"
They went together. Gaspar's preference soon became apparent
he would not leave Beatrice, and Lord Airlie devotedly wished him
at the antipodes.
They sat down under the shade of a tall lady-birch, the deep,
sunlit lake shining through the trees. Then Gaspar, taking a
little book in his hands, asked:
"Have you read 'Undine,' Miss Earle--Fonque's 'Undine?'"
"No," she replied; "I am half ashamed to say so."
"It is the sweetest, saddest story ever written," he continued.
"This is just the morning for it. May I read it to you?"
There was a general and pleased murmur of assent. Lord Airlie
muttered to himself that he knew the fellow would air his German
sentiment--at their expense.
Still it was very pleasant. There was a gentle ripple on the
deep lake, the water washed among the tall reeds, and splashed
with a faint, musical murmur on the stones; the thick leafy
branches rustled in the wind; the birds sang in the trees.
Gaspar Laurence read well; his voice was clear and distinct; not
a word of the beautiful story was lost.
Beatrice listened like one in a dream.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322