CHAPTER XXX. “’TIS HOME WHERE’ER THE HEART IS.

“I can no longer wonder at my mother’s enthusiasm,” thought Alva Beresford, on first beholding Floy.

It was not yet midnight when Floyd Landon arrived at the Fifth Avenue mansion with his charge.

He knew that it was late to intrude, but under the peculiar circumstances of the case, he deemed it best to waive ceremony and go at once to the house.

His arrival was timely, for Miss Beresford was just leaving her carriage on returning from a wedding-reception. She was in magnificent evening-dress, and the sheen of her diamonds fairly dazzled Floy’s eyes as she gazed at the beautiful belle, while her features, so like those of her brother, made her fond heart leap wildly in her breast.

Floyd Landon presented his charge with a few explanatory words, and Miss Beresford was exceedingly gracious.

“So good of you to bring her to me at once,” she cried, as she pressed Floy’s little hand. “Now, you must come into the house and tell me all about it,” she added, eagerly.

“I thank you, but the hour is late, and you must be weary after the evening’s pleasure. I will postpone the telling until another time, if you will permit me,” answered Floyd Landon, anxious to get home to his wife, whom he had left ailing when he went away that day.

“To-morrow morning then, if you have leisure,” replied the beautiful heiress; and after bidding him good-night, she and Floy went up the white marble steps and into the house.

Floy felt like one in a blissful dream. In entering this splendid house, with its magnificent halls adorned with potted plants, glimmering statues, and costly paintings, she thought far less of the grandeur of the place than of the fact that it was the home of her lover.

Every association breathed of him, and made the strange house seem home-like at once to her fond, loving heart.

She felt herself blessed in the strange freak of Fate that had brought her to be a dweller beneath this roof.

“A few more days--just a few more days now--and he too, will be here, my love, my love!” throbbed her happy heart.

Alva led her upstairs to her own room, and summoned her maid.

“I have brought home a guest--Miss Fane--who will serve me as a model in future. Arrange the blue room opposite mine for her occupancy,” she said, in a tone that forbid curiosity.

When the maid had gone to do her bidding, she said, kindly:

“My dear, you look positively radiant somehow, yet surely you must be very tired.”

“I am not tired--I have come only a short journey--from Mount Vernon--and I _am_ so glad to be here, so glad that I can be of service to you, Miss Beresford, that every other emotion is swallowed up in pure joy!” exclaimed the grateful girl.

Alva looked admiringly at the lovely face with its radiant blue eyes and joy-flushed cheeks, and her heart went out to her strongly, tenderly.

“You are a sweet, lovely child!” she exclaimed, impulsively. “You have the most beautiful face in the world! It is no wonder my mother thought your face the ideal one for Cupid. Did you know that I wish to paint you as the little god of Love?”

“Is it so?” cried Floy, delightedly; and every moment she grew more lovely. The gladness of her heart was reflected charmingly in her face.

She had thrown off her disguising wraps, and in her simple attire was so lovely that Miss Beresford wondered how she would look in rich attire like her own--diamonds, laces, and rustling white satin.

“But she does not need them, she is lovely enough in her girlish bloom without adornment,” she thought, quickly.

“I shall not ask you to-night to tell me where you have been hidden away so long, dear, for you must have your rest, but to-morrow, in my studio, you shall tell me everything,” she said, as she conducted Floy to an exquisite room across the hall.

Floy looked about her in delight.

Was this beautiful room, all blue and silver, so dainty and bride-like, to be all her own, to sleep in and rest in day by day?

Alva saw her glance with secret perturbation at her cheap attire, and knew she was thinking of the contrast.

“You did not bring your trunk,” she said, cheerfully. “Never mind, we will remedy all that to-morrow. I will send Honora shopping for you, and she has charming taste.”

“You are too kind to me. I--I have no money, and--I can not accept charity,” faltered Floy, her sensitive pride taking alarm.

“You proud little Cupid, it will not be charity. Aren’t you going to pose for me? I shall put your face into lovely pictures, and I shall have to pay you well for the privilege. The new outfit will be a payment in advance on my debt, that is all.”

“Oh, thank you--thank you!” cried Floy, dimpling with delight at the thought of having new clothes when St. George came home.

“For I do not wish him to see me shabby and unsuited in my dress to my beautiful surroundings,” she thought, with honest pride in herself.

Alva bid her a kind good-night and retired, leaving her in such a flutter of delight that it was several hours before her eyelids closed, thought and hope were so busy over the future.

The next morning she breakfasted alone with Alva and the latter said:

“I did not tell you last night that my parents sailed for Europe yesterday.”

Floy looked so surprised that she added:

“They read in the paper a telegraphic dispatch from the London reporter that my brother St. George is quite ill in London.”

“_Ill!_” almost shrieked poor Floy.

Her eyes drooped, her rosy face went white, she trembled so that Miss Beresford thought she was going to faint.

“My dear child, what is the matter--are you also ill?” she demanded, in alarm and surprise.

Floy recovered herself with an effort.

“Pardon me; I felt deathly sick for a moment,” she faltered; then added: “I am afraid I lost what you were saying, Miss Beresford. But please go on; I am better now.”

“I was saying that my brother is ill in London, and my parents sailed yesterday to bring him home as soon as he is better,” replied Alva.

“Oh, I hope he is not very ill!” sighed Floy, very pale still, in spite of her declaration that she was better.

“Oh, no, I have no idea that there is much the matter with St. George, for he would have had his physician cable us, of course, if he had been really ill. These dispatches from foreign correspondents to their papers are often greatly exaggerated in the interests of sensationalism,” replied Alva, carelessly; adding, after a moment: “But my parents fairly idolize their only son, so they took quick alarm and hurried over the sea to bring home the invalid.”

They left the table, and Alva led Floy to her beautiful studio, where wealth and taste had united in adorning a most beautiful apartment. Priceless rugs covered part of the inlaid floor, and exquisite statues gleamed whitely from velvet-draped niches, while pictures were scattered everywhere, some framed, some in an unfinished condition on their easels, yet all showing the work of a master-hand. Here and there were vases of flowers perfuming the air with their sweetness, while silken curtains of rare design filtered the garish light of day into soft, rosy shadows.

“Rich was the shadow of the room, And bright the sifted sunlight’s bloom, That lofty wall and ceiling sheathed; Heavy the perfumed air she breathed.

“Sumptuous sense of costly cheer Pervaded the soft atmosphere, As if charmed walls had shut it in From all the wild world’s noisy din.”

Alva watched with delight Floy’s keen appreciation of everything, as she wandered from picture to picture, drinking in their beauty with eager, appreciative eyes.

“She has a cultured soul, this lovely wild flower. I shall never be bored by her, no matter how much we are thrown together,” thought Alva, gladly.

Then she drew the covering from her latest work and directed Floy to look at it.

The girl approached, and the first sight of the painting charmed her, it was so life-like--the dancing youths and maidens were so natural, the woods and water so perfect.

“Oh!” she cried, in an ecstasy; and Alva smiled, well pleased.

“You see it is not yet completed,” she explained. “See there the figure of Cupid, with his bow and arrow. When I have given him your enchanting face, it will be finished; and I am so impatient to begin that I will commence painting this very morning!”