AT LITTLE ALRESFORD.
Mr Hall was a pleasant English gentleman, now verging upon seventy
years of age, who had "never had a headache in his life," as he was
wont to boast, but who lived very carefully, as one who did not
intend to have many headaches. He certainly did not intend to make
his head ache by the cares of the work of the world. He was very well
off;--that is to say, that with so many thousands a year, he managed
to live upon half. This he had done for very many years, because
the estate was entailed on a distant relative, and because he had
not chosen to leave his children paupers. When the girls came he
immediately resolved that he would never go up to London,--and kept
his resolve. Not above once in three or four years was it supposed to
be necessary that he showed his head to a London hairdresser. He was
quite content to have a practitioner out from Alresford, and to pay
him one shilling, including the journey. His tenants in these bad
times had always paid their rents, but they had done so because
their rents had not been raised since the squire had come to the
throne. Mr Hall knew well that if he was anxious to save himself from
headaches in that line, he had better let his lands on easy terms. He
was very hospitable, but he never gave turtle from London, or fish
from Southampton, or strawberries or peas on the first of April. He
could give a dinner without champagne, and thought forty shillings
a dozen price enough for port or sherry, or even claret. He kept a
carriage for his four daughters, and did not tell all the world that
the horses spent a fair proportion of their time at the plough. The
four daughters had two saddle-horses between them, and the father had
another for his own use. He did not hunt,--and living in that part
of Hampshire, I think he was right. He did shoot after the manner
of our forefathers;--would go out, for instance, with Mr Blake, and
perhaps Mr Whittlestaff, and would bring home three pheasants, four
partridges, a hare, and any quantity of rabbits that the cook might
have ordered. He was a man determined on no account to live beyond
his means; and was not very anxious to seem to be rich. He was a man
of no strong affections, or peculiarly generous feelings. Those who
knew him, and did not like him, said that he was selfish. They who
were partial to him declared that he never owed a shilling that he
could not pay, and that his daughters were very happy in having such
a father. He was a good-looking man, with well-formed features, but
one whom you had to see often before you could remember him. And as
I have said before, he "never had a headache in his life." "When
your father wasn't doing quite so well with the bank as his friends
wished, he asked me to do something for him. Well; I didn't see my
way."
"I was a boy then, and I heard nothing of my father's business."
"I dare say not; but I cannot help telling you. He thought I
was unkind. I thought that he would go on from one trouble to
another;--and he did. He quarrelled with me, and for years we
never spoke. Indeed I never saw him again. But for the sake of old
friendship, I am very glad to meet you." This he said, as he was
walking across the hall to the drawing-room.
There Gordon met the young ladies with the clergyman, and had to
undergo the necessary introductions. He thought that he could
perceive at once that his story, as it regarded Mary Lawrie, had
been told to all of them. Gordon was quick, and could learn from the
manners of his companions what had been said about him, and could
perceive that they were aware of something of his story. Blake had no
such quickness, and could attribute none of it to another. "I am very
proud to have the pleasure of making you acquainted with these five
young ladies." As he said this he had just paused in his narrative
of Mr Whittlestaff's love, and was certain that he had changed the
conversation with great effect. But the young ladies were unable not
to look as young ladies would have looked when hearing the story of
an unfortunate gentleman's love. And Mr Blake would certainly have
been unable to keep such a secret.
"This is Miss Hall, and this is Miss Augusta Hall," said the father.
"People do think that they are alike."
"Oh, papa, what nonsense! You needn't tell Mr Gordon that."
"No doubt he would find it out without telling," continued the
father.
"I can't see it, for the life of me," said Mr Blake. He evidently
thought that civility demanded such an assertion. Mr Gordon, looking
at the two young ladies, felt that he would never know them apart
though he might live in the house for a year.
"Evelina is the third," continued Mr Hall, pointing out the one whom
Mr Blake had specially recommended to his friend's notice. "Evelina
is not quite so like, but she's like too."
"Papa, what nonsense you do talk!" said Evelina.
"And this is Mary. Mary considers herself to be quite the hope of the
family; _spem gregis_. Ha, ha!"
"What does _spem gregis_ mean? I'm sure I don't know," said Mary.
The four young ladies were about thirty, varying up from thirty to
thirty-five. They were fair-haired, healthy young women, with good
common-sense, not beautiful, though very like their father.
"And now I must introduce you to Miss Forrester,--Kattie Forrester,"
said Mr Blake, who was beginning to think that his own young lady
was being left out in the cold.
