ZOE'S SOME DAY.
"There's something undoubtedly in a fine air,
To know how to smile, and be able to stare;
High breeding is something, but well bred or not,
In the end the one question is, What have you got?"
--A. H. Clough.
The sun is shining brightly, pleasantly, over all London, England, even
penetrating into the dim, dirty alleys, and tenements; but is also
shining, with all its wealth of golden, cheering gladness, into the
long, handsome gallery of art at the great London exhibition. Pictures
and pictures of endless variety and beauty are here displayed. There is
one especially that fascinates the eyes of all the thousands of curious
visitors. It is hanging in a perfect light, in a heavy gold frame.
Offers to purchase it have been innumerable, but a little tag on the
corner announces to the would-be purchaser that it is already sold. The
scene is a beautiful Italian garden. Seated in a swaying chair, on the
pretty terrace, is a lady whose face people rave over, as being the
image of Dolores, Sir Barry Traleigh's beautiful wife. The lady is
engaged in writing a letter. The trees almost immediately opposite the
terrace, conceals the indistinct form of a man watching. By the lady's
side, lying with his dark curly head resting on the train of the lady's
white lace dress, is a little boy, in a white embroidered frock,
sleeping. The Prince of Wales, who opened the exhibition, was so struck
by the merits of the picture, that he desired an introduction to the
fair young painter. And Zoe was duly presented to our future king, who
shook the girl's hand warmly, and wished her all good success in the
future. Surely Zoe's "Some Day" had come with a wealth of splendor and
glory. It had been at Sir Barry's direction, that his sister-in-law
painted it, and he had bought it at a princely price to hang in the
exquisitely furnished drawing-room at Castle Racquette. As Zoe expresses
it, "Everyone and his brother are here." Sir Barry and Lady Traleigh
have run down from Castle Racquette to London, to be the proud witness
of Zoe's triumph. Dolores is charmed with her beautiful Scottish home,
and is loved by everyone, as she deserved so well to be.
Jantie, Lady Streathmere, is the pride and delight of the husband's
life. She rules her elegant home with a firm, but gentle hand, and
though Burpee, Lord Streathmere, is not her heart's first love, still
she honors and respects him thoroughly. The dowager Lady Streathmere is
very fond of Jantie; she was very agreeably disappointed in the girl,
and now she speaks to her friends in loud terms of "my daughter Jantie's
excellence." While they were in Paris, they met Mrs. St. James. She was
very gracious to Jantie, and made much of Lord Streathmere's pretty,
demure wife. But her overtures were not at all successful. Lord
Streathmere never liked her, and Jantie could not help remembering how
coldly cynical Mrs. St. James had been to "Sister Jean." Gordon Aubrey
and his pretty wife are living very happily, though not endowed very
richly with this world's goods, still she has won her husband's love,
and knows how to keep it, and Gordon has certainly not repented of his
bargain, as Mrs. St. James had predicted. The Hon. Jerry Hopkins is
still unmarried: he declares himself as "not a marrying man." People say
he felt very badly at Rea Severn entering the convent. But sometimes
people say a good deal that is not quite true. The convent of St.
Marguerite is in a flourishing condition, everything works on serenely
and calmly. Uncle Dick Gray has his new house completed and is charmed
with its beauty. Blondine declares that he thinks more of the house than
he does of her.
It is Winter again, a cold December afternoon, and Ned Crane has just
"happened in," as he very often does now, to have a chat with Zoe, and
to hear over and over again about her lovely visit abroad with Sir Barry
and Dolores. Mr. Vacine is very anxious that Ned will marry Zoe, but
like her sister, the youngest Miss Litchfield, is very refractory. She
is really very fond indeed of gay, good-hearted, adoring Ned. But it is
far from her to give him the satisfaction of knowing. She knows Ned
intends asking her to marry him, and, perhaps, after a good many years
from now, he will. Ned stops and talks so long that at last the pretty
white and gold clock strikes five, and they hear Mrs. Litchfield and
Aunt Adeline preparing tea in the dining hall.
"Say Zoe, when are you going to say 'yes' to what I asked you the other
day?" Ned says, as he pokes the fire in the brightly-polished grate.
"Nonsense," Miss Litchfield answers, crossly. She heartily wishes Ned
would not allude to that "other day," when he had stirred up her
feelings so remorselessly. She smiles grimly and clinks her knitting
needles together viciously. She even goes so far as to give "Duff," the
unoffending kitten, an angry poke with her toe.
"Won't you tell me when, dear?" Ned urges, tenderly. And Zoe throws the
crimson and white smoking cap she is making on the sofa.
"I must go and see if the supper is nearly ready," she says, standing by
Ned's side, in the red glow of the flickering firelight.
Ned takes the pretty hand hanging by her side. "Say, Zoe, when will you
marry me?"
With a clear, mocking laugh she twists her hand away. And the
tantalizing words he has heard so often ring through the pretty cosy,
fire-lit room, echoing wilful Zoe's words, as she floats out the door
toward the dining hall, for she is most unromantically hungry for her
tea. The answer to Ned's earnest question was one of Zoe's clear, sweet
ripples of gay laughter, and the mocking words, "Some Day."
THE END.