Purple eBooks

That evening, the family were alone in their new home. The plain
rush-bottomed chairs and sober carpet, in contrast with the dark,
solid mahogany table, and the silver branched candle-stick which
stood upon it, hinted of former wealth and present loss; and
something of the same contrast was reflected in the habits of the
inmates. While the father, seated in a stately arm-chair, read
aloud to his wife and children, Sylvia's eyes rested on a guitar-
case in the corner, and her fingers absently adjusted
themselves to the imaginary frets. De Courcy twisted his neck as
if the straight collar of his coat were a bad fit, and Henry, the
youngest boy, nodded drowsily from time to time.
"There, my lads and lasses!" said Henry Donnelly, as he closed the
book, "now we're plain farmers at last,--and the plainer the
better, since it must be. There's only one thing wanting--"
He paused; and Sylvia, looking up with a bright, arch
determination, answered: "It's too late now, father,--they have
seen me as one of the world's people, as I meant they should.


Pages:
96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120