The Master's Violin Part 15

"Legal daughter," Iris suggested.

"Legal daughter is just as good as any other kind of a daughter. That makes me your cousin."

"Legal cousin," explained Iris, "but not moral."

"It's all the same, even in East Lancaster. I'm your legal cousin-once-removed."

"Grand-legal-cousin-once-removed," repeated Iris, parrot-like, with her eyes fixed upon a distant robin.

"That's just the same as a plain cousin."

"You're plain enough to be a plain cousin," she observed, and the colour deepened upon Lynn's handsome face.

"So I'm going to kiss you again."

"You're not," she said, with an air of finality. She flew into the house and took refuge beside Mrs. Irving.

"Mother," cried Lynn, closely following, "isn't Iris my cousin?"

"No, dear; she's no relation at all."

"So now!" exclaimed Iris, in triumph. "Grand-legal-cousin-once-removed, you will please make your escape immediately."

"Little witch!" thought Lynn, as he went upstairs; "I'll see that she doesn't slap me next time."

"Iris," said Mrs. Irving, suddenly, "you are very beautiful."

"Am I, really?" For a moment the girl's deep eyes were filled with wonder, and then she smiled. "It is because you love me," she said, dropping a tiny kiss upon Margaret's white forehead; "and because I love you, I think you are beautiful, too."

Alone in her room, Iris studied herself in her small mirror. It was just large enough to see one's face in, for Aunt Peace did not believe in cultivating vanity--in others. In her own room was a long pier-gla.s.s, where a certain young person stole brief glimpses of herself.

"I'll go in there," she thought. "Aunt Peace is in the kitchen, and no one will know."

She left the door open, that she might hear approaching footsteps, and was presently lost in contemplation. She turned her head this way and that, taking pleasure in the gleam of light upon the shining coils of her hair, and in the rosy tint of her cheeks. Just above the corner of her mouth, there was the merest dimple.

Iris smiled, and then poked an inquiring finger into it. "I didn't know I had that," she said to herself, in surprise. "I wonder why I couldn't have a gla.s.s like this in my room? There's one in the attic--I know there is,--and oh, how lovely it would be!"

"It's where I kissed you," said Lynn, from the doorway. "If you'll keep still, I'll make another one for you on the other side. You didn't have that dimple yesterday."

"Mr. Irving," replied Iris, with icy calmness, "you will kindly let me pa.s.s."

He stepped aside, half afraid of her in this new mood, and she went down the hall to her own room. She shut the door with unmistakable firmness, and Lynn sighed. "Happy mirror!" he thought. "She's the prettiest thing that ever looked into it."

But was she, after all? Since the great mirror came over-seas, as part of the marriage portion of a bride, many young eyes had sought its shining surface and lingered upon the vision of their own loveliness.

Many a woman, day by day, had watched herself grow old, and the mirror had seen tears because of it. The portraits in the hall and the old mirror had shared many a secret together. Happily, neither could betray the other's confidence.

Iris, meanwhile, was finding such satisfaction as she might in the smaller gla.s.s, and meditating upon the desirability of the one in the attic. "I'll ask Aunt Peace," she thought, and knew, instantly, that she wouldn't ask Aunt Peace for worlds.

"I'm vain," she said to herself, reprovingly; "I'm a vain little thing, and I won't look in the mirror any more, so there!"

She reviewed her humdrum round of daily duties with increasing pity for herself. Then, she had had only the books and the people who moved across their eloquent pages, but now? Surely, Cupid had come to East Lancaster.

Just think! Two letters, not so very far apart, from someone who worshipped her at a distance and was afraid to sign his name! And this very day, not more than an hour ago, she had been kissed. No man had ever kissed Iris before, not even a grand-legal-cousin-once-removed.

Still, she rather wished it hadn't happened, for she felt different, someway. It would have been better if the writer of the letters had done it. A romance like this set her far above the commonplace--she felt very much older than Lynn, and was inclined to patronise him. He was nothing but a boy, who chased one around the garden with worms and put gra.s.shoppers in one's hat. Yet one could pardon those things, when one was so undeniably popular.

After tea, they sat in the shadowy coolness of the parlour, waiting. The very air was expectant. Aunt Peace was beautiful in shimmering white, with the emerald gleaming at her throat. Mrs. Irving, as always, wore a black gown, and Iris had donned her best lavender muslin, in honour of the occasion.

"Why can't we go outside?" asked Margaret.

"We can, my dear," returned Aunt Peace, "but I was taught that it was better to wait in the house until after calling hours. Of course, there are few visitors in East Lancaster, but even on a desert island one must observe the proprieties, and a lady will always receive her guests in the house."

While she was speaking, Doctor Brinkerhoff opened the gate. Miss Field affected not to see him, and waited until the maid ushered him in. "Good evening, Doctor," she said, "I a.s.sure you this is quite a pleasure."

His manner toward the others was gentle, and even courtly, but he distinguished Miss Field by elaborate deference. If he disagreed with her, it was with evident respect for her opinion, and upon all disputed points he seemed eager to be convinced.

"Shall we not go into the garden?" asked Aunt Peace, addressing them all. "We were just upon the point of going, Doctor, when you came."

She led the way, with the Doctor beside her, attentive, gallant, and considerate. Margaret came next, with Miss Field's white shawl. Behind were Lynn and Iris, laughing like children at some secret joke. By a strange coincidence, five chairs were arranged in a sociable group under the tall pine in a corner of the garden.

"Yes," Miss Field was saying, "I think East Lancaster is most beautiful at this time of year. I have not travelled much, but I have seen pictures, and I am content with my own little corner of the world."

"And yet, madam," returned the Doctor, "you would so much enjoy travelling. It is too bad that you cannot go abroad."

"Perhaps I may. I have not thought of it, but as you speak of it, it seems to me that it might be very pleasant to go."

"Aunt Peace!" exclaimed Mrs. Irving. "What are you thinking of!"

"Not of my seventy-five years, my dear; you may be sure of that."

"Why shouldn't she go?" asked Lynn. "Aunt Peace could go anywhere and come back safely. Everybody she met would fall in love with her, and see that she was comfortable."

"Quite right!" said the Doctor, with evident sincerity.

"Flatterers!" she laughed. "Fie upon you!" But there was a note of happy youthfulness in the voice, and they knew that she was pleased.

"If you go, madam," the Doctor continued, "it will be my pleasure to give you letters to friends of mine in Germany."

"Thank you," she returned, with a stately inclination of her head. "It would be very kind."

"And," he went on, "I have many books which would be of service to you.

Shall I bring some of them, the next time I come?"

"I would not trouble you, Doctor, but sometime, if you happened to be pa.s.sing."

"Yes," he answered, "when I happen to be pa.s.sing. I shall not forget."