Little Golden's Daughter; or, The Dream of a Life Time

"To tell the truth, I think the girl is too pretty," Mrs. Desmond replied, with some embarrassment.

"I thought you liked pretty things about you," said her friend.

"So I do, but I do not like pretty servants," was the significant reply. "As a rule they are vain and trifling, and do not attend to their business. They are always looking out to attract admiration to their pretty faces."

"I do not believe that Mary Smith is one of that kind," said Mrs. Markham. "She seems a good, simple, innocent girl. But if she fails to suit you, Edith, you may return her to me, and I will find some other place for her. I imagined that you would be delighted with such a girl for Ruby's attendant."

"And so I am, and I am ever so much obliged to you for thinking of me. I hope that she will please Ruby better than the girls we have had lately, for I feel quite worn out with anxiety over the dear little creature," replied Mrs. Desmond, but so constrained that Mrs. Markham saw that she was only half-hearted in her pleasure, and wondered why it was that Golden's beauty, which was so attractive to her own eyes, was distasteful to Mrs. Desmond, who was beautiful herself, and liked to gather beautiful things around her.

It is said that every family has its skeleton. Mrs. Markham did not know that the skeleton in her friend's closet was the lurking fiend of jealousy. Mrs. Desmond was a charming lady, but she secretly disliked every pretty woman she knew.

Little Golden went on through the dressing-room to the bed-chamber, which was a perfect bower of elegance and repose, and timidly opened the nursery door, for the description of little Ruby Desmond had rather intimidated her.

She found herself in a large, airy, sunny chamber, splendidly adapted for a nursery, and luxuriously fitted up for that purpose.

In a low rocking-chair a smart French maid was indolently lounging and yawning over a French novel.

In a corner of the room a little girl of six years, small for her age, and pale and delicate-looking, was sobbing fretfully in a fit of the sulks.

She dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up curiously at the timid intruder.

"Who are you?" she demanded, abruptly.

"I am Mary Smith, your new nurse, little Miss Ruby," said Golden, in a clear, sweet voice, and with a winning smile.

The French maid threw down her novel and stared, and little Ruby came out of her corner.

"So you are my new maid, are you?" she asked, pertly. "Well, I hope you will not be as hateful as Celine here is, for if you do I shall be sure to throw my top at your head. I am very glad you are come, for I am perfectly tired of Celine, and I want her to leave me at once—at once, do you hear me, Celine?"

Celine flounced out of the room in a huff, and the little one continued:

"There is one comfort, you are not as ugly as Celine and the others! I hate ugly people, and so does my papa, but mamma likes them best. You are the prettiest nurse I ever saw! You look just like my big wax doll, with your blue eyes and long hair. Nurses always wear their hair under a cap, did you not know that?"

Little Golden did not answer one word to the voluble discourse of the spoiled child.

She stood silently in the center of the large apartment, her small hand pressed to her beating heart, her pale lips apart, her blue eyes upraised to a large portrait that hung against the wall in a splendid frame of gold and ebony. The dark, handsome, splendid face that smiled down upon her was the face of her lost lover, Bertram Chesleigh.

CHAPTER XVIII

Fortunately for Golden, little Ruby Desmond did not observe the preoccupation of her new nurse. She had entered upon a voluble tirade against nurses in general, and when she had ended she remarked with a sudden change of tone:

"But I don't believe I shall hate you as much as I did the rest. You are younger and prettier than any girl I ever had to amuse me. Come, now, Mary, lay off your hat and jacket. I want you to make my doll a new dress. That lazy Celine would not stick a needle in it, for all I stormed and scolded, and threatened to complain to mamma."

Thus adjured, Golden turned her eyes with an effort away from the portrait of Bertram Chesleigh, and proceeded to obey the instructions of her little mistress with what cheerfulness she could, although her heart was beating wildly with the shock she had received on coming suddenly face to face with her lover's portrait in this strange place.

