An
aquarium, containing goldfishes, stood on a marble centre-table at
one end of the apartment, while a magnificent grand piano occupied
the other. The floor was covered with a yielding tapestry carpet,
and the walls were adorned with paintings from the pencils of Van
Dyke, Rubens, Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and the productions of
the more modern Turner, Kensett, Church, and Bierstadt. Although
Judge Tompkins had chosen the frontiers of civilization as his
home, it was impossible for him to entirely forego the habits and
tastes of his former life. He was seated in a luxurious arm-chair,
writing at a mahogany ecritoire, while his daughter, a lovely young
girl of seventeen summers, plied her crochet-needle on an ottoman
beside him. A bright fire of pine logs flickered and flamed on the
ample hearth.
Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins's only child. Her
mother had long since died on the Plains. Reared in affluence, no
pains had been spared with the daughter's education. She was a
graduate of one of the principal seminaries, and spoke French with
a perfect Benicia accent. Peerlessly beautiful, she was dressed in
a white moire antique robe trimmed with tulle.
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