NANCY MEETS HER RIVAL
It was the morning after the outdoor party that Danvers came into the
breakfast-room with a pleasant excitement showing in his face.
"I've a present for you," he said, going over to Nancy, who had not
left the table.
"For me?" she asked.
"For you--though I'm far from sure that you deserve it, for if there's
a man in Edinburgh this morning whom ye haven't in love with ye, he's
blind. However," he laughed, "we'll waive that," and he took a box from
his pocket and held it above his head.
"Will ye kiss me for it?" he cried.
"I will not," said she decisively.
"Then you sha'n't have it," he said with great determination, moving as
though to put it in his pocket.
"I'll go and write some letters, then," she remarked calmly, starting
toward the door.
Afraid of losing her society for the morning, mayhap, he put the box on
the table and pushed it toward her.
It was a small silver case, strong and firm, with a smaller box of
white velvet inside, in which lay a ruby ring--a gem for which men
commit crimes and women sin; a gorgeous, sparkling, rosy stone, sending
rainbow spots upon the wall, and rendering Nancy radiant and speechless
as she slipped it on her finger.
"Is it for me, Dand?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
"For whom else would it be, Little Girl?" he answered, and the delight
he had in her pleasure was a beautiful and husband-like thing to see.
"But why!" she asked. "Can I take it from him, Jock Stair?" she said,
turning to me suddenly.
"A woman can surely take a gift from her future husband with no
impropriety," I answered.
"That's true," she said; "but you see there is no betrothal between us,
and at the year's end I might have to send it back for some other woman
to wear, which would go far toward bringing me to my grave. I am afraid
I can't take it yet, Danvers."
"Wear it," he answers. "If ye can't wear it as my betrothed wife, wear
it in sign that I love you. Lord Stair hears that I hold it as token of
nothing save my own love for you. If it gives you pleasure, Nancy, it's
all I ask." At which she did the thing least expected of her by putting
her head suddenly down on her hands and bursting into a flood of tears.
"Oh," she cried, "these things are just putting me out of my mind. I
wish I was in Heaven, where there is no marrying or giving in
marriage!"
There was one point gained, however, for she wore the ring; and with it
upon her finger Danvers could never be kept long from her thoughts.
At luncheon of this same day, old Janet McGillavorich, from Mauchline,
whom Nancy ranked the chiefest of all her female friends, surprised us
by a visit. She was a far-removed cousin of Sandy's, who was constantly
back and forth between her own home and Edinburgh by reason of her
everlasting lawing.
It seems that her father had left her some property, and by the advices
of Hugh Pitcairn she had turned this to great advantage, owning bits of
land all over Scotland, from Solway side to John o' Groats.
She was a masculine-looking female, with hair of no particular shade
parted over a face very red in color, and with high cheekbones and
small gray eyes set at an angle like the Chinese folks. She was above
sixty years of age at this time, with a terrible honesty of conduct,
great violence of language, and carried things with a high hand
wherever she went.
Having heard of Nancy from Hugh Pitcairn four or five years before
this, she had demanded to make her acquaintance, upon which Hugh
fetched her over to tea one afternoon, and from that time forth she
bore an unending grudge against me, that Nancy was not her own.
"And so ye write," she had asked at this first interview; "I never read
anything ye wrote, but I'm glad to meet in with any woman who has an
aim 'beyond suckling fools and chronicling small-beer.' But ye must be
careful what ye write, my dear," she went on, "or ye'll have the whole
female population of Scotland clattering after ye. Be orthodox, and
never trifle with tales concerning the seventh command. Stick to rhymes
like 'fountain and mountain' and 'airy and fairy,' and such like
things; for ye'll find that the women who tell tales that would make ye
blush, who lead dissolute, unthinking lives, who deceive their
husbands, and smell themselves up with Lily-of-the-Valley-water when
they go to the kirk, will be the hardest upon ye if ye stray from any
accepted thought. They require the correctest thinking in print ye
know!"
I never saw Nancy more pleased with any human being than with this
fire-eating old lady; and when Janet finished her discourse by the
statement, "God be praised! I never read poetry. Shakespeare sickened
me of that. This thing of not saying right out what you mean turns my
stomach. Padding out some lines to make them a bit longer, and chopping
off ends of words to make others shorter, ought to be beneath any
reasoning creature." Nancy put her head on the table and laughed until
I was afraid she would make herself ill.
It was after the luncheon, while Janet was still with us, that the Hon.
Mrs. Erskine and her daughter came to pay us a visit of congratulation
on the success of our entertainment. Danvers had gone off to walk, and
so it fell upon the three of us to receive these visitors in the
music-room, where we were having tea.
