The Widowed Bride — page 75: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

66 THE WIDOWED BRIDE. ‘‘T wish you would tell me what you mean, dear,” pleaded Alice. To do just what I have accomplished,” laughed Rena. “Dry those tears and make you smile again. Come, you promised to put the blue ribbon hoops on my cape this after- noon, and I want to wear it.” - And:-while Alice’s deft little fingers turned, twisted, and adjusted the soft folds of azure ribbon, her sister rammaged in the old portfolio, which contained their literary belong- ings. ‘‘What are you looking for, Rena?’ the younger sister asked, carelessly, ‘‘Only my exercise-book,” Rena answered, with a demure twinkle in her eyes. ‘‘I’ve found it now!” But it was not her exercise-book which she had sought and found; it was merely a sheet of written sentences which M. Adolphe Lemaire, the French teacher, had given her a month ago to work into compositions, the better to accus- tom herself to the foreign idioms and phrases. M. Adolphe Lemaire was a tall, sentimental-looking Frenchman, with liquid dark eyes, a silky jet mustache, and features as correctly chiseled as a cameo. Add to this the fact that he was only six or seven-and-twenty, with chival- rous manners, full of dignity and reserve, and a romantic story of ancient descent and blighted circumstance, and it will scarcely be marveled at that half the demoiselles at Hartford Lodge professed an adoration for Monsieur Le- maire. Miss Cheriton, in particular, took no pains to conceal her admiration for the dark-eyed Gascon, but openly treasured a faded moss rosebud which had once fallen from the young professor’s button-hoie, and declared she would give half she owned in the world for a Icck of the shining black hair which drooped in wavy rings over the young man’s ivory- fair forehead. Miss Cheriton was in no way distinguished as a scholar, but if she did work hard and conscientiously at any one thing it was her French. It signified little to her whether or not she was a fool in either respect, but she sighed for M. Lemaire’s softly spoken words of approba- tion—a need which, to tell the truth, she was very seldom > gratified by receiving. } “Still at your French exercise, my dear?” resumed Miss Hartford, as she passed through the study-room that even- comicbooks.com — AA , ! ruar . } ‘ : ' i 4 ” Si 7 - *4 se A : is bh 1 OTe i ae | i ae yoy he he itt © ue - » ~~, [> oe at 1 une Le ates} a