“Indeed, sir, I hardly know,” answered the bewildered youth, “but it seems to me that I have lost my wits since that picture came. For a moment I thought that the lady on the canvas had stepped out upon the floor.”
“Now that you speak of it,” exclaimed Mr. Ludolph, advancing into the room, “there is a striking resemblance.”
“Nonsense! father,” Dennis heard the young lady say; “you are too old to flatter. As for that harebrained youth of the dust-brush, he looked as if he might have the failing of poor Pat, and not always be able to see straight.”
At this Dennis’s cheeks grew hotter still, while a low laugh from one or two of the clerks near showed that they were enjoying his embarrassment.
Dennis hastened away to his room, and it was well that he did not hear the conversation that followed.
“Oh, no!” responded Mr. Ludolph, “that is not Dennis’s failing. He is a member of a church in ‘good and regular standing.’ He will be one of the ‘pillars’ by and by.”
“You are always having a fling at superstition and the superstitious,” said his daughter, laughingly. “Is that the reason you installed him in Pat’s place?”
“Can you doubt it, my dear?” replied her father, in mock solemnity.
“Well,” said she, “I think your new factotum fails decidedly in good manners, if nothing else. He stared most impudently at me when he came out from behind the picture. I should have reprimanded him myself if I had not been so full of laughter at his ridiculous appearance.”
“That’s the joke of it. It was as good as a play to see him. I never saw a man more startled and confused. He evidently thought for a moment, as he said, that the girl in the painting had stepped out upon the floor, and that you were she.”
“How absurd!” exclaimed his daughter.
“Yes; and now that I think of it, he glanced from you to the picture, to satisfy himself that his senses were not deceiving him, before he started to come away.”
“I cannot see any special resemblance,” she replied, at the same time inwardly pleased that she should be thought like the beautiful creature on the canvas.
“But there is a strong resemblance,” persisted her father, “especially in general effect. I will prove it to you. There is old Schwartz; he is not troubled with imagination, but sees things just as they are. He would look at you, my dainty daughter, as if you were a bale of wool, and judge as composedly and accurately.”
“I fear, my father,” replied she, smilingly, “that you have conspired with him to pull the entire bale over my eyes. But let him come.”
By this time Dennis had returned, and commenced dusting some pictures near the entrance, where he could see and hear. He felt impelled by a curiosity that he could not resist. Moreover he had a little natural vanity in wishing to show that he was not such a guy, after all. It was hard for him to remember that he stood in Pat Murphy’s position. What difference did it make to the lady whether such as he was a fright or not?
Mr. Schwartz entered, and at Mr. Ludolph’s bidding looked at the living and the painted girl. In his slow, sententious tones, one could not help feeling that he was telling just how things appeared to him. The young lady stood beside the painting and unconsciously assumed the expression of her fair shadow. Indeed it seemed an expression but too habitual to her face.
“Yes,” he said, “there is a decided resemblance—close in dress—close in complexion—color of hair much the same—eyes much alike—Miss Ludolph not quite so tall,” etc. Then with an awkward attempt at a compliment, like an elephant trying to execute a quickstep, he continued:
“If I may be permitted to be so bold as to speak—express an opinion—I should beg leave to say that Miss Ludolph favors herself—more favored—is better-looking,” he blurted out at last, backing out of the door at the same time, with his brow bathed in perspiration from the throes of this great and unwonted effort at gallantry.
“Bah!” said Dennis to himself, “the old mole left out the very chief thing in tracing the likeness—the expression! See her now as she listens to his awkward attempt at compliment. She is looking at him with the same scornful, laughing face that the girl in the picture wears toward the bungling admirer at her feet. He is right in one thing though, she is better-looking.”
But the moment Mr. Schwartz’s bulky figure vanished from the doorway, Miss Ludolph caught the critical, intelligent gaze of Dennis Fleet, and the expression of her face changed instantly to a frown. But, to do her justice, it was more in vexation with herself than with him. Her innate delicacy of feeling showed her that it looked like small vanity to be standing there while comparisons like the above were instituted. Her manner at once became cold, observant, and thoroughly self-possessed. She stepped out into the store, and by a few keen, critical glances seemed to take in its whole effect. Again disapprobation clouded her fair brow, and she pronounced audibly but one word—“Stiff.”
Then she passed into her father’s private office.
XII
Blue Blood
Dennis’s mind was a chaos of conflicting feelings. The picture had deeply interested him, and so did the beautiful girl that it by strange coincidence so strongly resembled. It could not be otherwise with one of his beauty-loving nature. And yet the impression made by the face in the painting—of something wrong, discordant—was felt more decidedly in respect to the living face.
But before he had time to realize what had just passed the lady and her father appeared at the door of the office, and he heard the latter say: “I know you
