And young Legare heaved a great sigh when he confronted his sister with
this declaration on his lips.
“Who--Frank--who?” asked Miss Legare, looking up from a book of fashion
plates which were engrossing her attention as he entered her special
sitting-room, or boudoir, as she termed it.
For she had been educated at Vassar, and could not descend to ordinary
terms.
“Who? Just as if you did not remember my errand down town. I have been
to W----’s bindery.”
“Oh! that bindery girl!”
“Yes--the bindery girl!”
“Well! Why don’t you report? What do you want to keep me in suspense
for?” cried the spoiled pet of fortune.
“She is very beautiful. The prettiest girl, in face and form, that I
have ever seen in all my life.”
And Frank gulped down a sigh.
“A bindery girl, smelling of sour paste and leather--beautiful! Oh,
Frank, I thought you had some taste, some knowledge of refinement.”
“I hope I have, sister mine. If you had hands as small and white, and
fingers that tapered down to the rosy nails as do hers, you would throw
off your half-dozen diamond rings and let your hand speak for itself.
And such a form--not made up, but fresh from nature’s choicest mold.”
“You, Frank! You traitor!”
“What do you mean, Lizzie?”
“You went down there to see that your father was not snared by that
siren--to have her discharged, sent away. Have you done it?”
“No, Lizzie, there is no cause for her discharge, and Mr. W---- laughed
at the idea. Father did not exchange twenty words with her, and they
were purely on business, and in Mr. W----’s presence.”
“How many words have you exchanged with this _ne plus ultra_ of
loveliness?”
“Not one. I got but one look in her face, one glance from her
bewildering eye, yet the memory of both will dwell in my heart while I
live.”
“In short, Frank, you went there to save papa from a snare, and are
yourself a victim. I see through it all. I have got to take this matter
in hand. You men with susceptible hearts are just good for nothing.”
“You had better not meddle in the matter, sister dear. I do not think
our father is in danger, at present, at any rate.”
“Well, if papa isn’t, Brother Frank is. So I’m going to get that
dangerously beautiful girl out of the way. I’ll do it if I have to make
love to Mr. W---- himself, to get him to discharge her.”
“I don’t think he’d look at you, after seeing her.”
“Frank, this is a downright insult. Comparing a Legare to a poor
bindery girl.”
“Sister, I did not mean it as such. But in sober earnest I do believe
that Mr. W---- is in love with this paragon himself.”
“Poh! Because you are a fool, do not think every one is like you.”
“You are strangely complimentary, Miss Legare.”
“Not more so than the object of my compliments deserves, Mr. Legare,”
said the sister, snappishly.
“Good-morning. I will go to my club. There, at least, I will be treated
as a gentleman!” cried the brother, rising.
“Frank, you’re a brute!”
And Lizzie burst out in a flood of tears.
Frank turned back, though he had reached the door.
“Darling, do not weep or quarrel with a brother who loves you better
than he loves his life!” he whispered, as he bent tenderly over her.
“Then don’t--don’t talk so to a sister who loves you with all her
heart and soul!” sobbed Lizzie, looking forgiveness through her
tears--sunlight breaking through the clouds--“dear brother!”
And clinging to his neck, she kissed him with almost childish fervor
and tenderness.
The storm was over. Would that all such domestic storms could pass as
fleetly, and as brightly.
Frank did not go to his club. He sat down by the side of his sister,
and long, earnestly and quietly they talked about this strangely
beautiful, this mysterious girl, and tried to plan out some way to find
out, without her knowing it, who she was, where she came from, and all
about her.