so long to ask if I may just go into the Gardens with Arthur to look at the skating-only for a few minutes, mama. This last was in a tone of entreaty, for Mrs. Hamerton looked very doubtful indeed over the request. "Oh let her go!" said Mr Hamerton, with his hearty manner. "Arthur must promise to keep her out only a few minutes. I don't think you have been out all day, have you Merry?—I don't wonder you want a run.' Arthur Wansy was standing on the great fur rug which lay in front of the drawing-room fire. He had been sitting in a lounging chair, but had risen on hearing the Hamertons come in; and now he seemed to find a certain languid pleasure in contemplating the group before him, which, framed in the heavy curtains of the archway, was certainly a very charming one. Merry had flung herself upon her mother, and was pressing her warm face against Mrs. Hamerton's, which was cold with the outer air; and Mr. Hamerton, with that physical amiability more common in big than in little men, was submitting to be kept standing behind. them in the doorway. "It is getting so dark and cold now," said Mrs. Hamerton, hesitating; "why do you want to take her, Arthur?" They all seemed to expect an answer to this question, and Arthur Wansy, although gifted with a great amount of self-possession, seemed rather puzzled how to reply to it. After a moment's pause he said, "Because she looks so pretty in her furs." They all laughed. Mr. Hamerton laughed heartily. Mrs. Hamerton with amusement, but a little less glee. However, the ingenuous compliment caught her, and she yielded. "Run and put "Run and put on the furs, Merry," she said, "but be very quick, for you must be home soon." Arthur, having obtained his wish, sat down in a very easy chair by the fireside with much of the air and appearance of a tame cat, and he seemed to be something of the sort, for Mr. and Mrs. Hamerton scarcely noticed him, but began to discuss some purchases they had been making at a sale of old china. They were debating which of the cabinets should be re-arranged to admit the new treasures, and they proceeded with the discussion, paying no more attention to Arthur than if he really had been a familiar tabby. He, meantime, sat lazily in his comfortable corner, waiting for Miss Hamerton's return. was back again in something like two minutes, looking certainly very pretty in her furs. Lazily Arthur rose from his lounge and joined her. Mr. Hamerton smiled at the two and just said, “Be quick back, Merry dear, or you will get cold." Mrs. Hamerton sat down in the lounge which Arthur vacated, and loosed her cloak impatiently, as if its pressure across her chest was more than she could bear. She Gerald," she said, "I wish that boy would do something which would give me an excuse to forbid him the house. I hate to have him always hanging after our Merry." My dear, they are little more than children, and while he lives next door it is but natural that they should run about a little together. It would do more harm than good to interfere in any way." "I suppose so," said Mrs. Hamerton more quietly, yet with a distress in her voice; but still I don't like it. Our Merry is too dear a child to be so much with a young man like Arthur, who I know is both selfish and fast. I can see it in his eyes." Mr. Hamerton came and knelt on the hearthrug by his wife's chair and took her hand. He was a tall, broad-shouldered fine man of middle age, with just that touch of coming snow upon his hair which is more beautiful about a face on which experience has placed its mark, than any aureole of gold. He was a man of large physical presence and considerable dignity, yet he had retained that boyishness which always clings about a gentle nature, and it enabled him. to kneel at his wife's side with all of-perhaps more than the grace of a young lover. 66 Little woman," he said, "don't worry yourself. Those two are boy and girl together; if we interfere, it will just suggest to him that he might make love to her." 'I know," said Mrs. Hamerton, "but still we must do something. We will try to get Clotilda Raymond to stay with us for a week or two; it would give Merry a companion, and one, too, who I am sure is very good for her." "Yes, Clotilda is a very sweet girl," said Mr. Hamerton thoughtfully; "but she is so clever, I sometimes think she hardly cares for our Merry." "No one can help loving Merry," I cried Mrs. Hamerton with some warmth. "She does not write verse like Clotilda. She is not all brains; but, dear me, Gerald, even poets know the beauty of a sweet, pure nature, true and constant as a rock, like our little girl's." "Why dear, I know!" said Mr. Hamerton, laughing a little at his wife's indignation; "all I meant was that I did not know whether Clotilda found herself rather out of her natural element with us." "Oh no," said Mrs. Hamerton, "so many of her friends come here that I think she is happy. And it does her good, because her life is almost too intellectualwhile ours is perhaps not quite intellectual enough." She finished her speech