"Fainted dead away, Arthur; fainted dead away, Miss Rosebury; and until
I shouted aloud there was my fair pussy peeping out of paradise over the
wall to see if a young Adam was coming. Ha! ha! ha!"
"I am very much surprised, Dr Bolter," said Miss Rosebury, severely; "I
always thought the Miss Twettenham's was a most strictly-conducted
establishment?"
"So it is, my dear madam--so it is; but they've got one little black ewe
lamb in the flock, and the old ladies told me that if my young lady had
not been about to leave they'd have sent her away."
"And very properly," said Miss Rosebury, tightening her lips and
slightly agitating her curls.
"And did the lady soon come to, Harry?" said the Reverend Arthur
Rosebury, for he seemed to be much interested in his friend's discourse
over the dessert.
"Oh, yes, very soon. When I shouted, the dark nymph hopped off the
garden-seat, and the fair one came running from the flowers, and we soon
brought her to. Then I had a good look at the girls."
Miss Rosebury's rather pleasantly-shaped mouth was fast beginning to
assume the form of a thin red line, so tightly were her lips compressed.
"By George, sir! what a girl! A graceful Juno, sir; the handsomest
woman I ever saw. I was staggered. Bless my soul, Miss Rosebury,
here's Perowne and here's Stuart; they say to me, `You may as well take
charge of my girl and see her safe back here,' and being a good-natured
sort of fellow--"
"As you always were, Harry," said the Reverend Arthur, beaming mildly
upon his friend, while Miss Rosebury's lips relaxed a little.
"All rubbish! Stuff, man! Well, I said _yes_, of course, and I
imagined a couple of strips of schoolgirls that I could chat to, and
tell them about the sea, and tie on their pinafores before breakfast and
dinner, and give them a dose of medicine once a week; while here I am
dropped in for being guardian to a couple of beautiful women--girls who
will set our jungles on fire with their eyes, sir. By George, it's a
startler, sir, and no mistake."
"Dr Bolter seems to be an admirer of female beauty," said Miss
Rosebury, rather drily.
"Not a bit of it, madam. By George, no! Ladies? Why, they have always
seemed to be studies to me--objects of natural history. Very beautiful
from their construction, and I shouldn't have noticed these two only
that, by George! I've got to take charge of them--deliver them safe and
sound to their papas--with care--this side up; and the first thing I
find is that they've got eyes that will drive our young fellows wild,
and one of them--the peep out of paradise one--knows it too. Nice job
for a quiet old bachelor, eh?"
"You don't tell us anything about yourself, Harry," said the Reverend
Arthur; and Miss Rosebury seemed a little more at her ease.
"Nothing to tell you, my boy. Claret? Yes, thanks. Have you such a
thing as a lemon, Miss Rosebury?"
Miss Rosebury had, and as she rang she smiled with satisfaction at being
able to supply the wants of the bright little man who had been so true a
friend to her brother in the days gone by.
"Thank you, Miss Rosebury. Tumbler--water. Thanks. The lemon is, I
think, the king of fruits, and invaluable to man. Deliciously acid, a
marvellous quencher of thirst, a corrective, highly aromatic, a perfect
boon. I would leave all the finest wines in the world for a lemon."
"Then you believe all intoxicating drinks to be bad, doctor?" said Miss
Rosebury, eagerly.
"Except whiskey, my dear madam," said the doctor, with a twinkle of the
eye.
"Ah!" said Miss Rosebury, and the eager smile upon her lips faded; but
as she saw the zest with which the doctor rolled the lemon soft, and
after cutting it in half, squeezed the juice and pulp into his glass,
she relaxed a little, and directly afterwards began to beam, as the
doctor suddenly exclaimed:
"There, madam, smell my hands! There's scent! Talk of eau-de-cologne,
and millefleurs, and jockey club! Nothing to it! But come, Arthur, you
don't tell me about yourself."
"About myself," said the Reverend Arthur, smiling blandly; "I have
nothing to tell. You have seen my village; you have looked at my
church; you have been through my garden; and you have had a rummage in
my study. There is my life."
