"The name of Bly is not unfamiliar to me," continued Mrs.Brooks, pointing to a chair and sinking resignedly into another, where her baleful shawl at once assumed the appearance of a dust-cover; "some of my dearest friends were intimate with the Blys of Philadelphia.They were a branch of the Maryland Blys of the eastern shore, of whom my Uncle James married. Perhaps you are distantly related?"Mrs.Brooks was perfectly aware that her visitor was of unknown Western origin, and a poor but clever protege of the rich banker; but she was one of a certain class of American women who, in the midst of a fierce democracy, are more or less cat-like conservators of family pride and lineage, and more or less felinely inconsistent and treacherous to republican principles.Bly, who had just settled in his mind to send her the rent anonymously--as a weekly valentine--recovered himself and his spirits in his usual boyish fashion.
"I am afraid, Mrs.Brooks," he said gayly, "I cannot lay claim to any distinguished relationship, even to that 'Nelly Bly' who, you remember, 'winked her eye when she went to sleep.'" He stopped in consternation.The terrible conviction flashed upon him that this quotation from apopular negro-minstrel song could not possibly be remembered by a lady as refined as his hostess, or even known to her superior son.The conviction was intensified by Mrs.Brooks rising with a smileless face, slightly shedding the possible vulgarity with a shake of her shawl, and remarking that she would show him her son's room, led the way upstairs to the apartment recently vacated by the perfect Tappington.
Preceded by the same distant flutter of unseen skirts in the passage which he had first noticed on entering the drawing-room, and which evidently did not proceed from his companion, whose self- composed cerements would have repressed any such indecorous agitation, Mr.Bly stepped timidly into the room.It was a very pretty apartment, suggesting the same touches of tasteful refinement in its furniture and appointments, and withal so feminine in its neatness and regularity, that, conscious of his frontier habits and experience, he felt at once repulsively incongruous."I cannot expect, Mr.Bly," said Mrs.Brooks resignedly, "that you can share my son's extreme sensitiveness to disorder and irregularity; but I must beg you to avoid as much as possible disturbing the arrangement of the book- shelves, which, you observe, comprise his books of serious reference, the Biblical commentaries, and the sermons which were his habitual study.I must beg you to exercise the same care in reference to the valuable offerings from his Sabbath-school scholars which are upon the mantel.The embroidered book-marker, the gift of the young ladies of his Bible- class in Dr.Stout's church, is also, you perceive, kept for ornament and affectionate remembrance.The harmonium-- even if you are not yourself given to sacred song--I trust you will not find in your way, nor object to my daughter continuing her practice during your daily absence.Thank you.The door you are looking at leads by a flight of steps to the side street.""A very convenient arrangement," said Bly hopefully, who saw a chance for an occasional unostentatious escape from a too protracted contemplation of Tappington's perfections."I mean," he added hurriedly, "to avoid disturbing you at night.""I believe my son had neither the necessity nor desire to use it for that purpose," returned Mrs.Brooks severely; "although he found it sometimesa convenient short cut to church on Sabbath when he was late."Bly, who in his boyish sensitiveness to external impressions had by this time concluded that a life divided between the past perfections of Tappington and the present renunciations of Mrs.Brooks would be intolerable, and was again abstractedly inventing some delicate excuse for withdrawing without committing himself further, was here suddenly attracted by a repetition of the rustling of the unseen skirt.This time it was nearer, and this time it seemed to strike even Mrs.Brooks's remote preoccupation."My daughter, who is deeply devoted to her brother," she said, slightly raising her voice, "will take upon herself the care of looking after Tappington's precious mementoes, and spare you the trouble.Cherry, dear! this way.This is the young gentleman spoken of by Mr.Carstone, your papa's friend. My daughter Cherubina, Mr.Bly."The fair owner of the rustling skirt, which turned out to be a pretty French print, had appeared at the doorway.She was a tall, slim blonde, with a shy, startled manner, as of a penitent nun who was suffering for some conventual transgression--a resemblance that was heightened by her short-cut hair, that might have been cropped as if for punishment.A certain likeness to her mother suggested that she was qualifying for that saint's ascetic shawl--subject, however, to rebellious intervals, indicated in the occasional sidelong fires of her gray eyes.Yet the vague impression that she knew more of the world than her mother, and that she did not look at all as if her name was Cherubina, struck Bly in the same momentary glance.
"Mr.Bly is naturally pleased with what he has seen of our dear Tappington's appointments; and as I gather from Mr.Carstone's letter that he is anxious to enter at once and make the most of the dear boy's absence, you will see, my dear Cherry, that Ellen has everything ready for him?"Before the unfortunate Bly could explain or protest, the young girl lifted her gray eyes to his.Whether she had perceived and understood his perplexity he could not tell; but the swift shy glance was at once appealing, assuring, and intelligent.She was certainly unlike her mother and brother.Acting with his usual impulsiveness, he forgot his previous resolution, and before he left had engaged to begin his occupation of theroom on the following day.
