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LINDSAY'S LUCK
LINDSAY'S LUCK
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An excerpt from the beginning of:
CHAPTER I.
BLUE BLOOD AND CALICO.
LADY LAURA TRESHAM had just come down stairs from her chamber to the breakfast parlor. I mention this, because at the Priory everything that the Lady Laura did, became a matter of interest. And why not ? She was a visitor, she was a charming girl, she was Blanche Charnley's special friend and confidante, she was Mrs. Charnley's prime favorite; the Rector himself was fond of her; and all the most influential young members of the High Church at Guest- wick (the Rev. Norman Charnley's church,) were in love with her, and watched the maroon curtains of the Charnley pew far more attentively than they watched the antique carven pulpit, of which the Guestwick aristocracy were so justly proud.
I have said Laura Tresham was a charming girl, and I repeat it, adding my grounds for the assertion. Perhaps I can best do this by presenting her to my readers just as she stands before the large, open Gothic window of the cozy, old- fashioned little breakfast-room, the fresh morning sunlight falling upon her, the swallows twittering under the ivied eaves, — ivy gothic window and sunlight forming exactly the right framing and accompaniments to Lady Laura Tresham as a picture. She is just tall enough to be sometimes, in a certain girlish way, thought regal; she is just fair enough to be like a stately young lily; she has thick, soft, yellow blonde hair; she has blue, velvet eyes, and with her long, white morning dress, wears blue velvet trimmings just the color of her eyes; for it is a fancy of hers to affect velvets, because, she says, ribbons don't suit her. But, in spite of this assertion, it really would be a difficult matter to find anything which did not suit Laura Tresham. Everything suits her, or rather it is she who suits everything. Blanche Charnley, who adores her, thinks there is nothing like her beauty, and her stately, highbred ways. All that Laura says, or does, or thinks, is, in Blanche's eyes, almost perfect, and she will hear no other view of the matter expressed. In true girl-fashion, the two have vowed eternal friendship, and they discuss their little confidences together with profound secrecy and the deepest interest.
Every summer Laura comes to the Priory for a few weeks at least, and every winter Blanche has spent in London for the last four years. The Charnleys are irreproachable. The Reverend Norman was a younger son, but fortune smiled upon him, nevertheless. There is no richer living than Guestwick in England or Wales, and certainly no more aristocratic one. The country gentry and nobility attend the High Church and approve of the Hector. The family drive to service in a velvet-lined carriage, while Blanche and Mrs. Charnley make their charity rounds in a pony phaeton, whose ponies are miracles of value in themselves. Accordingly, any astute reasoner will observe at once that it is impossible for even that most select of dragons, Lady Laura's guardian, who is something slow and heavy in Chancery, to object to his ward's intimacy with the Guestwick Charnleys, as they are called.
So Lady Laura has been Blanche's companion from her childhood, and now is more her friend than ever. So she makes summer visits to the Priory, and so we find her this summer morning standing at the breakfast-room window, and listening with some interest to her host and hostess as they discuss the contents of an American letter the Reverend Norman has just received by the morning's delivery.
"I have never seen him," the Rector was saying, "but if he is at all like his father, he is a generous, brave young fellow;' perhaps a little unconventional in manner, but still a thoroughbred gentleman in every noblest sense of the word. I shall be glad to see him for more reasons than one, and I hope you will make him feel as much at home as possible, Alicia, and you also, Blanche, my dear."
Lady Laura turned toward the breakfast-table.
"Who is he, Mr. Charnley?" she asked. "I suppose I may inquire, as I am to meet him, and I want to know. You see Blanche and Mrs. Charnley have the advantage over me, in knowing the whole story. What did you say his name was ? "
"Robert Lindsay," read Blanche aloud, glancing at the signature of the open epistle, ' Yours, sincerely.' Papa, let Laura see this letter. It is so odd, and yet so — manly, I should call it."
"Certainly, the letter is quite at Laura's disposal," answered the Hector, with a smile. " Read it, my dear. I admire its tone as much as Blanche does.'*
Lady Laura came to the table to take the letter, and, as she stood, glanced over it with some curiosity in her eyes. It was rather a singular letter, or at least it was a letter that expressed a great deal of character. It was frank, fearless, and unconstrained; honest, certainly, and by no means awkward in its tone....