"A blessed one--a happy one, my dear Arthur. A perfect little home,
presided over by a lady whose presence shows itself at every turn. Miss
Rosebury," said the doctor, rising, "when I think of my own vagabond
life, journeying here and there with my regiment through heat and cold,
in civilisation and out, and after many wanderings, come back to this
peaceful spot, this little haven of rest, I see what a happy man my old
friend must be, and I envy him with all my heart."
He reseated himself, and Miss Rosebury's lips ceased to be compressed
into a tight line; and as she smiled and nodded pleasantly, she glanced
across at her brother, to see if he would speak, before replying that,
pleasant as their home was, they had their troubles in the parish.
"And I have no end of trouble with Arthur," she continued. "He is so
terribly forgetful!"
"He always was, my dear madam," said the little doctor. "If you wanted
him to keep an appointment in the old college days you had to write it
down upon eight pieces of paper, and place one in each of his pockets,
and pin the eighth in his hat. Then you might, perhaps, see him at the
appointed time."
"Oh, no, no, Harry! too bad--too bad!" murmured the Reverend Arthur,
smiling and shaking his head.
"Well, really, Arthur," said his sister, "I don't think there is much
exaggeration in what Dr Bolter says."
"I am very sorry," said the Reverend Arthur, meekly. "I suppose I am
far from perfect."
"My dear old boy, you are perfect enough. You are just right; and
though your dear sister here gives you a good scolding sometimes, I'll
be bound to say she thinks you are the finest brother under the sun!"
Miss Rosebury left her chair with a very pleasant smile upon her lips,
and a twinkling in the eyes that had the effect of making her look ten
years younger.
"I am going into the drawing-room," she said, in a quick little decided
way. "Arthur, dear, I daresay Dr Bolter would like to smoke."
"But, my dear madam, it would be profanity here."
"Then you shall be profane, doctor," said the little lady, nodding and
smiling, "but don't let Arthur smoke. He tried once before when he had
a friend to dinner, and it made him feel very, very sick."
The Reverend Arthur raised his eyebrows in a deprecating way, and then
shook his head sadly.
"Then I will not lure him on to indulgence in such a bad habit, Miss
Rosebury," said the little doctor. "In fact, I feel that I ought not to
indulge myself."
"Well, I really think it is very shocking, doctor!" said Miss Rosebury,
merrily. "You, a medical man, and you have confessed to a love for
whiskey, and now for tobacco."
"No, no; no, no!" he cried holding up his hands. "They are nauseous
medicines that I take to do me good."
"Indeed!" said the little lady, lingering in the room, and hanging about
her brother's chair as if loth to go; and there was a very sarcastic
ring in her voice.
"Oh, be merciful, Miss Rosebury!" said the doctor, laughing. "I am only
a weak man--a solitary wanderer upon the face of the earth! I have no
pleasant home. I have no sister to keep house."
"And keep you in order," said the Reverend Arthur, smiling pleasantly.
"And to keep me in order!" cried the doctor. "Mine's a hard life, Miss
Rosebury, and with all a man's vanity--a little man's vanity, for we
little men have a great deal of conceit to make up for our want of
stature--I think I do deserve a few creature comforts."
"Which you shall have while you stay, doctor; so now light your cigar,
for I'll be bound to say you have a store of the little black rolls
somewhere about you."
"I confess," he said, smiling, "I carry them in the same case with a few
surgical instruments."
"But I think we'll go into the little greenhouse, Mary," said the
Reverend Arthur. "I feel sure Harry Bolter would not mind."
"Mind? My dear Miss Rosebury, I'll go and sit outside on a gate and
smoke if you like."
"No, no," said the Reverend Arthur, mildly; "the green fly are rather
gaining ground amongst my flowers, and I thought it would kill a few."
"Dr Bolter is going to smoke his cigar here, where I am about to send
in the coffee," said Miss Rosebury, very decidedly, and the Reverend
Arthur directed an apologetic look at his old friend.
