"I am sure if you have ever written anything, it ought to have been published," protested her adorer.
"_I_ thought so," said Miss Ferrol. "But--but _they_ didn"t."
"They?" echoed Louisiana. "Who are "they?""
"The editors," she replied, in a rather gloomy manner. "There is a great deal of wire-pulling, and favoritism, and--even envy and malice, of which those outside know nothing. You wouldn"t understand it if I should tell you about it."
For a few moments she wore quite a fell expression, and gloom reigned.
She gave her head a little shake.
"They regret it afterward," she remarked,--"frequently."
From which Louisiana gathered that it was the editors who were so overwhelmed, and she could not help sympathizing with them in secret.
There was something in the picture of their unavailing remorse which touched her, despite her knowledge of the patent fact that they deserved it and could expect nothing better. She was quite glad when Olivia brightened up, as she did presently.
"Laurence is handsomer than most of them, and has a more distinguished air," she said. "He is very charming. People always say so."
"I wish I could see him," ventured Louisiana.
"You will see him if you stay here much longer," replied Miss Ferrol.
"It is quite likely he will come to Oakvale."
For a moment Louisiana fluttered and turned pale with pleasure, but as suddenly she drooped.
"I forgot," she faltered. "You will have to be with him always, and I shall have no one. He won"t want me."
Olivia sat and looked at her with deepening interest. She was thinking again of a certain whimsical idea which had beset her several times since she had attired her _protegee_ in the cream-colored robe.
"Louise," she said, in a low, mysterious tone, "how would you like to wear dresses like mine all the rest of the time you are here?"
The child stared at her blankly.
"I haven"t got any," she gasped.
"No," said Miss Ferrol, with deliberation, "but _I_ have."
She rose from her seat, dropping her mysterious air and smiling encouragingly.
"Come with me to my room," she said. "I want to talk to you."
If she had ordered her to follow her to the stake it is not at all unlikely that Louisiana would have obeyed. She got up meekly, smiling, too, and feeling sure something very interesting was going to happen.
She did not understand in the least, but she was quite tractable. And after they had reached the room and shut themselves in, she found that it _was_ something very interesting which was to happen.
"You remember what I said to you this morning?" Miss Ferrol suggested.
"You said so many things."
"Oh, but you cannot have forgotten this particular thing. I said you looked as if you had been born in New York."
Louisiana remembered with a glow of rapture.
"Oh, yes," she answered.
"And I said Laurence himself would not know, if he was not told, that you had lived all your life here.""
"Yes."
"And I said I should like to try you on him."
"Yes."
Miss Ferrol kept her eyes fixed on her and watched her closely.
"I have been thinking of it all the morning," she added. "I should like to try you on him."
Louisiana was silent a moment. Then she spoke, hesitatingly:
"Do you mean that I should pretend----," she began.
"Oh, no," interrupted Miss Ferrol. "Not pretend either one thing or the other. Only let me dress you as I choose, and then take care that you say nothing whatever about your past life. You will have to be rather quiet, perhaps, and let him talk. He will like that, of course--men always do--and then you will learn a great many things from him."
"It will be--a very strange thing to do," said Louisiana.
"It will be a very interesting thing," answered Olivia, her enthusiasm increasing. "How he will admire you!"
Louisiana indulged in one of her blushes.
"Have you a picture of him?"
"Yes. Why?" she asked, in some surprise.
"Because I should like to see his face."
"Do you think," Miss Ferrol said, in further bewilderment, "that you might not like him?"
"I think he might not like me."
"Not like you!" cried Miss Ferrol. "You! He will think you are divine--when you are dressed as I shall dress you."
She went to her trunk and produced the picture. It was not a photograph, but a little crayon head--the head of a handsome man, whose expression was a singular combination of dreaminess and alertness. It was a fascinating face.
"One of his friends did it," said Miss Ferrol. "His friends are very fond of him and admire his good looks very much. They protest against his being photographed. They like to sketch him. They are always making "studies" of his head. What do you think of him?"
Louisiana hesitated.
"He is different," she said at last. "I thought he would be."
She gave the picture back to Miss Ferrol, who replaced it in her trunk.
She sat for a few seconds looking down at the carpet and apparently seeing very little. Then she looked up at her companion, who was suddenly a little embarra.s.sed at finding her receive her whimsical planning so seriously. She herself had not thought of it as being serious at all. It would be interesting and amusing, and would prove her theory.