He looked at Di. The inevitable book was on her knee, but its leaves
were uncut; the strong-minded knob of hair still asserted its
supremacy aloft upon her head, and the triangular jacket still adorned
her shoulders in defiance of all fashions, past, present, or to come;
but the expression of her brown countenance had grown softer, her
tongue had found a curb, and in her hand lay a card with "Potts,
Kettel, & Co." inscribed thereon, which she regarded with never a
scornful word for the "Co."
He looked at Laura. She was before her easel, as of old; but the pale
nun had given place to a blooming girl, who sang at her work, which
was no prim Pallas, but a Clytie turning her human face to meet the
sun.
"John, what are you thinking of?"
He stirred as if Di's voice had disturbed his fancy at some pleasant
pastime, but answered with his usual sincerity,--
"I was thinking of a certain dear old fairy tale called 'Cinderella.'"
"Oh!" said Di; and her "Oh" was a most impressive monosyllable. "I see
the meaning of your smile now; and though the application of the story
is not very complimentary to all parties concerned, it is very just
and very true."
She paused a moment, then went on with softened voice and earnest
mien:--
"You think I am a blind and selfish creature. So I am, but not so
blind and selfish as I have been; for many tears have cleared my eyes,
and much sincere regret has made me humbler than I was. I have found a
better book than any father's library can give me, and I have read it
with a love and admiration that grew stronger as I turned the leaves.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148