Violet Osborne (Complete)
9781465511720
418 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“Which of all those charming girls is your daughter, Mrs. Osborne?” inquired a gentleman of a lady, in whose house a small party was assembled. “But no, do not tell me; I like to make people out for myself.” “Thank you,” replied Mrs. Osborne, who was a little deaf, and of all this speech, having only heard the word charming, applied it to her party. The gentleman smiled, and, aware of her infirmity, raised his voice. “I am trying to make out Miss Osborne. It amuses me to guess people’s situations from their actions, and their characters from their looks. It is Miss Osborne’s birthday to-day, is it not?” “Yes. Violet begins her life to-day. God grant it may be a happy one!” There was something touching in the warmth of this speech, contrasting as it did with the calm and inanimate repose deafness had given to Mrs. Osborne’s manner. “We will at any rate anticipate it for her,” replied her companion kindly; “she is good, I am sure, and, unless for some special purpose it is otherwise ordained, happiness comes to the good.” “She is good, certainly,” said Mrs. Osborne, with the same eagerness of speech; “she lives only to make others happy.” “I have found Miss Osborne!” cried the gentleman, a few moments afterwards. “Is she not the young lady with red roses in her hair?” “Yes, that is Violet. How did you make her out?” “Because of what you told me. I saw somebody—I had remarked her for some time—thinking first of others and last of number one. I congratulate you on your daughter, Mrs. Osborne; she is charming. Beautiful, and still more good than beautiful.” “You are very kind to say so,” said Mrs. Osborne, much gratified. At this moment, Violet rushed up to her mother. “We are not going to dance, mamma. I find the Lovels think their mother might not like them to dance so soon after their grandmother’s death, and it would be a pity for them to have to sit down.” “But you will be disappointed, dear.” “Oh no, mamma; it does not matter. I was thinking of what we could do. Albert wishes to act charades. I suppose, mamma, you have no objection?” It was evidently Violet who made arrangements, for she hardly waited for a reply before she kissed her mother’s brow, and was hurrying away, when Mrs. Osborne detained her, to introduce her to Mr. Woodrowffe. “An old friend of mine, Violet, though he has not been in England of late.” Violet did not bow, but frankly gave him her hand. “A charming girl indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Woodrowffe as she left them; for he was of that age when a little show of gratification in making his acquaintance—from the young and beautiful at least—pleases a man. “I am glad you will see her act,” said Mrs. Osborne, who, by this appreciation of her daughter, was won to be confidential. “Violet acts very well.” “So I should guess. There is life, intelligence, and confidence in her face. She does not look as if she could be afraid; and she is right. Why should she? Who is that tall youth beside her? Is that Albert?” “Yes, he is my nephew. He is an orphan, poor boy, and his only sister, who is married, is lately gone to India. We have him constantly with us. He comes, indeed, whenever he pleases.” “He has a pleasant countenance, but not a great deal in it; not like Miss Violet. She has a whole history in those dark blue eyes and that brilliant smile. Your daughter’s beauty would drive an Italian painter mad, Mrs. Osborne. What a skin, and what perfect auburn hair! The very tint the old painters liked, only with a touch more of gold than red.” Of this rhapsody upon her daughter Mrs. Osborne heard little, but she saw by the direction of his eyes that he was commenting on Violet. She therefore smiled and thanked him. “I am afraid,” she added, “that I have been rather unjustifiably praising my own child, but the truth is she is our only one, and we have very few thoughts that are not connected with her.” “No praise so valuable as a mother’s!” said her companion, kindly; “for who can know a child as well?”
