herself at the thought--perhaps he needed no

reminder. He was sitting by the fountain now. What more likely than that

he was thinking over that first strange scene that had been enacted

between them there? Dear fellow! how he would start and redden with

pleasure when he saw her appear, in flesh and blood, in the midst of his

reverie! Cornelia blushed; but some of the loose petals of the overblown

rose in her bosom became detached, and floated earthward.