Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with
that silent kiss, she dedicated herself soul and body
to Beth.
She was right. There was no need of any words
when they got home, for Father and Mother saw plainly
now what they had prayed to be saved from seeing.
Tired with her short journey, Beth went at once to
bed, saying how glad she was to be home, and when
Jo went down, she found that she would be spared the
hard task of telling Beth’s secret. Her
father stood leaning his head on the mantelpiece and
did not turn as she came in, but her mother stretched
out her arms as if for help, and Jo went to comfort
her without a word.
NEW IMPRESSIONS
At three o’clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable
world at Nice may be seen on the Promenade des Anglais—a
charming place, for the wide walk, bordered with palms,
flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded on one side
by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined
with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange orchards
and the hills. Many nations are represented,
many languages spoken, many costumes worn, and on
a sunny day the spectacle is as gay and brilliant
as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French,
sober Germans, handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians,
meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, all drive, sit,
or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criticizing
the latest celebrity who has arrived—Ristori
or Dickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich
Islands. The equipages are as varied as the
company and attract as much attention, especially
the low basket barouches in which ladies drive themselves,
with a pair of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep their
voluminous flounces from overflowing the diminutive
vehicles, and little grooms on the perch behind.
Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man
walked slowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat
absent expression of countenance. He looked
like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and
had the independent air of an American—a
combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine
eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies
in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties,
buff gloves, and orange flowers in their buttonholes,
to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches.
There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but the
young man took little notice of them, except to glance
now and then at some blonde girl in blue. Presently
he strolled out of the promenade and stood a moment
at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go and
listen to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander
along the beach toward Castle Hill. The quick
trot of ponies’ feet made him look up, as one
of the little carriages, containing a single young
lady, came rapidly down the street. The lady
was young, blonde, and dressed in blue. He stared
a minute, then his whole face woke up, and, waving
his hat like a boy, he hurried forward to meet her.
