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TITLE: A FAIR BARBARIAN
AUTHOR: FRANCIS HODGSON BURNETT
EBOOK: E07173 (O'Briens Book Cellar)
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

                            A FAIR BARBARIAN

                       BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT

                                 1881

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

      I. MISS OCTAVIA BASSETT

     II. "AN INVESTMENT, ANYWAY"

    III. L'ARGENTVILLE

     IV. LADY THEOBALD

      V. LUCIA

     VI. ACCIDENTAL

    VII. "I SHOULD LIKE TO SEE MORE OF SLOWBRIDGE"

   VIII. SHARES LOOKING UP

     IX. WHITE MUSLIN

      X. ANNOUNCING MR. BAROLD

     XI. A SLIGHT INDISCRETION

    XII. AN INVITATION

   XIII. INTENTIONS

    XIV. A CLERICAL VISIT

     XV. SUPERIOR ADVANTAGES

    XVI. CROQUET

   XVII. ADVANTAGES

  XVIII. CONTRAST

    XIX. AN EXPERIMENT

     XX. PECULIAR TO NEVADA

    XXI. LORD LANSDOWNE

   XXII. "YOU HAVE MADE IT LIVELIER"

  XXIII. "MAY I GO?"

   XXIV. THE GARDEN PARTY

    XXV. "SOMEBODY ELSE"

   XXVI. "JACK"

A FAIR BARBARIAN.

CHAPTER I.

MISS OCTAVIA BASSETT.

Slowbridge had been shaken to its foundations.

It may as well be explained, however, at the outset, that it would not
take much of a sensation to give Slowbridge a great shock. In the first
place, Slowbridge was not used to sensations, and was used to going on
the even and respectable tenor of its way, regarding the outside world
with private distrust, if not with open disfavor. The new mills had been
a trial to Slowbridge,--a sore trial. On being told of the owners' plan
of building them, old Lady Theobald, who was the corner-stone of the
social edifice of Slowbridge, was said, by a spectator, to have turned
deathly pale with rage; and, on the first day of their being opened in
working order, she had taken to her bed, and remained shut up in her
darkened room for a week, refusing to see anybody, and even going so far
as to send a scathing message to the curate of St. James, who called in
fear and trembling, because he was afraid to stay away.

"With mills and mill-hands," her ladyship announced to Mr. Laurence, the
mill-owner, when chance first threw them together, "with mills and
mill-hands come murder, massacre, and mob law." And she said it so loud,
and with so stern an air of conviction, that the two Misses Briarton, who
were of a timorous and fearful nature, dropped their buttered muffins (it
was at one of the tea-parties which were Slowbridge's only dissipation),
and shuddered hysterically, feeling that their fate was sealed, and that
they might, any night, find three masculine mill-hands secreted under
their beds, with bludgeons. But as no massacres took place, and the
mill-hands were pretty regular in their habits, and even went so far as
to send their children to Lady Theobald's free school, and accepted the
tracts left weekly at their doors, whether they could read or not,
Slowbridge gradually recovered from the shock of finding itself forced to
exist in close proximity to mills, and was just settling itself to
sleep--the sleep of the just--again, when, as I have said, it was shaken
to its foundations.

It was Miss Belinda Bassett who received the first shock. Miss Belinda
Bassett was a decorous little maiden lady, who lived in a decorous little
house on High Street (which was considered a very genteel street in
Slowbridge). She had lived in the same house all her life, her father had
lived in it, and so also had her grandfather. She had gone out, to take
tea, from its doors two or three times a week, ever since she had been
twenty; and she had had her little tea-parties in its front parlor as
often as any other genteel Slowbridge entertainer. She had risen at
seven, breakfasted at eight, dined at two, taken tea at five, and gone to
bed at ten, with such regularity for fifty years, that to rise at eight,
breakfast at nine, dine at three, and take tea at six, and go to bed at
eleven, would, she was firmly convinced, be but "to fly in the face of
Providence," as she put it, and sign her own death-warrant. Consequently,
it is easy to imagine what a tremor and excitement seized her when, one
afternoon, as she sat waiting for her tea, a coach from the Blue Lion
dashed--or, at least, _almost_ dashed--up to the front door, a young lady
got out, and the next minute the handmaiden, Mary Anne, threw open the
door of the parlor, announcing, without the least preface,--

"Your niece, mum, from 'Meriker."

Miss Belinda got up, feeling that her knees really trembled beneath her.

In Slowbridge, America was not approved of--in fact, was almost entirely
ignored, as a country where, to quote Lady Theobald, "the laws were
loose, and the prevailing sentiments revolutionary." It was not
considered good taste to know Americans,--which was not unfortunate, as
there were none to know; and Miss Belinda Bassett had always felt a
delicacy in mentioning her only brother, who had emigrated to the United
States in his youth, having first disgraced himself by the utterance of
the blasphemous remark that "he wanted to get to a place where a fellow
could stretch himself, and not be bullied by a lot of old tabbies." From
the day of his departure, when he had left Miss Belinda bathed in tears
of anguish, she had heard nothing of him; and here upon the threshold
stood Mary Anne, with delighted eagerness in her countenance,
repeating,--

"Your niece, mum, from 'Meriker!"

And, with the words, her niece entered.

Miss Belinda put her hand to her heart.

The young lady thus announced was the prettiest, and at the same time the
most extraordinary-looking, young lady she had ever seen in her life.
Slowbridge contained nothing approaching this niece. Her dress was so
very stylish that it was quite startling in its effect; her forehead was
covered down to her large, pretty eyes themselves, with curls of
yellow-brown hair; and her slender throat was swathed round and round
with a grand scarf of black lace.

She made a step forward, and then stopped, looking at Miss Belinda. Her
eyes suddenly, to Miss Belinda's amazement, filled with tears.

"Didn't you," she said,--"oh, dear! _Didn't_ you get the letter?"

"The--the letter!" faltered Miss Belinda. "What letter, my--my dear?"

"Pa's," was the answer. "Oh! I see you didn't."

And she sank into the nearest chair, putting her hands up to her face,
and beginning to cry outright.

"I--am Octavia B-bassett," she said. "We were coming to surp-prise you,
and travel in Europe; but the mines went wrong, and p-pa was obliged to
go back to Nevada."

"The mines?" gasped Miss Belinda.

"S-silver-mines," wept Octavia. "And we had scarcely landed when Piper
cabled, and pa had to turn back. It was something about shares, and he
may have lost his last dollar."

Miss Belinda sank into a chair herself.

"Mary Anne," she said faintly, "bring me a glass of water."

Her tone was such that Octavia removed her handkerchief from her eyes,
and sat up to examine her.

"Are you frightened?" she asked, in some alarm.

Miss Belinda took a sip of the water brought by her handmaiden, replaced
the glass upon the salver, and shook her head deprecatingly.

"Not exactly frightened, my dear," she said, "but so amazed that I find
it difficult to--to collect myself."

Octavia put up her handkerchief again to wipe away a sudden new gush of
tears.

"If shares intended to go down," she said, "I don't see why they couldn't
go down before we started, instead of waiting until we got over here, and
then spoiling every thing."


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