She longed, yet dreaded to ask little Ruby what the original of the portrait was to her.

Looking from the portrait to the child she could plainly discern in Ruby's proud mouth and flashing, dark eyes, a great and striking resemblance to Mr. Chesleigh.

But she was afraid to ask the question that trembled on her lips, so she sat down mutely while Ruby brought a large wax doll and placed it in her lap, together with a large quantity of scraps of silk and muslin and odds and ends of pretty lace.

Then she pulled open the drawer of a child's bureau and brought out a garnet silk dress of her own, elaborately made and trimmed.

"I want Dollie's dress made exactly like this," she said, hanging it open over the back of a chair for Golden's inspection. "It is in the latest fashion, so Celine says. Celine thinks of nothing but French novels and fashions, so she ought to know."

"Your doll is very beautiful. Is it a new one?" asked Golden, trying to say something to please the little creature who was hovering about her, busy and excited with her important preparations for the miniature dressmaking.

"Oh, yes, it is tolerably new! Papa gave it to me last week," replied Ruby. "There was a little trunk of clothes with her, but I do not like any of the dresses. They are quite old-fashioned and shabby, I think. Mamma says herself that they must have been made at least a year ago. So I shall never be satisfied until I have a new-fashioned dress for Dollie."

She was silent a moment, watching Golden's deft finger as they slowly cut and basted, then she resumed:

"I have tried and tried, but I cannot think of a name for her. Can you tell me a pretty name for her, Mary?"

"Would you like to call her Golden?" asked the girl, feeling as if the sound of her own name would be a relief in this new, strange atmosphere.

"Golden! what a pretty name," said the child. "I like that. I will call Dollie by that name. I shall be Golden—Golden Chesleigh," she added, after a minute's thought.

The new nurse started so violently, that the doll's dress fell from her fingers. The lovely crimson color rushed into her face.

"Chesleigh! Why do you call her that?" she asked, falteringly. "Do you know anybody by that name, Miss Ruby?"

The little girl laughed quite happily.

"Well, I should think I did," she said, brightly. "My own uncle is named Chesleigh—Bertram Chesleigh. There is his portrait on the wall. Look at it, Mary, and tell me if he is not me very handsomest man you ever beheld."

Golden looked up into the dark eyes that had gazed into her own so fondly, and at the proud yet tender lips that had kissed her with such passionate love, and she could barely repress the moan of pain that came from her lips.

"Yes, he is very handsome," she said faintly. "Does he ever call here to see you?"

"Oh, yes, often and often, when he is at home," said Ruby. "But he is gone away traveling in the sunny south now. He travels a great deal. Mamma calls him a bird of passage."

"Is he fond of you?" said Golden, seeing that she was expected to say something.

"Oh, yes, very fond," said Ruby, brightening up so much that Golden saw it was a favorite subject with her. "He had that splendid portrait painted expressly for a present to me. Mamma begged me to let it hang in the drawing-room, but I would not. I told her I would have it in the nursery where I could see it every minute."

"Is he—married?" asked Golden, carelessly, to all appearance, and taking up her work again.

"Oh, dear, no! and I hope he never will be! He loves me better than anyone now, but he would like his wife best if he were married," cried the spoiled child.

Golden sighed softly and made no reply, and the entrance of Mrs. Desmond and her visitor interrupted the conversation.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Markham. You see I have a new nurse," said Ruby, looking up with a faint flush of pleasant excitement on her delicate face.

"You have to thank Mrs. Markham for bringing her to you," said Mrs. Desmond, glad to see a smile on the usually sullen or pain-drawn little white face.

Ruby went forward and kissed Mrs. Markham charmingly as if she was always loving and sweet-tempered instead of self-willed and capricious as everyone represented her.

"I thank you very much," she said, "I think I shall like Mary better than the others. She is very kind and obliging. You see she is making a new dress for my doll. Celine was too lazy. She would not dress my doll at all."