with an amused laugh. "You are severe, Bertha," said Mr. Hamerton, rising from his knees and drawing himself up, as he stood in front of the bright fire. "You are very severe; but doubtless you are right. We do the best we can, I think; and if the Creator did not over-burden us with brains, we cannot well help it. But there is one thing which I really believe we do very well: and that is appreciating what other people do." "Just so," said Mrs. Hamerton with a smile, half of amusement, half of genuine enjoyment. She rose, as she spoke, with the intention of leaving the room; but she paused a moment at her husband's side, and looked around. Certainly the evidences of a capacity of appreciation were all about her. The room was a sort of temple of art in itself, and gave, even to an unobservant eye, a deep sense of repose which penetrated to the very soul and quieted it. One peculiar magic in pure art lies in its power of appeal, not only to the intensely æsthetic eyes, but also to those hardly awakened to beauty. To these latter it simply conveys a sense of perfection which gives a feeling of rest and peace. None can be so blind as not to derive some delight from Perugino's pictures, although many will be unaware of what it is which penetrates to their souls and soothes them. They do not understand where the perfection lies which overpowers their senses. Even the unartistic would have a feeling of this kind in entering the Hamertons' house. When the hall door shut behind you, London and its dreariness was shut out, and not only that, but forgotten; you had entered an atmosphere of art, and the very first breath of it brings a certain intoxication of the senses. : Mr. Hamerton had some right to speak of his power of appreciation he was a critic and collector whose approbation delighted artists. He thought his wife (after eighteen years of marriage) the most beautiful and charming woman in the world; he had placed her in a home which might almost be pronounced as beautiful as a home could be. If it was a temple of art, Bertha Hamerton was its priestess. "Let me take your furs away, Bertha," said her husband, "and you rest here till the tea comes; you are tired, I know." "Thank you, Gerald," said she, absently. She was thinking how happy she was, and, in the depth of her contentment, was scarcely conscious of the voice of its principal creator. He took off her cloak and sealskin cap, and put them aside; and then pushed her gently into a chair. "What are you dreaming of, little woman ?" he asked, after a little silence. "You, I fancy," she answered. Mr. Hamerton laughed as he stood up with an action as of straightening himself, which was habitual to him. "You are absurdly unlike the generality of women," he said; "it is unusual, isn't it, to stay in love with the same man for eighteen years?" Why, yes," she answered, "I should think it is unusual, because there are not many men like you." "I don't know about that, but certainly there are not many women with such a constant heart as yours. It is a great gift, that quality of constancy. I hope, and indeed I believe, our Merry has it from you." "I wish she would come in," said Mrs. Hamerton, a shade of uneasiness crossing her handsome, happy face. "Oh, she is all right," said Mr. Hamerton lightly; "Arthur will take care of her.' "Of course, but I never feel so uneasy about her as when she is with him. I have a presentiment that, if any trouble comes into our darling's life, it will be through Arthur Wansy." "Presentiments always mean the opposite thing," said Mr. Hamerton. "It is the only weakness in your character, that you are so fond of your dreams and fancies; and, just to show how foolish they are, here are the children coming upstairs. Don't you hear Merry's voice? "Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamerton. A second after the heavy curtain which hung over the arched entrance to the room was pushed aside, and Merry Hamerton, with a glowing face and sparkling eyes, danced into the room like an embodiment of joy. Mrs. Hamerton opened her arms instinctively, and the girl flung herself, furs and all, right into their embrace. No lovelier picture could be imagined than that made by the mother and daughter. Arthur Wansy leisurely coming through the curtains dropped them behind him, and paused to look at it, forgetting, in the pleasure of admiration, his usual habit of immediately ensconcing himself in a comfortable chair. Merry looked simply the most perfectly happy and brighteyed of English girls. Her mother had more the air of a Roman matron, for she wore a dress made much in the fashion which the ladies of Rome wore some two thousand years ago, and Roman ornaments arm . of beaten gold lay upon her neck and glittered in her dark hair. With her matured beauty, her stately preservation amid middle age of all the charms and fascinations of womanhood, she wore this picturesque dress as few women could wear it. The two had unconsciously placed themselves in a most charming attitude. Mrs. Hamerton was