"Yes, indeed," said Mr Hall. "As I had begun with my own, I was
obliged to go on to the end. Miss Forrester--Mr Gordon. Miss
Forrester is a young lady whose promotion has been fixed in the
world."
"Mr Hall, how can you do me so much injury as to say that? You take
away from me the chance of changing my mind."
"Yes," said the oldest Miss Hall; "and Mr Gordon the possibility of
changing his. Mr Gordon, what a sad thing it is that Mr Harbottle
should never have had an opportunity of seeing his old parish once
again."
"I never knew him," said Gordon.
"But he had been here nearly fifty years. And then to leave the
parish without seeing it any more. It's very sad when you look at it
in that light."
"He has never resided here permanently for a quarter of a century,"
said Mr Blake.
"Off and on in the summer time," said Augusta. "Of course he could
not take much of the duty, because he had a clergyman's throat. I
think it a great pity that he should have gone off so suddenly."
"Miss Forrester won't wish to have his _resurgam_ sung, I warrant
you," said Mr Hall.
"I don't know much about _resurgams_," said the young lady, "but I
don't see why the parish shall not be just as well in Mr Blake's
hands." Then the young bride was taken away by the four elder ladies
to dress, and the gentlemen followed them half an hour afterwards.
They were all very kind to him, and sitting after dinner, Mr Hall
suggested that Mr Whittlestaff and Miss Lawrie should be asked over
to dine on the next day. John Gordon had already promised to stay
until the third, and had made known his intention of going back to
South Africa as soon as he could arrange matters. "I've got nothing
to keep me here," he said, "and as there is a good deal of money at
stake, I should be glad to be there as soon as possible."
"Oh, come! I don't know about your having nothing to keep you
here," said Blake. But as to Mr Hall's proposition regarding the
inhabitants of Croker's Lodge, Gordon said nothing. He could not
object to the guests whom a gentleman might ask to his own house; but
he thought it improbable that either Mr Whittlestaff or Mary should
come. If he chose to appear and to bring her with him, it must be his
own look-out. At any rate he, Gordon, could say and could do nothing
on such an occasion. He had been betrayed into telling his secret to
this garrulous young parson. There was no help for spilt milk; but it
was not probable that Mr Blake would go any further, and he at any
rate must be content to bear the man's society for one other evening.
"I don't see why you shouldn't manage to make things pleasant even
yet," said the parson. But to this John Gordon made no reply.
In the evening some of the sisters played a few pieces at the piano,
and Miss Forrester sang a few songs. Mr Hall in the meantime went
fast asleep. John Gordon couldn't but tell himself that his evenings
at Kimberley were, as a rule, quite as exciting. But then Kattie
Forrester did not belong to him, and he had not found himself able
as yet to make a choice between the young ladies. It was, however,
interesting to see the manner in which the new vicar hung about the
lady of his love, and the evident but innocent pride with which she
accepted the attentions of her admirer.
"Don't you think she's a beautiful girl?" said Blake, coming
to Gordon's room after they had all retired to bed; "such
genuine wit, and so bright, and her singing, you know, is quite
perfect,--absolutely just what it ought to be. I do know something
about singing myself, because I've had all the parish voices under my
own charge for the last three years. A practice like that goes a long
way, you know." To this Mr Gordon could only give that assent which
silence is intended to imply. "She'll have L5000 at once, you know,
which does make her in a manner equal to either of the Miss Halls. I
don't quite know what they'll have, but not more than that, I should
think. The property is entailed, and he's a saving man. But if he can
have put by L20,000, he has done very well; don't you think so?"
"Very well indeed."
"I suppose I might have had one of them; I don't mind telling you in
strictest confidence. But, goodness gracious, after I had once seen
Kattie Forrester, there was no longer a doubt. I wish you'd tell me
what you think about her."
"About Miss Forrester?"
"You needn't mind speaking quite openly to me. I'm that sort of
fellow that I shouldn't mind what any fellow said. I've formed my
own ideas, and am not likely to change them. But I should like
to hear, you know, how she strikes a fellow who has been at the
diamond-fields. I cannot imagine but that you must have a different
idea about women to what we have." Then Mr Blake sat himself down in
an arm-chair at the foot of the bed, and prepared himself to discuss
the opinion which he did not doubt that his friend was about to
deliver.
"A very nice young woman indeed," said John Gordon, who was anxious
to go to bed.
