"HE IS DIFFERENT."
The same evening, as they sat on one of the seats upon the lawn, Miss
Ferrol became aware several times that Louisiana was regarding her with
more than ordinary interest. She sat with her hands folded upon her
lap, her eyes fixed on her face, and her pretty mouth actually a little
open.
"What are you thinking of?" Olivia asked, at length.
The girl started, and recovered herself with an effort.
"I--well, I was thinking about--authors," she stammered.
"Any particular author?" inquired Olivia, "or authors as a class?"
"About your brother being one. I never thought I should see any one
who knew an author--and you are related to one!"
Her companion's smile was significant of immense experience. It was
plain that she was so accustomed to living on terms of intimacy with
any number of authors that she could afford to feel indifferent about
them.
"My dear," she said, amiably, "they are not in the least different from
other people."
It sounded something like blasphemy.
"Not different!" cried Louisiana. "Oh, surely, they must be!
Isn't--isn't your brother different?"
Miss Ferrol stopped to think. She was very fond of her brother.
Privately she considered him the literary man of his day. She was
simply disgusted when she heard experienced critics only calling him
"clever" and "brilliant" instead of "great" and "world-moving."
"Yes," she replied at length, "he is different."
"I thought he must be," said Louisiana, with a sigh of relief. "You
are, you know."
"Am I?" returned Olivia. "Thank you. But I am not an author--at
least,"--she added, guiltily, "nothing I have written has ever been
published."
"Oh, why not?" exclaimed Louisiana.
"Why not?" she repeated, dubiously and thoughtfully. And then,
knitting her brows, she said, "I don't know why not."
"I am sure if you have ever written anything, it ought to have been
published," protested her adorer.
"_I_ thought so," said Miss Ferrol. "But--but _they_ didn't."
"They?" echoed Louisiana. "Who are 'they?'"
"The editors," she replied, in a rather gloomy manner. "There is a
great deal of wire-pulling, and favoritism, and--even envy and malice,
of which those outside know nothing. You wouldn't understand it if I
should tell you about it."
For a few moments she wore quite a fell expression, and gloom reigned.
She gave her head a little shake.
"They regret it afterward," she remarked,--"frequently."
From which Louisiana gathered that it was the editors who were so
overwhelmed, and she could not help sympathizing with them in secret.
There was something in the picture of their unavailing remorse which
touched her, despite her knowledge of the patent fact that they
deserved it and could expect nothing better. She was quite glad when
Olivia brightened up, as she did presently.
"Laurence is handsomer than most of them, and has a more distinguished
air," she said. "He is very charming. People always say so."
"I wish I could see him," ventured Louisiana.
"You will see him if you stay here much longer," replied Miss Ferrol.
"It is quite likely he will come to Oakvale."
For a moment Louisiana fluttered and turned pale with pleasure, but as
suddenly she drooped.
"I forgot," she faltered. "You will have to be with him always, and I
shall have no one. He won't want me."
Olivia sat and looked at her with deepening interest. She was thinking
again of a certain whimsical idea which had beset her several times
since she had attired her _protegee_ in the cream-colored robe.
"Louise," she said, in a low, mysterious tone, "how would you like to
wear dresses like mine all the rest of the time you are here?"
The child stared at her blankly.
"I haven't got any," she gasped.
"No," said Miss Ferrol, with deliberation, "but _I_ have."
She rose from her seat, dropping her mysterious air and smiling
encouragingly.
"Come with me to my room," she said. "I want to talk to you."
If she had ordered her to follow her to the stake it is not at all
unlikely that Louisiana would have obeyed. She got up meekly, smiling,
too, and feeling sure something very interesting was going to happen.
She did not understand in the least, but she was quite tractable. And
after they had reached the room and shut themselves in, she found that
it _was_ something very interesting which was to happen.
"You remember what I said to you this morning?" Miss Ferrol suggested.
"You said so many things."
"Oh, but you cannot have forgotten this particular thing. I said you
looked as if you had been born in New York."
Louisiana remembered with a glow of rapture.
"Oh, yes," she answered.
"And I said Laurence himself would not know, if he was not told, that
you had lived all your life here."'
"Yes."
"And I said I should like to try you on him."
"Yes."
Miss Ferrol kept her eyes fixed on her and watched her closely.
"I have been thinking of it all the morning," she added. "I should
like to try you on him."
Louisiana was silent a moment. Then she spoke, hesitatingly:
"Do you mean that I should pretend----," she began.
"Oh, no," interrupted Miss Ferrol. "Not pretend either one thing or
the other. Only let me dress you as I choose, and then take care that
you say nothing whatever about your past life. You will have to be
rather quiet, perhaps, and let him talk. He will like that, of
course--men always do--and then you will learn a great many things from
him."
"It will be--a very strange thing to do," said Louisiana.
"It will be a very interesting thing," answered Olivia, her enthusiasm
increasing. "How he will admire you!"
Louisiana indulged in one of her blushes.
"Have you a picture of him?"
"Yes. Why?" she asked, in some surprise.
"Because I should like to see his face."
"Do you think," Miss Ferrol said, in further bewilderment, "that you
might not like him?"
"I think he might not like me."
"Not like you!" cried Miss Ferrol. "You! He will think you are
divine--when you are dressed as I shall dress you."
She went to her trunk and produced the picture. It was not a
photograph, but a little crayon head--the head of a handsome man, whose
expression was a singular combination of dreaminess and alertness. It
was a fascinating face.
"One of his friends did it," said Miss Ferrol. "His friends are very
fond of him and admire his good looks very much. They protest against
his being photographed. They like to sketch him. They are always
making 'studies' of his head. What do you think of him?"
Louisiana hesitated.
"He is different," she said at last. "I thought he would be."
She gave the picture back to Miss Ferrol, who replaced it in her trunk.
She sat for a few seconds looking down at the carpet and apparently
seeing very little. Then she looked up at her companion, who was
suddenly a little embarrassed at finding her receive her whimsical
planning so seriously. She herself had not thought of it as being
serious at all. It would be interesting and amusing, and would prove
her theory.
"I will do what you want me to do," said Louisiana.
"Then," said Miss Ferrol, wondering at an unexpected sense of
discomfort in herself, "I will dress you for supper now. You must
begin to wear the things, so that you may get used to them."