style="font-size:15px;"> “Still, it would be more pleasant,” replied Hugh, “if your husbands could arrange their business affairs and accompany you.”
“I am not so sure about that,” said Mrs. Osborn, and she gave her pretty shoulders a shrug and looked at Hugh so intently that, in sheer embarrassment, he looked away. It began to dawn upon him that she loved adoration and adorers alike. Presently Mrs. Osborn laughed softly, and said:
“Why, what a silly one! You are either the most ingeniously clever man or else the most intensely innocent one I ever met.”
“I fear,” said Hugh, confusedly, “that I am not very clever, and I am quite sure that I am not worthy to be called innocent.”
“You are a contradiction,” went on Mrs. Osborn, as if Hugh had not spoken, “and yet – well, really you interest me. We must see more of each other – but here we are at the Grove, and there is my dear friend, Mrs. Horton, on the veranda.”
Hugh was soon presented to Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton, who received him with unfeigned cordiality. “My husband,” said she, “has spoken so much of you since your chance meeting the other day, that I have been quite impatient to meet you.”
“Well, I like that,” said Mrs. Osborn, with a haughty air and elevated eyebrows, addressing her hostess. “Indeed, have you only heard of Mr. Stanton through your husband? Does all I have said go for nothing?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear Lucy,” replied Mrs. Horton. “Of course you were the first to tell us about him.” Then, addressing Hugh, she continued, “My friend Mrs. Osborn, I assure you, has been most profuse in complimentary remarks.”
“I am powerless to express my gratitude,” said Hugh, gallantly.
“Mr. Stanton,” said stately Mrs. Horton, bowing, “my daughter, Miss Ethel.” With true frontier hospitality Ethel advanced and, extending both her hands to Hugh, said:
“You are, indeed, most welcome, Mr. Stanton. It was daddy’s wish that we make you feel at home when you called, and it will not be my fault if we fail in doing so.”
Hugh stammered out his thanks, as he accepted a chair. Ethel was a revelation to him. She was the same girl on her father’s ranch that she had been at Lake Geneva, when she completely captivated Jack Redfield. To Hugh she seemed a budding rose just opening into a greater beauty; and yet, what could add to her loveliness! She seemed a queen just stepping from a canvas. Her eyes, her mouth, her nose, her hair, her smile, her voice – these were among the entrancing glories of Ethel Horton.
Hugh Stanton did not believe that he loved her – no, not that – he simply longed to know her better, to give her his confidence and to receive hers in return – a generous, platonic regard, actuated by, well – only respect, he told himself.
The day marked an epoch in Hugh Stanton’s life. The seeds of a mysterious ambition had been planted – what of the harvest?
CHAPTER X. – HOME OF THE HORTONS
JOHN HORTON had erected his home upon a little hill overlooking a lake that had been made by damming the Manaroya. More than twenty acres of placid water were within its shores. Rising back of the house – which, of itself, was palatial – was a picturesque hill, much higher than the one upon which had been built the residence. This hill was covered with heavy forest trees that stretched away to the north. The grounds about the Horton country home were laid out as artistically as a city park. A wide, terraced green sward stretched away from the house to the very edge of the lake. Ornamental shrubbery and fruit-trees were growing here and there, and numerous fountains played their vapory waters over fragrant flower-beds. A veranda, southern in its appearance, extended along the front and one side of the house.
The interior of the Horton house was richly elegant. There was one room in which Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton had assembled the art treasures which she had picked up in her travels. Rare old china and Dresden ware, bowls from Corea, mounted buffalo-horns and deer-antlers – were all arranged together in complete harmony as if they had been lifelong friends instead of strangers gathered from the antipodes. Indeed, this palace home of the Occident had been enriched by some of the choicest treasures of the Orient. Paintings from masters and rich tapestries and hangings suggested, at once, refinement and a lavish expenditure of money. And still there was a warmth of welcome pervading the Horton home that robbed it of stiffness and formality.
While the hostess and her daughter were entertaining Mrs. Osborn and Hugh on the veranda, Mr. Horton joined them and assured Hugh that he felt honored by his presence. He hoped that his visit was but the beginning of an acquaintance that would ripen into lasting friendship.
“I cannot understand it,” John Horton had said to his wife, when telling her of his meeting with Hugh, “but I feel interested in that young man in an inexplicable manner. I like the spirit he displayed when I was chaffing him about being on other people’s land.”
The dinner-hour passed pleasantly. Hugh quite forgot all thought of embarrassment and joined heartily in the informal conversation. During the dinner, Mrs. Horton mentioned, incidentally, that Dr. Lenox Avondale would probably visit them during the fall.
“We shall give him a hearty welcome,” observed Mr. Horton, “and even though we live on the frontier, we are nevertheless whole-souled fellows, Mr. Stanton.”
Hugh could not understand it, but he was conscious of displeasure and resentment at the mere mention of the Englishman’s name. An invisible thorn pierced a half-formed ambition. Ethel sat at his right, and until now he had quite forgotten Mrs. Osborn’s warning in regard to Ethel’s betrothal.
“I am just wild to show him how we American girls can ride,” said Ethel, enthusiastically. “Would n’t it be great sport, daddy, if Doctor Lenox Avondale, by mistake, should try to ride one of our bucking broncos? Oh, it would be glorious!” she laughed.
“I believe it would test his horsemanship most thoroughly,” replied Mr. Horton, much amused.
“Ethel,” said her mother, chidingly, “you must not think of playing any jokes on Doctor Lenox Avondale.” Then, addressing Hugh, she continued, “He is quite a distinguished surgeon, late of the English army. He has been traveling in America for over a year. All last winter he was in the Southern States. He belongs to one of the oldest families in England.”
“He is so intellectual,” observed Mrs. Osborn, “and just blasi enough to be interesting. He does not pretend to possess great goodness or innocence, but I daresay he is quite as good as many who do.”
As Mrs. Osborn made this remark she cast a furtive glance at Hugh; and he, remembering their conversation during the drive, colored perceptibly. After dinner they returned to the veranda, where Hugh found himself near Ethel.
“Are you a good horseman, Mr. Stanton?” she asked.
“I can’t say that I am a good horseman,” said Hugh, emphasizing the word “good,” “though I am very fond of riding.”
“It seems so strange that one like yourself should come away out here on the frontier to live,” said the girl, as her eyes rested inquiringly on his face.
“My coming here,” replied Hugh, “happened in a most natural way. I do not see anything strange about it. Thousands of people are immigrating to the West.”
“Yes, but you had to leave your home and your people,” said she.
“Almost every
