Mary Louise Solves a Mystery
CHAPTER VIIIMARY LOUISE MEETS ALORA
The two stood motionless a moment, looking at the girl, and Mary Louisemarked the graceful figure and attractive features with real delight.The Signorina Alora, as the man had called her, was nearly her ownage--fifteen, Mary Louise judged her to be--and her golden hair and faircomplexion proclaimed her an American. But now the girl's quick earshad detected presence, and she looked up with a startled expression,half fearful and half shy, and turned as if to fly. But in the nextmoment she had collected herself and advanced with hesitating steps tomeet them.
"Pardon our intrusion," said Colonel Hathaway, raising his hat. "Ourcarriage broke down on the Amalfi road, a little while ago, and ourdriver has gone to Positano for a new wheel. Meantime we were exploringour surroundings and stumbled upon the path leading to this spot.Forgive the trespass, if you will, and allow me to present mygranddaughter, Mary Louise Burrows. I am Colonel James Hathaway, of NewYork, although we usually reside at a little town called Dorfield."
The girl's bow was stiff and awkward. She blushed in an embarrassed wayas she replied:
"I am Alora Jones, sir, and am living here for a time with my father,Jason Jones. We, also, are Americans; at least, we used to be."
"Then doubtless you are yet," responded the Colonel, with a smile. "Maywe pay our respects to your father?"
"He--he is not home yet," she answered more embarrassed than before."He went to Sorrento for some books, this morning, and has not yetreturned. But perhaps he will be back soon," she added, seeming toponder the matter. "Will you not come in and--and have somerefreshment? In my father's absence I--I am glad to--welcome you."
She glanced shyly at Mary Louise, as if to implore her to forgive anyseeming lack of hospitality and accept her coldly worded invitation. Noone could look at Mary Louise without gaining confidence and thefriendly smile and warm handclasp made Alora feel instantly that herewas a girl who would prove congenial under any circumstances. Really,it would not take them long to become friends, and poor Alora had nogirl friends whatever.
She led them into a cool and comfortable living room and called toLeona to fetch tea and biscuits.
"We are entirely shut in, here," she explained. "It seems to me worsethan a convent, for there I would see other girls while here I see noone but the servants--and my father," as an afterthought, "year in andyear out."
"It's a pretty place," declared Mary Louise cheerfully.
"But it's an awfully dreary place, too, and sometimes I feel that I'dlike to run away--if I knew where to go," said Alora frankly.
"You have lived here three years?" asked Colonel Hathaway.
"Yes. We left New York more than four years ago and traveled a year indifferent places, always stopping at the little towns, where there isnot much to interest one. Then my father found this place and rentedit, and here we've stayed--I can't say 'lived'--ever since. I get alongpretty well in the daytime, with my flowers and the chickens to tend,but the evenings are horribly lonely. Sometimes I feel that I shall gomad."
Mary Louise marked her wild look and excited manner and her heart wentout in sympathy to the lonely girl. Colonel Hathaway, too, intuitivelyrecognized Alora's plaint as a human cry for help, and did not need toguess the explanation. The man in the vineyard had called her father"the Student" and said he was a reserved man and never was seen withouta book in his hand. This would mean that he was not companionable andAlora's protest plainly indicated that her father devoted small time,if any, to the cultivation of his daughter's society.
"I suppose," remarked the old gentleman, "that Mr. Jones is so immersedin his studies that he forgets his daughter lacks society amamusement."
Mary Louise caught the slight, scornful smile that for a moment curledAlora's lips. But the girl replied very seriously:
"My father dislikes society. I believe he would be quite content tolive in this little cooped-up place forever and see no one but theservants, to whom he seldom speaks. Also, he ignores me, and I am gladhe does. But before my mother died," her voice breaking a little, "Iwas greatly loved and petted, and I can't get used to the change. Iought not to say this to strangers, I know, but I am very lonely andunhappy, because--because my father is so different from what my motherwas."
Mary Louise was holding her trembling hand now and stroking itsympathetically.
"Tell us about your mother," she said softly. "Is it long since youlost her?"
"More than four years," returned Alora. "I was her constant companionand she taught me to love art and music and such things, for art washer hobby. I did not know my father in those days, you see, for--for--they did not live together. But in her last illness mamma sent for himand made him my guardian. My mother said that my father would love me,but she must have misjudged him."
Colonel Hathaway had listened with interest.
"Tell me your mother's name," said he.
"She was Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, and--"
"Indeed!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Why, I knew Antoinette Seaver beforeshe married, and a more beautiful and cultured woman I never met. Herfather, Captain Seaver, was my friend, and I met his daughter severaltimes, both at his mining camp and in the city. So you see, my dear, wemust be friends."
Alora's eyes fairly glistened with delight and Mary Louise was aspleased as she was surprised.
"Of course we're friends!" she cried, pressing the girl's hand, "andisn't it queer we have come together in this singular manner? In aforeign country! And just because our carriage-wheel happened tobreak."
"I thought your mother married an artist," said Mary Louise'sgrandfather, reflectively.
"She did. At least, she _thought_ Jason Jones was an artist," answeredAlora with bitter emphasis. "But he was, in fact, a mere dauber. Hebecame discouraged in his attempts to paint and soon after he took meto New York he destroyed all his work--really, it was dreadful!--andsince then he has never touched a brush."
"That is strange," mused the Colonel. "I once saw a landscape by JasonJones that was considered a fine conception, skillfully executed. Thatwas the opinion of so good a judge as Captain Seaver himself.Therefore, for some reason the man's genius must have forsaken him."
"I think that is true," agreed Alora, "for my mother's estimate of artwas undoubtedly correct. I have read somewhere that discouragementsometimes destroys one's talent, though in after years, with properimpulse, it may return with added strength. In my father's case," sheexplained, "he was not able to sell his work--and no wonder. So now hedoes nothing at all but read, and even that doesn't seem to amuse himmuch."
The Colonel had now remembered that Antoinette Seaver Jones was a womanof great wealth, and therefore her daughter must be an heiress. What ashame to keep the girl hidden in this out-of-the-way place, when sheshould be preparing to assume an important position in the world.
"May I ask your age, my dear?" he said.
"I am fifteen, sir," replied Alora.
"And your father is the guardian of your fortune?"
"Yes; by my mother's wish."
"I suppose you are receiving proper instruction?"
"None at all, sir. Since I have been in my father's care I have had noinstruction whatever. That isn't right, is it?"
"What isn't right?" demanded a gruff voice, and all three turned tofind Jason Jones standing in the doorway.