CHAPTER THIRD.
"So fair that had you beauty's picture took, It must like her, or not like beauty look." --ALLEYN'S HENRY VII.
Elsie paused at the half-open door of her father's private room.
Mr. Dinsmore, like most men, was fond of light and air; through the wideopen windows the morning breeze stole softly in, laden with sweets fromgarden and lawn, and the rich carpet of oak and green was flecked withgold where the sunbeams came shimmering down between the fluttering leavesof a beautiful vine that had festooned itself about the one looking to theeast.
Mr. Dinsmore was seated at his desk with a pile of papers beforehim--legal documents in appearance; he would open one, glance over itscontents, lay it aside, and take up another only to treat it in likemanner.
Elsie stood but a moment watching him with loving, admiring eyes, thengliding noiselessly across the floor, dropped gracefully at his feet andlaying her folded hands upon his knee looked up into his face with anarch, sweet smile.
"Mon pere, I have come for my lecture, or whatever you have laid up instore for me," she announced with mock gravity and a slight tremble ofpretended fear in her voice.
Dropping the paper he held, and passing one hand caressingly over hershining hair, "My darling, how very, very lovely you are!" he said, thewords bursting spontaneously from his lips; "there is no flaw in yourbeauty, and your face beams with happiness."
"Papa turned flatterer!" she cried, springing up and allowing him to drawher to his knee.
"I'm waiting for the lecture," she said presently, "you know I always liketo have disagreeable things over as soon as possible."
"Who told you there was to be a lecture?"
"Nobody, sir."
"What have you been doing that you feel entitles you to one?"
"I don't remember."
"Nor I either. So let us to business. Here, take this chair beside me. Doyou know how much you are worth?"
"Not precisely, sir," she answered demurely, taking the chair and foldingher hands pensively in her lap; "but very little, I presume, since youhave given me away for nothing."
"By no means," he said, with a slight smile of amusement at her unwontedmood. "It was for your own happiness, which is no trifle in my esteem. Butyou belong to me still."
She looked at him with glistening eyes. "Thank you, dearest papa; yes, Ido belong to you and always shall. Please excuse my wilfulmisunderstanding of your query. I do not know how much money and otherproperty I own, but have an idea it is a million more or less."
"My dear child!--it is fully three times that."
"Papa! is it indeed?"
"Yes, it was about a million at the time of your Grandfather Grayson'sdeath, and has increased very much during your mamma's minority and yours;which you know has been a very long one. You own several stores and adwelling house in New Orleans, a fine plantation with between two andthree hundred negroes, and I have invested largely for you in stocks ofvarious kinds both in your own country and in England. I wish you toexamine all the papers, certificates of stock, bonds, deeds, mortgages,and so forth."
"Oh, papa!" she cried, lifting her hands in dismay, "what a task. Pleaseexcuse me. You know all about it, and is not that sufficient?"
"No, the property is yours; I have been only your steward, and must nowrender up an account to you for the way in which I have handled yourproperty."
"You render an account to _me_, my own dear father," she said low andtremulously, while her face flushed crimson; "I cannot bear to hear youspeak so. I am fully satisfied, and very, _very_ thankful for all yourkind care of it and of me."
He regarded her with a smile of mingled tenderness and amusement, whilesoftly patting and stroking the small white hand laid lovingly upon his.
"Could I--could any father--do less for his own beloved child?" he asked.
"Not you, I know, papa. But may I ask you a question?"
"As many as you like."
"How much are you worth? Ah! you needn't look so quizzical. I mean howmuch do you own in money, land, etc.?"
"Something less than a million; I cannot tell you the exact number ofdollars and cents."
"Hardly a third as much as I! It doesn't seem right. Papa, take half ofmine."
"That wouldn't balance the scales either," he said laughingly; "andbesides, Mr. Travilla has now some right to be consulted."
"Papa, I could never love him again, if he should object to my giving youall but a few hundred thousands."
"He would not. He says he will never touch a cent of your property; itmust be settled entirely upon yourself, and subject to your control. Andthat is quite right; for he, too, is wealthy."
"Papa, I don't think I deserve so much; I don't want the care of so much.I do wish you would be so good as to take half for your own, and continueto manage the other half for me as you think best."
"What you deserve is not the question just now. This is one of the talentswhich God has given you, and I think you ought, at least for the present,to keep the principal and decide for yourself what shall be done with theinterest. You are old enough now to do so, and I hope do not wish to shirkthe responsibility, since God, in His good providence, has laid it uponyou."
He spoke very gravely and Elsie's face reflected the expression of his.
"No, I do not wish it now, papa," she said, in a low, sweet voice. "Iwill undertake it, asking Him for wisdom and grace to do it aright."
They were busy for the next hour or two over the papers.
"There!" cried Elsie, at length, "we have examined the last one, and Ithink I understand it all pretty thoroughly."
"I think you do. And now another thing; ought you not to go and see foryourself your property in Louisiana?"
Elsie assented, on condition that he would take her.
"Certainly, my dear child, can you suppose I would ever think ofpermitting you to go alone?"
"Thank you, papa. And if poor mammy objects this time, she may take herchoice of going or staying; but go I must, and see how my poor people arefaring at Viamede. I have dim, dreamy recollections of it as a kind ofearthly paradise. Papa, do you know why mammy has always been sodistressed whenever I talked of going there?"
