Beulah - Page 303/348

Mr. Lindsay's visits grew more frequent. At first Beulah wondered

what brought him so often from his distant home to the city, and

supposed it must be some legal business which engaged him; but

gradually a different solution dawned upon her mind. She rejected it

as the prompting of vanity, but again and again the supposition

recurred. The imperturbable gravity and repose of his manner often

disconcerted her. It was in vain that she resorted to sarcasm, and

irony; he was incorrigibly unruffled; in vain she was cold,

repellent, haughty; his quiet smile remained unaltered.

His superior, and thoroughly cultivated intellect, and the unaffected

simplicity of his manner, characterized by singular candor, rendered

him an unusually agreeable companion; but Beulah rebelled against

the unobtrusive yet constant care with which she fancied he watched

her. The seclusion of her life, and the reserve of her nature,

conspired to impart a degree of abruptness to her own manners; and

to one who understood her character less than Reginald Lindsay there

was an unhesitating sincerity of expression which might have been

termed rudeness.

The frequency of his visits attracted the attention

of strangers; already the busy tongue of meddling gossip had

connected their names; Dr. Asbury, too, bantered her unmercifully

upon his nephew's constant pilgrimages to the city; and the result

was that Mr. Lindsay's receptions grew colder and less flattering

continually. From the first she had not encouraged his visits, and

now she positively discouraged them by every intimation which the

rules of etiquette justified her in offering. Yet she respected,

esteemed, and in many things admired him; and readily confessed to

her own heart that his society often gave her pleasure.

One winter evening she sat alone by the dining-room fire, with a

newspaper in her hand, reading a notice of the last number of the

magazine, in which one of her sketches was roughly handled. Of

course she was no better pleased with the unflattering criticism

than the majority of writers in such cases. She frowned, bit her

lip, and wondered who could have written it. The review was

communicated, and the paper had been sent to her by some unknown

hand. Once more she read the article, and her brow cleared, while a

smile broke over her face. She had recognized a particular dictum,

and was no longer puzzled. Leaning her head on her palm, she sat

looking into the fire, ruminating on the objections urged against

her piece; it was the first time she had ever been unfavorably

criticised, and this was sufficient food for thought.

Mr. Lindsay came in and stood near her unobserved. They had not met

for several weeks, and she was not aware that he was in the city.

Charon, who lay on the rug at her feet, growled, and she looked

round.