On my return home, to my inexpressible surprise and delight, I
find Roland. During my absence he has arrived, totally unexpected
by any member of the household; and the small excitement his
appearance causes makes him doubly welcome, as anything that
startles us out of our humdrum existence is hailed with positive
rapture. Even mother, whose mind is still wonderfully fresh and
young, considering all the years she has passed under papa's
thumb, enters freely into the general merriment, and forgets for
the time being her daily cares.
"You see, I found I would be here almost as soon as a letter,"
explains Roland; "and, as I hate writing like a nightmare, I
resolved to take you a little by surprise."
Mother, radiant, is sitting near him, regarding him with humid
eyes. If dear mother had been married to an indulgent husband she
would have been a dreadful goose. Even as it is she possesses a
talent for weeping upon all occasions only to be equalled by
mine.
"How did you manage to get away so soon again, Roly?" I ask, when
I have embraced him as much as he will allow.
"I hardly know. Luck, I fancy--and the colonel--did it. The old
boy, you see, has a weakness for me which I return by having a
weakness for the old boy's daughter. Mother"--languidly--"may I
marry the old boy's daughter? She is an extremely pretty little
girl, young, with fifteen thousand pounds; but I would not like
to engage myself to her without your full consent."
Mother laughs and passes her hand with a light caressing gesture
over his charming face.
"Conceited boy!" she murmurs, fondly; "there is little chance you
will ever do so much good for yourself."
"Don't be too sure. At all events, I have your consent?"
"Yes, and my blessing, too," says mother, laughing again.
"Thanks. Then I'll turn it over in my mind when I go back."
"Roly," I break in with my accustomed graciousness, "what brought
you?"
"The train and an overpowering desire to see Dora's young man."
A laugh and a blush from Dora.
"I met him just now," I say, "down by the trout-river. What a
pity he did not come home with me, to satisfy your curiosity
without delay!"
"Mother, do you think it the correct thing for Phyllis to keep
clandestine appointments with her brother-in-law? Dora, is it
possible you do not scent mischief in the air? A person, too, of
Phyllis's well-known attractions---"
"What was he doing at the trout-river?" asks Dora, with a smile.
She is too secure in the knowledge of her own beauty to dread a
rival anywhere, least of all in _me_.
"Nothing, as far as I could see. He talked a little, and said he
was coming here next Friday."
"The day after to-morrow. I shall ask him his intentions," says
Roly. "It is most fortunate I am on the spot. One should never
let an affair of this kind _drag_. It will doubtless be a
thankless task; but I make a point of never shirking duty; and
when we have put our beloved father comfortably under ground---"
"Roland," interrupts mother, in a shocked tone. There is a pause.
"I quite thought you were going to say something," says Roland,
amiably. "I was mistaken. I will therefore continue. When we have
put our beloved father well under the ground I will then be head
of this house, and natural guardian to these poor dear girls and,
with this prospect in view, I feel even at the present moment a
certain responsibility, that compels me to look after their
interests and bring this recreant gallant to book."
"Roland, my dear, I wish you would not speak so of your father,"
puts in mamma, feebly.
"Very well, I won't," returns Roly; "and he shan't be put under
ground at all, if you don't wish it. Cremation shall be his fate,
and we shall keep his precious ashes in an urn."
"I don't believe Mr. Carrington cares a pin for Dora," says
Billy, irrevelantly. "I think he likes Phyllis twice as well."
This remark, though intended to do so, does _not_ act as a
bombshell in the family circle; it is regarded as a mere flash in
the pan from Billy, and is received with silent contempt. What
could a boy know about such matters?
"I have a month's leave," Roland informs us presently. "Do you
think in that time we could polish it off--courtship, proposal,
and wedding? Though," reflectively, "that would be a pity, as by
puffing off the marriage for a little while I might then screw
another month out of the old boy."
"Just so," I answer, approvingly.
"He is such a desirable young man in every way," says mother, _a
propos_ of Mr. Carrington; "so steady, well-tempered, and his
house is really beautiful. You know it,
Roland--Strangemore--seven miles from this?"
"I think it gloomy," Dora says, quietly. "When I--if I were
to--that is---"
"What a charming virtue is modesty!" I exclaim, _sotto voce_.
"Go on, Dora," says Roland, in an encouraging tone. "When you
marry Mr. Carrington, what will you do then?"
"Of course I don't see the smallest prospect of it," murmurs
Dora, with downcast eyes; "but if I were to become mistress of
Strangemore I would throw more light into all the rooms; I would
open up windows everywhere and take down those heavy pillars."
"Then you would ruin it," I cry indignantly; "its ancient
appearance is its chief charm. You would make it a mere modern
dwelling-house; and the pillars I think magnificent."
"_I_ don't," says dear Dora, immovably; "and if ever I get the
chance I will certainly remove them."
"You won't get the chance, then; you need not think it. Mr.
Carrington has not the smallest idea of marrying you," exclaims
Billy, whose Latin and Greek have evidently disagreed with him.
"It is a pity your tutor cannot teach you to be a gentleman,"
retorts Dora, casting a withering glance at our youngest born.
"Our dear William's temper appears slightly ruffled," remarks
Roland, smoothly. "Evidently the gentleman of the name of
Caldwood was lavish with his birch this morning. Come with me,
Phyllis: I want to visit the stables."
I follow him gladly; and Billy joining us, with a grim
countenance, we sally forth, leaving Dora to pour her griefs into
mother's gentle bosom.