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Love at Second Sight

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<h1 id="id00008" style="margin-top: 11em">LOVE AT SECOND SIGHT</h1> by ADA LEVERSON <h2 id="id00013" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER I</h2> An appalling crash, piercing shrieks, a loud, unequal quarrel on a staircase, the sharp bang of a door…. Edith started up from her restful corner on the blue sofa by the fire, where she had been thinking about her guest, and rushed to the door. 'Archie—Archie! Come here directly! What's that noise?' A boy of ten came calmly into the room. 'It wasn't me that made the noise,' he said, 'it was Madame Frabelle.' His mother looked at him. He was a handsome, fair boy with clear grey eyes that looked you straight in the face without telling you anything at all, long eyelashes that softened, but gave a sly humour to his glance, a round face, a very large forehead, and smooth straw-coloured hair. Already at this early age he had the expressionless reserve of the public school where he was to be sent, with something of the suave superiority of the university for which he was intended. Edith thought he inherited both of these traits from her. * * * * * She gazed at him, wondering, as she had often wondered, at the impossibility of guessing, even vaguely, what was really going on behind that large brow. And he looked back observantly, but not expressively, at her. She was a slim, fair, pretty woman, with more vividness and character than usually goes with her type. Like the boy, she had long-lashed grey eyes, and blond-cendre hair: her mouth and chin were of the Burne-Jones order, and her charm, which was great but unintentional, and generally unconscious, appealed partly to the senses and partly to the intellect. She was essentially not one of those women who irritate all their own sex by their power (and still more by their fixed determination) to attract men; she was really and unusually indifferent to general admiration. Still, that she was not a cold woman, not incapable of passionate feeling, was obvious to any physiognomist; the fully curved lips showed her generous and pleasure-loving temperament, while the softly glancing, intelligent, smiling eyes spoke fastidiousness and discrimination. Her voice was low and soft, with a vibrating sound in it, and she laughed often and easily, being very ready to see and enjoy the amusing side of life. But observation and emotion alike were instinctively veiled by a quiet, reposeful manner, so that she made herself further popular by appearing retiring. Edith Ottley might so easily have been the centre of any group, and yet—she was not! Women were grateful to her, and in return admitted that she was pretty, unaffected and charming. Today she was dressed very simply in dark blue and might have passed for Archie's elder sister. 'It isn't anything. It wasn't my fault. It was her fault. Madame Frabelle said she would teach me to take away her mandolin and use it for a cricket bat. She needn't teach me; I know already.' 'Now, Archie, you know perfectly well you've no right to go into her room when she isn't there.' 'How can I go in when she is there?… She won't let me. Besides, I don't want to.' 'It isn't nice of you; you ought not to go into her room without her permission.' 'It isn't her room; it's your room. At least, it's the spare room.' 'Have you done any harm to the mandolin?' He paused a little, as he often did before answering, as if in absence of mind, and then said, as though starting up from a reverie: 'Er—no. No harm.' 'Well, what have you done?' 'I can mend it,' he answered. 'Madame Frabelle has been very kind to you, Archie. I'm sorry you're not behaving nicely to a guest in your mother's house. It isn't the act of a gentleman.' 'Oh. Well, there are a great many things in her room, Mother; some of them are rather jolly.' 'Go and say you're sorry, Archie. And you mustn't do it again.' 'Will it be the act of a gentleman to say I'm sorry? It'll be the act of a story-teller, you know.' 'What! Aren't you sorry to have bothered her?' 'I'm sorry she found it out,' he said, as he turned to the door. 'These perpetual scenes and quarrels between my son and my guest are most painful to me,' Edith said, with assumed solemnity. He looked grave. 'Well, she needn't have quarrelled.' 'But isn't she very kind to you?' 'Yes, she isn't bad sometimes. I like it when she tells me lies about what her husband used to do—I mean stories. She's not a bad sort…. Is she a homeless refugette, Mother?' 'Not exactly that. She's a widow, and she's staying with us, and we must be nice to her. Now, you won't forget again, will you?' 'Right. But I can mend it.' 'I think I'd better go up and see her,' said Edith. Archie politely opened the door for his mother. 'I shouldn't, if I were you,' he said. Edith slowly went back to the fire. 'Well, I'll leave her a little while, perhaps. Now do go and do something useful.' 'What, useful? Gracious! I haven't got much more of my holidays, Mother.' 'That's no reason why you should spend your time in worrying everybody, and smashing the musical instruments of guests that are under your roof.' He looked up at the ceiling and smiled, as if pleased at this way of putting it. 'I suppose she's very glad to have a roof to her mouth—I mean to her head,' he hurriedly corrected. 'But, Mother, she isn't poor. She has an amber necklace. Besides, she gave Dilly sixpence the other day for not being frightened of a cow. If she can afford to give a little girl sixpence for every animal she says she isn't afraid of!'… 'That only proves she's kind. And I didn't say she was poor; that's not the point. We must be nice and considerate to anyone staying with us—don't you see?' He became absent-minded again for a minute. 'Well, I shouldn't be surprised if she'll be able to use it again,' he said consolingly—'the mandolin, I mean. Besides, what's the good of it anyway? I say, Mother, are all foreigners bad-tempered?' 'Madame Frabelle is not a foreigner.' 'I never said she was. But her husband was. He used to get into frightful rages with her sometimes. She says he was a noble fellow. She liked him awfully, but she says he never understood her. Do you suppose she talked English to him?' 'That's enough, Archie. Go and find something to do.' As he went out he turned round again and said: 'Does father like her?' 'Why, yes, of course he does.' 'How funny!' said Archie. 'Well, I'll say I'm sorry … when I see her again.' Edith kissed him, a proceeding that he bore heroically. He was kissable, but she seldom gave way to the temptation. Then she went back to the sofa. She wanted to go on thinking about that mystery, her guest. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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