The elder lady, whom Sandy insisted had come to Edinburgh to marry me,
was an intentional female, with much hair, much rouge, and a pallor
heightened by rice-powder, which gave her a very floury and unclean
appearance. Her eyes were an indescribable color, resembling the pulp
of a grape, and near-set, a thing which I have never been able to abide
in man, woman, or child. Her nose was long and peaked, and her mouth
dropped at the corners. But it was the strange set of her whole figure
which struck my notice again and again. For she was, to use a lumbering
expression, all in front of her spine, with neither backward curve to
her head, nor her shoulders nor hips, which gave her a peculiarly
unpliable appearance. Her voice was high and of a singular penetrating
quality, and she had an over-civil manner to us, as of one who has
something to gain. Her gown, of blue, had many strange kinds of
trimming which seemed both needless and inexpressive, and what with the
rouge and the chains and hangings around her neck, she reminded me of
nothing so much as a grotesque figure for a Christmas-tree decoration.
When it be added to all of this that she had a fearful habit of
emphasizing certain words in a senseless and flippant style, and of
waving a lace kerchief constantly, after the manner of a flag, it may
be imagined with what joy I relished her society.
"Ah!" she said, "you are alone after the party. What a success it was!
A positive triumph, positive! Isabel and I had been told how delightful
Edinburgh society was, but we were not prepared for the gaiety we
found. It was charming! Positively charming! And how beautiful you
looked, my dear," she went on, turning to Nancy. "Of course we'd heard
of you--every one in any society at all has heard of you, you know; but
you've such style, my dear--positively the belle-air, positively!
"I know you're pleased to hear how your daughter is adored, aren't you,
Lord Stair? It's what I say to the dear duchess (the Duchess of Mont
Flathers, you know--we're just like sisters!). 'Maria,' I say to her,
'of course I am pleased to have Isabel the rage, as she is--it's only
natural, she being my daughter, that I should feel so.' I am enchanted
at all the attention she receives, and at the way men rave over her.
It's a mother's feeling. One night, I recall, when Danvers Carmichael
had positively compromised Isabel by his attentions, for he's always
after her, the dear duchess said to me:
"'Anne, this is going too far!' And I said:
"'Dearest, it may be; but I have no heart to stop them. They both look
so happy.' And the duchess replied:
"'Anne, your feelings do you credit; and I think it's so sweet and
womanly to be so honest about it.'
"'We naturally like to have our children beloved,' I answered, stiffly.
"That's just what I say all of the time!" she went on, as though some
one might stop her by a speech of his own. "Just what I say, Lord
Stair; both to Alexander Carmichael and his son. How beautiful, how
very beautiful the friendship between you is. And between your children
as well! Danvers is quite like a brother to your daughter, isn't he?
"I really believe--now don't contradict me," she said, waving her
handkerchief at her daughter, "I really believe that Isabel was
inclined to be jealous yesterday. Danvers has always been so devoted to
her--always, since she was quite a little, little girl; and I am
afraid--just a tiny morsel afraid--that it was hard for her to share
him.
"Not that you were to blame, dearest," she said, turning to Nancy, "not
the very least bit in the world. It was quite plain who claimed your
time! Quite plain! His Grace of Borthwicke is positively the most
fascinating creature I ever saw--positively. We never can get him in
London at all; so I never took my eyes from him; and all the town
bowing before him--and he absolutely on his knees before you, my dear!
Absolutely!
"Pardon me for mentioning it--forgive me, won't you?--but what a
beautiful, exquisite ring! Look, Isabel! Quite like an engagement ring.
Now could it--I wonder--could it," peering at it and then at Nancy
through her glasses--Nancy, whose eyes had the significant darkness in
them which I have mentioned so often.
"It is not an engagement ring," she answered quietly.
And here Janet, who had watched the Hon. Mrs. Erskine in much the same
manner as she would have regarded a foolish old cat, came into the
talk.
"Since you think so highly of Danvers, Mrs. Erskine, ye must say a good
word for him to Nancy Stair. He's my choice for her to marry," she
said, looking around with a bland smile.
"And does he want to marry her?" Mrs. Erskine asked, abashed by this
directness.
"He told me that he had asked her three times a day ever since they
met, and I, for one, hope that she'll think twenty times of him to once
she thinks of that devilish John Montrose."
I cared nothing for the silly old Mrs. Erskine, but my heart bled for
her daughter, who became a piteous white at the turn the talk had
taken, and put her handkerchief to her face, affecting a cough. Nancy
saw this and her heart spoke.
"Dandy Carmichael," she says, "talks to you, Mrs. MacGillavorich, to
please ye--you lay too much stress by what he says."
But the italicizing lady was routed, and as Janet watched her departure
from the window she said:
"Mark my words, John Stair! she's fetched that girl here to marry her
to Danvers Carmichael. I've not known Anne Erskine all these years for
nothing. The old cat!" she cried.