curtsied. “Miss Annabelle Oakhurst.”
Louise’s cornflower blue eyes grew wide and she quickly bobbed up and down in a semblance of a curtsy. “I forgot how you English have such lovely manners.” She giggled again. “Well, good-bye!” The girl hastened off.
Wesley appeared at Belle’s elbow. “Hello. Are you ready to go?”
“Where did you come from?” she asked, startled.
“I was lurking behind that potted palm,” he replied. “I couldn’t help overhear your conversation just now. Perhaps you’ve a career giving lessons in etiquette?”
Belle wrinkled her nose. “I certainly hope not. That would be awfully dull.”
As she entered Madison Square Park, Belle felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Freedom! She felt like skipping, but contained herself partly because it would have been undignified to skip in front of Wesley and partly because the summer heat was oppressive. Nevertheless, the beautiful trees and fountains went a long way toward alleviating her discomfort. The park attracted many residents and employees from the nearby East 26th Street brownstone homes, and uniformed nannies with prams negotiated the wide pathways with practiced skill. Businessmen strolled along with walking sticks or umbrellas in hand and newspapers under their arm. Children cavorted on the grass under the watchful eyes of their mothers.
Under the shade of her parasol, Belle paused to admire the park’s monuments and sculptures. One large, triangular, granite drinking fountain was cleverly designed to serve humans and horses alike. After Belle and Wesley thoroughly explored the park, they walked around the square itself. On Sixth Avenue, the Eden Musee lured them in for a pleasant hour of looking at a broad array of wax figures. Many world leaders were portrayed, and Belle gasped at the life-like wax representation of Queen Victoria.
“She looks so real, I almost want to curtsy,” she said with a giggle. “I wonder if Her Majesty knows she’s a tourist attraction in Britain’s former colony?”
“If she did, I daresay she’d demand a share in the proceeds,” Wesley replied.
As the afternoon sun dipped toward the west, they stepped into the confection shop, Maillard’s. Belle breathed in the fragrant chocolate aroma. “Oh my! The smell alone is intoxicating!”
“I sampled the chocolates last night. Believe me, the taste is intoxicating too.”
The store was such a visual feast that Belle didn’t know where to look first. One of the soberly attired salesladies explained that the huge colorful painting decorating the ceiling was an allegorical piece painted by a French artist, Charles Louis Müller.
“Should I know who that is?” Wesley whispered to Belle.
“I’m afraid I’m at a loss too, but the painting is lovely,” she replied, gazing up at the angelic ladies and children overhead.
Fancy, beribboned candy boxes in various shapes and colors were arranged on marble-topped counters or tall freestanding glass shelves. There were thousands of different candies to choose from, from simple chocolate bars to bonbons, vanilla chocolates, and ornamental confections. Wesley chose a box of milk chocolate-covered caramels while Belle picked out a small box of chocolates for Errol and a paper bag of chocolate covered marshmallows.
“To share with Papa,” she told Wesley with a wink.
She reached into her reticule for money.
“I’ll buy that for you,” he said.
“No, thank you.” Her reply was a little sharper than she had intended, as evidenced by Wesley’s mild surprise. “I’m sorry, but it’s not proper for you to buy me a gift,” she explained.
“But you didn’t complain when I paid the entrance fee at the wax museum!”
“That was a mutual outing, not a gift.”
His brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t see the difference.”
“ I know the difference, and that’s what is important.”
They paid for their purchases separately and left the shop.
“I’m never going to
Louise’s cornflower blue eyes grew wide and she quickly bobbed up and down in a semblance of a curtsy. “I forgot how you English have such lovely manners.” She giggled again. “Well, good-bye!” The girl hastened off.
Wesley appeared at Belle’s elbow. “Hello. Are you ready to go?”
“Where did you come from?” she asked, startled.
“I was lurking behind that potted palm,” he replied. “I couldn’t help overhear your conversation just now. Perhaps you’ve a career giving lessons in etiquette?”
Belle wrinkled her nose. “I certainly hope not. That would be awfully dull.”
As she entered Madison Square Park, Belle felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Freedom! She felt like skipping, but contained herself partly because it would have been undignified to skip in front of Wesley and partly because the summer heat was oppressive. Nevertheless, the beautiful trees and fountains went a long way toward alleviating her discomfort. The park attracted many residents and employees from the nearby East 26th Street brownstone homes, and uniformed nannies with prams negotiated the wide pathways with practiced skill. Businessmen strolled along with walking sticks or umbrellas in hand and newspapers under their arm. Children cavorted on the grass under the watchful eyes of their mothers.
Under the shade of her parasol, Belle paused to admire the park’s monuments and sculptures. One large, triangular, granite drinking fountain was cleverly designed to serve humans and horses alike. After Belle and Wesley thoroughly explored the park, they walked around the square itself. On Sixth Avenue, the Eden Musee lured them in for a pleasant hour of looking at a broad array of wax figures. Many world leaders were portrayed, and Belle gasped at the life-like wax representation of Queen Victoria.
“She looks so real, I almost want to curtsy,” she said with a giggle. “I wonder if Her Majesty knows she’s a tourist attraction in Britain’s former colony?”
“If she did, I daresay she’d demand a share in the proceeds,” Wesley replied.
As the afternoon sun dipped toward the west, they stepped into the confection shop, Maillard’s. Belle breathed in the fragrant chocolate aroma. “Oh my! The smell alone is intoxicating!”
“I sampled the chocolates last night. Believe me, the taste is intoxicating too.”
The store was such a visual feast that Belle didn’t know where to look first. One of the soberly attired salesladies explained that the huge colorful painting decorating the ceiling was an allegorical piece painted by a French artist, Charles Louis Müller.
“Should I know who that is?” Wesley whispered to Belle.
“I’m afraid I’m at a loss too, but the painting is lovely,” she replied, gazing up at the angelic ladies and children overhead.
Fancy, beribboned candy boxes in various shapes and colors were arranged on marble-topped counters or tall freestanding glass shelves. There were thousands of different candies to choose from, from simple chocolate bars to bonbons, vanilla chocolates, and ornamental confections. Wesley chose a box of milk chocolate-covered caramels while Belle picked out a small box of chocolates for Errol and a paper bag of chocolate covered marshmallows.
“To share with Papa,” she told Wesley with a wink.
She reached into her reticule for money.
“I’ll buy that for you,” he said.
“No, thank you.” Her reply was a little sharper than she had intended, as evidenced by Wesley’s mild surprise. “I’m sorry, but it’s not proper for you to buy me a gift,” she explained.
“But you didn’t complain when I paid the entrance fee at the wax museum!”
“That was a mutual outing, not a gift.”
His brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t see the difference.”
“ I know the difference, and that’s what is important.”
They paid for their purchases separately and left the shop.
“I’m never going to
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