Aurora Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the family.’ That was a Wilson for you. I was just a youngster, but I remember
     it as though it were yesterday. You know, I’ve always thought Laura looked a little bit like Woodrow Wilson. Only around the
     eyes, of course. But that same keen, spiritual look–”
    “Oh, Mother, really,” cried Laura, gradually crimsoning through this discourse.
    “Laura, you’re so modest it’s aggravating,” declared her mother. “Honestly, now, Mr. English, for a girl who was voted the
     most beautiful in New York at the Photographers’ Convention only last August, you’d think she was Plain Jane, and ready to
     die of shame. Of course it’s becoming in a way, a Christian girl should always be humble in her heart, as her dear father
     used to say, but Laura carries it to such an extreme–”
    “Well, I hardly blame her for disclaiming the resemblance to Woodrow Wilson,” said English. “Still, I think I see what you
     mean about her eyes.” Whereupon he availed himself of the opportunity to gaze so deeply into the fair Honey’s orbs, that the
     girl felt no more blood could possibly crowd its way into her face.
    “Of course, just look at them,” said Mrs. Beaton (which suggestion was superfluous). “Reverend Beaton and I had decided before
     she was born to name her Woodrow; but wouldn’t you know, she came along and fooled us,” she added with an arch giggle.
    “This conversation is embarrassing me very much,” protested Laura truthfully, but not looking terribly displeased, as she
     sipped her wine.
    “Well, you two young people had just better run along then,” replied Mrs. Beaton with mock severity. “I’m sure Mr. English
     has other ideas than to sit around all night talking to an old lady. Although it was very thoughtful to pay me a visit,” she
     said, glancing demurely at the guest.
    “I am thoroughly enjoying myself,” he returned, emptying his glass and settling back on the sofa. “Tell me more about Laura,
     Mrs. Beaton. Was she a pretty baby?”
    “Well,” began the mother, drawing a long breath, “you won’t believe it, but for the first two months she was ugly as a monkey.
     Dear me, I’ll never forget her Uncle Tom saying–” But here she was interrupted by Laura, who jumped to her feet, exclaiming,
     “We
had
better go. I am not going to agonize through the stories of my childhood.”
    English rose with her. “Some other time, I’d like to hear what Uncle Tom said,” he smiled at Mrs. Beaton. “Thank you for the
     wine. I’m glad Laura brought me up for a moment.”
    “Do come again,” said the mother, as English helped Laura with her coat and then donned his own. “You have no idea how seldom
     I have visitors. I don’t know anybody in New York, and Laura almost never brings anyone here. Oh, a girl friend occasionally,
     but she’s such a homebody she usually prefers just to set with her old mother; of course I like it that way myself. As for
     young men, she simply never lets them cross the threshold. I can’t remember when I’ve seen one–well, I’m sorry you must go,”
     she broke off, seeing Laura pull open the front door with noisy haste. “Good-by, Mr. English. Good-by, dear.”
    “Good-by, Mother,” said Laura, with a wrathful overtone that escaped English but not her fond parent. English graciously repeated
     his thanks and Mrs. Beaton her invitation; and the door closed on the young people.
    In silence they rode down the elevator, walked out into the street and stepped into a heavy Cadillac limousine. English gave
     the chauffeur the name of a little French restaurant built on the New Jersey palisades; the car nosed its way through the
     downtown traffic until it reached the Henry Hudson Parkway, then it moved smoothly along the black river strung with lights.
     Neither had spoken a word for perhaps ten minutes when Honey suddenly turned and looked at the reposeful English with determination.
     That gentleman was apparently deriving great pleasure