CHAPTER I.
BLUE BLOOD AND CALICO.
LADY LAURA TRESHAM had just come down stairs from her chamber to the breakfast parlor. I mention this, because at the Priory everything that the Lady Laura did, became a matter of interest. And why not ? She was a visitor, she was a charming girl, she was Blanche Charnley's special friend and confidante, she was Mrs. Charnley's prime favorite; the Rector himself was fond of her; and all the most influential young members of the High Church at Guest- wick (the Rev. Norman Charnley's church,) were in love with her, and watched the maroon curtains of the Charnley pew far more attentively than they watched the antique carven pulpit, of which the Guestwick aristocracy were so justly proud.
I have said Laura Tresham was a charming girl, and I repeat it, adding my grounds for the assertion. Perhaps I can best do this by presenting her to my readers just as she stands before the large, open Gothic window of the cozy, old- fashioned little breakfast-room, the fresh morning sunlight falling upon her, the swallows twittering under the ivied eaves, — ivy gothic window and sunlight forming exactly the right framing and accompaniments to Lady Laura Tresham as a picture. She is just tall enough to be sometimes, in a certain girlish way, thought regal; she is just fair enough to be like a stately young lily; she has thick, soft, yellow blonde hair; she has blue, velvet eyes, and with her long, white morning dress, wears blue velvet trimmings just the color of her eyes; for it is a fancy of hers to affect velvets, because, she says, ribbons don't suit her. But, in spite of this assertion, it really would be a difficult matter to find anything which did not suit Laura Tresham. Everything suits her, or rather it is she who suits everything. Blanche Charnley, who adores her, thinks there is nothing like her beauty, and her stately, highbred ways. All that Laura says, or does, or thinks, is, in Blanche's eyes, almost perfect, and she will hear no other view of the matter expressed. In true girl-fashion, the two have vowed eternal friendship, and they discuss their little confidences together with profound secrecy and the deepest interest.
Every summer Laura comes to the Priory for a few weeks at least, and every winter Blanche has spent in London for the last four years. The Charnleys are irreproachable. The Reverend Norman was a younger son, but fortune smiled upon him, nevertheless. There is no richer living than Guestwick in England or Wales, and certainly no more aristocratic one. The country gentry and nobility attend the High Church and approve of the Hector. The family drive to service in a velvet-lined carriage, while Blanche and Mrs. Charnley make their charity rounds in a pony phaeton, whose ponies are miracles of value in themselves. Accordingly, any astute reasoner will observe at once that it is impossible for even that most select of dragons, Lady Laura's guardian, who is something slow and heavy in Chancery, to object to his ward's intimacy with the Guestwick Charnleys, as they are called.
So Lady Laura has been Blanche's companion from her childhood, and now is more her friend than ever. So she makes summer visits to the Priory, and so we find her this summer morning standing at the breakfast-room window, and listening with some interest to her host and hostess as they discuss the contents of an American letter the Reverend Norman has just received by the morning's delivery.
"I have never seen him," the Rector was saying, "but if he is at all like his father, he is a generous, brave young fellow;' perhaps a little unconventional in manner, but still a thoroughbred gentleman in every noblest sense of the word. I shall be glad to see him for more reasons than one, and I hope you will make him feel as much at home as possible, Alicia, and you also, Blanche, my dear."
Lady Laura turned toward the breakfast-table.
"Who is he, Mr. Charnley?" she asked. "I suppose I may inquire, as I am to meet him, and I want to know. You see Blanche and Mrs. Charnley have the advantage over me, in knowing the whole story. What did you say his name was ? "
"Robert Lindsay," read Blanche aloud, glancing at the signature of the open epistle, ' Yours, sincerely.' Papa, let Laura see this letter. It is so odd, and yet so — manly, I should call it."
"Certainly, the letter is quite at Laura's disposal," answered the Hector, with a smile. " Read it, my dear. I admire its tone as much as Blanche does.'*
Lady Laura came to the table to take the letter, and, as she stood, glanced over it with some curiosity in her eyes. It was rather a singular letter, or at least it was a letter that expressed a great deal of character. It was frank, fearless, and unconstrained; honest, certainly, and by no means awkward in its tone....
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