The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1882-04-05
"I.A BLONDE NIEEs."

Pretty ? No ; but gentille. Fig
ure to yourself une blonde Mees ;
and hair, ah nymph, undulated,
sparkling, magnificent p
But not pretty ?"
swell, scarcely perhaps but a
voice! Ali not little filet de voix,
but voice like silver beil-clear,
sympathetic"
sShall | like la blonde Mees p +"
Like her, yes love her, noN; for
she has no fortune"
So far | had heard-overheard !;
let me avow my dishonorable action.
But / was In blonde Mees,' and it
too tempting an opportunity The
window was open / was outside,
lazily enjoying a dreamy siesta in
the rose bower, when / heard the
murmur of voices. My godmother
was talking of me and the deep,
pleasant voice asking SO many ques-
tons about my Insignificant self was
no other than her august nephew,
the son of her only sister, who had
married an Englishman-her favor
ite, Horace Vernon. NO fortune in
deed" / repeated softly, and then,
clear as a bell, struck up the old
song:
Ny face is my fortune, sir, she said,
Sir, she said, sir. she said
Over and over again, with every va
riety of intonation, sang the words.
Suddenly l ceased. Instinctively l
felt he was nearing the window and
meditating a descent in search of the
singer. Hastily / fed; fear lent
wings to my feet blindly 1 made a
dash at the clipped yew hedge and
its labyrinthine paths, when sudden
ly / stumbled, and should have fall
len but for the arms Hospitality out
stretched to safe me. Recovering
myself quickly / drew back with
hasty dignity and exclaimed in my
best French, "Monsieur p
He bowed. "Mademoiselle, are
you hurt ?" he said, managingto in
fuse much tender solicitude into the
few words. Then, with a quick look
at me, before / could answer, he add
ed "Let me introduce myself. /
am Howard Vernon; and you must
be Miss Eugene Eyerard. l have
been hearing all about you from my
aunt"
l bowed and colored wildly.
"Yes La Blonde Mess" l could
not help retorting with smile.
"Ah you overheard us?" he cried
with ludicrous expression of dis
may.
Anger and the demon of coquetry
prompted me there and then to take
off my godmother, and ! replied in
her voice: Like her, yes love her,
no for she has no fortune"
The next moment l felt awkward
and confused, for / had hardly re-
allied the meaning of the words.
Mr.. Vernon laughed.
.Well," he said. Il promise"
Promise what"
"To like YOU"
He offered me a well-shaped
brown hand, into which, after mo-
ment's hesitation, | put my own.
The fingers closed over it in pro-
tecting clasp, and / could not but
look up gratefully into the hand
some sunburnt face and the merry
blue eyes gazing down upon me. as
I acknowledged the compact we
were making.
Of course my readers will have
decided that l, Eugene Ev-
erard, snail presently fall in love
with Mr.. Vernon; that he will re-
ciprocate the tender feeling, and
break his aunt's heart, and
upset all of her deep-laid plans. But
the clear-sighted reader does not
know that / am turned nineteen and
have passed those important years
in the gay town of London, where /
have left an inconsolable lover. A
certain Reverend Robert Duncombe,
whose betrothal ring / wear on the
orthodox finger, and whose photo
graph l have duly set in a large
golden locket, with the touching
Greek words A. E. /. on one side,
and the impossible monogram of r.
D. E. f. in raised filigree work on
The other.
Robert is of a saving nature and
has limited our correspondence to
three times a week, but he never al
lows a day to pass without writing,
and the budget when it does come
Is a daily journal of his nneventful
life. He wished me to follow the
,ame plan, but / am not of regular |
hahifa and hava declined fo do |