"Painful associations, no doubt. Poor creature! it was there herhusband--an unruly negro belonging to a neighboring planter--was sold awayfrom her, and there she lost her children, one by accidental drowning, theothers by some epidemic disease. Your own mother, too, died there, andChloe I think never loved one of her own children better."
"No, I'm sure not. But she never told me of her husband and children, andI thought she had never had any. And now, papa, that we are done withbusiness for the present, I have a request to make."
"Well, daughter, what is it?"
"That you will permit me to renew my old intimacy with Lucy Carrington; orat least to call on her. You remember she was not well enough to be at thewedding; she is here at Ashlands with her baby. Mr. and Mrs. Carringtoncalled here yesterday while you were out, and both urged me not to beceremonious with Lucy, as she is hardly well enough to make calls and islonging to see me."
"And what answer did you give them?" he asked with some curiosity.
"That I should do so if possible; that meant if I could obtain yourpermission, papa."
"You have it. Lucy is in some sort taken into the family now, and you aresafely engaged; to say nothing of your mature years," he added laughingly,as she seated herself on his knee again and thanked him with a hug andkiss.
"You dear good papa!"
"Some girls of your age, heiresses in their own right, would merely havesaid, 'I'm going,' never asking permission."
"Ah, but I like to be ruled by you. So please don't give it up. Now aboutEnna?"
"If I had any authority in the matter, I should say, you shall not giveher a cent. She doesn't deserve it from you or any one."
"Then I shall wait till you change your mind."
Mr. Dinsmore shook his head. "Ah! my little g
irl, you don't realize howmuch some one else's opinions will soon weigh with you," he answered,putting an arm about her and looking with fatherly delight into the sweetface.
"Ah, papa!" she cried, laying her cheek to his, "please don't talk so; ithurts me."
"Then, dearest, I shall not say it again, though indeed I was notreproaching you; it is right, very right, that husband and wife should bemore than all the world beside to each other."
Elsie's cheek crimsoned. "It has not come to that yet, father dear," shemurmured, half averting her blushing face; "and--I don't know which of youI love best--or how I could ever do without either: the love differs inkind rather than in degree."
He drew her closer. "Thank you, my darling; what more could I ask ordesire?" A slight tap on the door and Mrs. Dinsmore looked in. "Anyadmittance?" she asked playfully.
"Always to my wife," answered her husband, releasing Elsie and rising tohand Rose a chair.
"Thanks, my dear, but I haven't time to sit down," she said. "Here is anote of invitation for us all to spend the day at Roselands. Shall we go?"
"Certainly, if it suits you, Rose," replied Mr. Dinsmore; "and Elsie;" headded, "will you go, daughter?"
"If you wish it, papa," she answered cheerfully; yet there was a slightreluctance in her tone.
He gave her a kind, fond look. "You are your own mistress, and can acceptor decline as your judgment and wishes dictate."
"But you would rather have me go, papa?"
"I would, because it would seem more kind and courteous. But what is theobjection in your mind? Perhaps it could be removed."
"I wanted so much to see Lucy this morning," Elsie answered with a blush;"but to-morrow will do."
"But both might be accomplished if mamma and Adelaide like to have Caesardrive them and the little ones over to Roselands. Then you and I willmount our horses and away to Ashlands for a call, leaving there in goodtime to join the dinner party at Roselands. How will that do?"
"Oh, bravely, you dear darling papa! always contriving for my enjoyment."
Mr. Dinsmore followed his wife from the room. "'Twill be an early returnof Carrington's call," he said, "but I have a little business with him."
"Yes, I'm very glad: it is a good plan; but don't hurry Elsie away. Sheand Lucy will want a long talk."
"I promise to be careful to obey orders," he answered, sportively. "Isthat all?"
"Yes; only see that you don't stay too long, and keep the dinner waitingat Roselands."
"Mamma," asked Elsie, bringing up the rear as they entered thesitting-room, "can't you go, too--you and Aunt Adelaide? Four make as nicea party as two, and the babies can be driven over quite safely, with theirmammies, to take care of them."
"No," said Rose, "I never accept such late invitations; I shall----"
"My dear," said her husband, "we would be very glad."
"No, no; the first arrangement is decidedly the best;" putting on an airof pretended pique.
"Babies! do you call me a baby?" cried young Horace, who had sprung to hisfeet with a flash of indignation in his great black eyes, "I'm nine yearsold, Elsie. Rosie there's the only baby belonging to this house. Do youthink papa would let a baby have a pony like Gip? and a pistol of his own,too?"
Elsie put her arms round his neck, and gave him a kiss, "I beg tenthousand pardons."
"Elsie, my daughter, don't allow yourself to speak so extravagantly,"interrupted her father.
"I will try not, papa," she answered. "I beg your pardon, Horace dear, andassure you I think you are quite a manly young man. Now I must prepare formy ride, papa. I shall be ready by the time the horses can be brought tothe door."
"Papa," said Horace, as the door closed upon his sister, "may I ride Gipto-day?"
"If you promise me to keep close beside the carriage."
"Oh, papa, can't I ride on ahead a little, now and then, or fall a fewpaces behind if I wish?"
"No; you may do just what I have given permission for, and nothing else."
Elsie's Womanhood Page 3