sitting on a wide carved seat, a chair which was a perfect example of pure Byzantine art. Its light wood, ornamented with brass and ivory, and the great yellow satin cushions which lay upon it, made a most perfect framework to her form, dressed in its curious robe of some dim yellow material. Right in her arms lay Merry, all covered with sealskin, so that only her bright young face flashed out from her dark figure. Mr. Hamerton, standing upon the hearthrug, hearthrug, watched them quietly, as he had often watched them before, with the same sense as they always gave him, that, beautiful as his house might be, it was the presence of these two which made it perfect. Crowded upon the tables in this room were specimens of ancient art, Greek, Roman, and Japanese, which were priceless. Yet, beauty-lover and votary of the arts as he was, the owner of all these things knew well enough that the true hearts of the two fair women, who made a home of this museum of beauty, were of a far more incalculable value than anything else which it contained. After a moment's pause in her pretty attitude, which had struck the two men with admiration, Merry turned her head. Her eyes flashed across first to Arthur, where he still stood by the curtains of the doorway. Mr. Hamerton, looking at her so intently, noticed the glance, and caught, as it were, the meeting of the two pairs of eyes, for his own travelled like lightning it; Perhaps this charitable wish made itself somehow felt in Mr. Hamerton's atmosphere. At all events, Arthur, after warming himself all round at the fire, took his leave without sitting down. Mr. Hamerton did not trouble to see him out, or even to ring for a servant. Arthur Wansy came in and out familiarly. When he had left the room Mr. Hamerton went and sat down in the wide seat beside his wife, and put his arm round Merry. He drew her towards him, took her hat off, and held her head against him, so that her clear eyes met his. "Do you remember," he said, "what you used to say when you were a little thing, just in your frocks, if you fell down and hurt yourself?" "No," said Merry. Then sudThen suddenly, "Oh, yes, I do!-'You great big boy, come and pick me up.' Wasn't that it ?" The father and mother both laughed heartily, for Merry spoke with a reminiscence of her infantile lisp, which came back to her tongue with the words. Gerald !" said Mrs. "I haven't heard that What ever made you "Why, Hamerton. for years. think of it again ?" "Because I don't want Merry to forget that I'm only a great big boy, one of whose vocations in life is to pick her up. Now, you two, you must go and dress. You know we dine at the McClintocks' tonight, and we positively must get there somewhere within an hour or so of the time they name. So be quick." Mrs. Hamerton looked at her watch-a tiny thing studded with jewels, but which nevertheless kept time-and started up at once. Come, Merry," she said, "it is really getting late. We will have tea while we are dressing. Take it up to my dressing room," she said to the servant, who was just then bringing it in. Arm in arm the mother and daughter went slowly up the wide stairs, where the walls were covered with pictures, and where statues stood at every corner -the simple loveliness of the marble gleaming against the tapestry hangings. The house was warm with beauty and stately with art at every turning. Merry went up, leaning almost heavily on her mother and with her eves on the ground. Presently she heaved a deep sigh. Mrs. Hamerton looked quickly at her; the sound was one so strange from this girl. A single tear had crept from under the dark lashes and quivered there upon her cheek. Merry, what is the matter?" "What a sad thing it is," she murmured to herself, that everybody has to grow up!" She felt a strange, heavy feeling at her heart, as if some unknown sorrow had penetrated its depths; but presently all this was quite banished and forgotten when the tea came, and with it Merry, clad in a pink dressing gown, her dusky hair all over her shoulders, and her eyes, so lately full of tears, sparkling with the mirth which, with this happy child, seemed perpetually to arise out of herself, like the waters of a sunlit fountain. No dark shape of sorrow had ever yet crossed her path. She was still in that joyous time when all the world appears to be irradiated with sunshine; when the poor and sick are in existence just to be the recipients of charity, and made happy by it; when the whole of mankind are more or less perfect, only differing in degree as to their virtues. Merry believed implicitly that everybody was good and that everybody was intended to be happy, and believed it, too, after seventeen years of experience in this cold world of ours. But then Merry, though she was perpetually in society, had actually hardly yet peeped beyond the curtains of her babyish bassinette. She was always sheltered under her mother's wing and guided by her father, and she naturally imagined that all the world was as true and as charming as Gerald and Bertha Hamerton. |