"Hah!" ejaculated the little doctor, taking out his case, and selecting
a cigar, "that's just the kind of social tyranny I like. A man, sir, is
stronger than a woman in physical development, but weaker in the matter
of making up his mind. I never am able to make up mine, and I am quite
sure, Arthur, old fellow, that you are very weak in the matter of making
up yours: thus, in steps the presiding genius of your house, and bids
you do this, and you do it. Yes, Miss Rosebury, I am going to sit here
and smoke and--"
"I am ready with a light, Dr Bolter," said the little lady, standing
close by with a box and a wax-match in her hands.
"No, no, really, my dear madam, I could not think of beginning while you
are here."
_Scratch_! went the match; there was a flash from the composition, and
then Miss Rosebury's plump taper little fingers held out the tiny
wax-light, which was taken; there were a few puffs of bluish smoke, and
Dr Bolter sank back in his chair, gazing at the door through which Miss
Rosebury had passed.
"Hah!" he ejaculated. "I shall have to be off to-morrow."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried the Reverend Arthur. "I thought you would come
and stay a month."
"Stay a month!" cried the doctor. "Why, my dear boy, what should I be
fit for afterwards if I did?"
"Fit for, Harry?"
"Yes, fit for. I should be totally spoiled. I should become a complete
domestic sybarite, and no more fit to go back to my tasks in the Malay
jungle than to fly. No, Arthur, old fellow, it would never do."
"We shall keep you as long as you can stay," said the Reverend Arthur,
smiling. "But seriously, did you not exaggerate about those young
ladies?"
"Not in the least, my dear boy, as far as regards one of them. The
other--old Stuart's little lassie--seems to be all that is pretty and
demure. But I don't suppose there is any harm in Helen Perowne. She is
a very handsome girl of about twenty or one-and-twenty, and I suppose
she has been kept shut up there by the old ladies, and probably, with
the best intentions, treated like a child."
"That must be rather a mistake," murmured the Reverend Arthur, dreamily.
"A mistake, sir, decidedly. If you have sons or daughters never forget
that they grow up to maturity; and if you wish to keep them caged up,
let it be in a cage whose bars are composed of good training, confidence
and belief in the principles you have sought to instil."
"Yes, I quite agree with you, Harry."
"Why, my dear boy, what can be more absurd than to take a handsome young
girl and tell her that men are a kind of wild beast that must never be
looked at, much more spoken to--suppressing all the young aspirations of
her heart?"
"I suppose it would be wrong, Harry."
"Wrong and absurd, sir. There is the vigorous young growth that will
have play, and you tighten it up in a pair of moral stays, so to speak,
with the result that the growth pushes forth in an abnormal way to the
detriment of the subject; and in the future you have a moral distortion
instead of a healthy young plant. Ha--ha!--ha--ha!"
"Why do you laugh?" said the Reverend Arthur. "I think what you have
said quite right, only that ladies like the Misses Twettenham are, as it
were, forced to a very rigid course."
"Yes, yes, exactly. I was laughing because it seems so absurd for a
pair of old fogies of bachelors like us to be laying down the law as to
the management and training of young girls. But look here, Arthur, old
fellow, as I am in for this job of guardian to these girls, I should
like to have something intermediate."
"Something intermediate? I don't understand you. Thank you; set the
coffee down, Betsey."
"Hah! Yes; capital cup of coffee, Arthur," said the doctor, after a
pause. "Best cup I've tasted for years."
"Yes, it is nice," said the Reverend Arthur, smiling, as if gratified at
his friend's satisfaction. "My sister always makes it herself."
"That woman's a treasure, sir. Might I ask for another cup?"
"Of course, my dear Harry. Pray consider that you are at home."
The coffee was rung for and brought, after a whispered conversation
between Betsey the maid and Miss Mary the mistress.
"What did they ring for, Betsey?" asked Miss Mary.
"The little gentleman wants some more coffee, ma'am."