"Ah, you know,--that's a kind of thing that anybody can say. There
is no real friendship in that. I want to know the true candid
opinion of a man who has travelled about the world, and has been
at the diamond-fields. It isn't everybody who has been at the
diamond-fields," continued he, thinking that he might thereby flatter
his friend.
"No, not everybody. I suppose a young woman is the same there as
here, if she have the same natural gifts. Miss Forrester would be
pretty anywhere."
"That's a matter of course. Any fellow can see that with half an eye.
Absolutely beautiful, I should say, rather than pretty."
"Just so. It's only a variation in terms, you know."
"But then her manner, her music, her language, her wit, and the
colour of her hair! When I remember it all, I think I'm the luckiest
fellow in the world. I shall be a deal happier with her than with
Augusta Hall. Don't you think so? Augusta was the one intended for
me; but, bless you, I couldn't look at her after I had seen Kattie
Forrester. I don't think you've given me your true unbiassed opinion
yet."
"Indeed I have," said John Gordon.
"Well; I should be more free-spoken than that, if you were to ask
me about Mary Lawrie. But then, of course, Mary Lawrie is not your
engaged one. It does make a difference. If it does turn out that she
marries Mr Whittlestaff, I shan't think much of her, I can tell you
that. As it is, as far as looks are concerned, you can't compare her
to my Kattie."
"Comparisons are odious," said Gordon.
"Well, yes; when you are sure to get the worst of them. You wouldn't
think comparisons odious if you were going to marry Kattie, and it
was my lot to have Mary Lawrie. Well, yes; I don't mind going to bed
now, as you have owned so much as that."
"Of all the fools," said Gordon to himself, as he went to his own
chamber,--"of all the fools who were ever turned out in the world to
earn their own bread, he is the most utterly foolish. Yet he will
earn his bread, and will come to no especial grief in the work. If
he were to go out to Kimberley, no one would pay him a guinea a-week.
But he will perform the high work of a clergyman of the Church of
England indifferently well."
On the next morning a messenger was sent over to Croker's Hall, and
came back after due lapse of time with an answer to the effect that
Mr Whittlestaff and Miss Lawrie would have pleasure in dining that
day at Little Alresford Park. "That's right," said Mr Blake to the
lady of his love. "We shall now, perhaps, be able to put the thing
into a proper groove. I'm always very lucky in managing such matters.
Not that I think that Gordon cares very much about the young lady,
judging from what he says of her."
"Then I don't see why you should interest yourself."
"For the young lady's sake. A lady always prefers a young gentleman
to an old one. Only think what you'd feel if you were married to Mr
Whittlestaff."
"Oh, Montagu! how can you talk such nonsense?"
"I don't suppose you ever would, because you are not one of those
sort of young ladies. I don't suppose that Mary Lawrie likes it
herself; and therefore I'd break the match off in a moment if I
could. That's what I call good-natured."
After lunch they all went off to the Rookery, which was at the other
side of the park from Gar Wood. It was a beautiful spot, lying at
the end of the valley, through which they had to get out from their
carriage, and to walk for half a mile. Only for the sake of doing
honour to Miss Forrester, they would have gone on foot. But as it
was, they had all the six horses among them. Mr Gordon was put up
on one of the young ladies' steeds, the squire and the parson each
had his own, and Miss Evelina was also mounted, as Mr Blake had
suggested, perhaps with the view to the capture of Mr Gordon. "As
it's your first day," whispered Mr Blake to Kattie, "it is so nice,
I think, that the carriage and horses should all come out. Of course
there is nothing in the distance, but there should be a respect shown
on such an occasion. Mr Hall does do everything of this kind just as
it should be."
"I suppose you know the young lady who is coming here to-night," said
Evelina to Mr Gordon.
"Oh, yes; I knew her before I went abroad."
"But not Mr Whittlestaff?"
"I had never met Mr Whittlestaff, though I had heard much of his
goodness."
"And now they are to be married. Does it not seem to you to be very
hard?"
"Not in the least. The young lady seems to have been left by her
father and step-mother without any engagement, and, indeed, without
any provision. She was brought here, in the first place, from sheer
charity, and I can certainly understand that when she was here Mr
Whittlestaff should have admired her."
"That's a matter of course," said Evelina.
"Mr Whittlestaff is not at all too old to fall in love with any
young lady. This is a pretty place,--a very lovely spot. I think I
like it almost better than Gar Wood." Then there was no more said
about Mary Lawrie till they all rode back to dinner.