Once in the social eye it would be Mrs.Mayhew's strongest impulse to make a good impression,and she behaved beautifully.Something in Ida's manner puzzled her father,but she smiled so reassuringly that he gave himself up to the quiet enjoyment of the situation that was so natural and yet so novel.He listened with a pleased expression to the music,and noted,with deep satisfaction,the friendly and respectful bearing of those near,towards both his wife and himself;but he exulted in the evident admiration that his daughter excited.The people at the Lake House had already discovered that there was a decided change for the better in the Mayhew family,and they greeted the improvement with a kindly but well-bred and unobtrusive welcome that was creditable to human nature.Of course there was a great deal of whispered surmise,but nothing offensive to the eye.
Stanton came and asked Ida to join in the singing at the piano,but she shook her head decidedly.
"Who has been hurting your feelings?"he asked,in a low tone.
By a scarcely perceptible gesture,she put her finger on her lips and said quietly,"They are waiting for you,Cousin Ik."Then she added,with a smile,"Somewhere I've heard a proverb expressing surprise that Saul should be among the prophets.I hardly think it will be in good taste for me to appear among them just yet.""And I once believed her to be a fool,"thought Stanton as he returned to his place.
Again,on this Sunday evening,keen eyes were watching her from the dusky piazza,but so far from being wolfish and ravenous,they were full of sympathy and admiration.
As Van Berg approached the parlor windows after his return,he saw Stanton standing by the piano at Jennie Burton's side,and she was looking up to him and speaking in a very friendly manner.He was not conscious of any appropriate pangs of jealousy,and indeed did not miss their absence,but he looked eagerly around for the problem his philosophical mind was so bent on solving.
At first the favorable impression made by the reunited family caught his attention,and he muttered,"There is some more of her magic.
But what is the matter with Miss Mayhew herself.Her eyes are burning with a fire that is anything but tender and sacred,and there are moments when her face is almost stern,and again it is full of trouble."Some one discovered him on the piazza,and there was a general wish expressed that he should sing with Miss Burton a duet that had become a favorite.After this and one or two other pieces,he again sought his place of observation.The color and fire had now wholly faded from Miss Mayhew's face,and she looked pale and sad.Her father turned to her,and said:
"Ida,I fear you don't feel well."
"I'm very tired,and think I had better go to my room."He rose instantly,and gave her his arm,but on the way she reassured him:"A night's sleep,and the rest I shall have with you in the city are just what I need;so don't worry,for I shall be ready to take the train with you in the morning;"and Mr.Mayhew rejoined his wife,and completed a happier day than he ever expected to see again.
But poor Ida,when left alone,buried her face in her hands and sobbed,"I've wounded HIS feelings,I've given way to my old passionate anger,I've spoken to mother as a daughter never should.
What will ever become of faulty Ida Mayhew?The worm-eaten emblem is true of me still."Then,as if whispered to her by some good angel,the words Mr.
Eltinge had spoken recurred to her."Your Saviour will be as tender and patient with you as a mother with her baby that is learning to walk.""Oh,"she cried,in a low,passionate tone,"that is the kind of a God I need!"She also remembered the reassuring words that Mr.Eltinge had quoted--"As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you,"and the promise was made good to her.
"Stanton,"said Van Berg,a little abruptly,before they parted that evening,"I fear,from your cousin's appearance,she was ill when she left the parlor.""I've given up trying to understand Ida.When she came down with her mother,she looked like an incensed goddess,and when she returned she reminded me of the fading white lily she wore in her hair.I give it up,"concluded Stanton,whose language had become a trifle figurative and poetic of late.
"I don't,"muttered the artist,after smoking the third consecutive cigar in solitude.