"Then he likes it," said Miss Mary, who somehow seemed unduly excited.
"But hush, Betsey; you must not say `the little gentleman,' but `Dr
Bolter.' He is your master's dearest friend."
A minute or two later the maid came out from the little dining-room,
with scarlet cheeks and wide-open eyes, to where Miss Mary was lying in
wait.
"Is anything the matter, Betsey?" she asked, anxiously.
"No, ma'am, only the little Dr Bolter, ma'am, he took up the cup and
smelt it, just as if it was a smelling-bottle or one of master's roses,
ma'am."
"Yes--yes," whispered Miss Mary, impatiently.
"And then he put about ten lumps of sugar in it, ma'am."
"How many Betsey?"
"Ten big lumps, mum, and tasted; and while I was clearing away he said,
`Hambrosher!' I don't know what he meant, but that's what he said,
mum."
"That will do, Betsey," whispered Miss Mary. "Mind that the heater is
very hot. I'll come and cut the bread and butter myself."
Betsey went her way, and Miss Mary returned to the little drawing-room,
uttering a sigh of satisfaction; and it is worthy of record, that before
closing the door she sniffed twice, and thought that at a distance the
smell of cigars was after all not so very bad.
Meanwhile the conversation had been continued in the dining-room.
"What do I mean by intermediate, Arthur? Well, I don't want to take
those girls at one jump from the conventual seclusion of their school to
what would seem to them like the wild gaiety of one of the great
steamers of the _Messageries Maritimes_. I should like to give them a
little society first."
"Exactly; very wisely," assented the Reverend Arthur.
"So I thought if your sister would call on the Misses Twettenham with
you, and you would have them here two or three times to spend the day,
and a little of that sort of thing, do you see?"
"Certainly. We will talk to Mary about it when we go in to tea. I am
sure she would be very pleased."
"That's right; and now what do you say to a trot in the garden?"
"I shall be delighted!" was the reply; and they went out of the French
window into the warm glow of the soft spring evening, the doctor
throwing away the stump of his cigar as they came in sight of Miss Mary
with a handkerchief tied lightly over her head, busy at work with
scissors and basket cutting some flowers; and for the next hour they
were walking up and down listening to the doctor's account of Malaya--
its heat, its thunder-storms, and tropic rains; the beauties of the
vegetation; the glories of its nights when the fire-flies were
scintillating amidst the trees and shrubs that overhung the river, and
so on, for the doctor never seemed to tire.
"How anxious you must be to return, doctor!" said little Miss Rosebury
at last.
"No," he said, frankly. "No, I am not. I am very happy here in this
charming little home; but when I go back, I hope to be as happy there,
for I shall be busy, and work has its pleasures."
Brother and sister assented, and soon after they went in to tea, over
which the visiting question was broached, and after looking rather
severe, little Miss Rosebury readily assented to call and invite the
young ladies to spend a day.
The evening glided away like magic; and before the doctor could credit
that it was so late, he had to say "good-night," and was ushered into
his bedroom.
"Hah!" ejaculated the little man as he sank into a soft easy-chair,
covered with snow-white dimity, and gazed at the white hangings, the
pretty paper, the spotless furniture, and breathed in the pleasant scent
of fresh flowers, of which there was a large bunch upon his dressing
table. "Hah!" he ejaculated again, and rising softly, he went to the
table and looked at the blossoms.
"Why, those are the flowers she was cutting when we went down the
garden," he said to himself; and he went back to his chair and became
very thoughtful.
At the end of a quarter of an hour he wound up his watch and placed it
beneath his pillow, and then stood thinking for a few minutes before
slowly pulling off his boots.
As he took off one, he took it up meditatively, gazed at the sole, and
then at the interior, saying softly:
"She is really a very nice little woman!"
Then he took off the other boot, and whispered the same sentiment in
that, and all in the most serious manner; while just before dropping off
into a pleasant, restful sleep, he said, quite aloud this time:
"A very nice little woman indeed!"