RIVALRY.
For some days after the ball Cynthia seemed languid, and was very
silent. Molly, who had promised herself fully as much enjoyment in
talking over the past gaiety with Cynthia as in the evening itself,
was disappointed when she found that all conversation on the subject
was rather evaded than encouraged. Mrs. Gibson, it is true, was ready
to go over the ground as many times as any one liked; but her words
were always like ready-made clothes, and never fitted individual
thoughts. Anybody might have used them, and, with a change of proper
names, they might have served to describe any ball. She repeatedly
used the same language in speaking about it, till Molly knew the
sentences and their sequence even to irritation.
"Ah! Mr. Osborne, you should have been there! I said to myself many a
time how you really should have been there--you and your brother, of
course."
"I thought of you very often during the evening!"
"Did you? Now that I call very kind of you. Cynthia, darling! Do you
hear what Mr. Osborne Hamley was saying?" as Cynthia came into the
room just then. "He thought of us all on the evening of the ball."
"He did better than merely remember us then," said Cynthia, with her
soft slow smile. "We owe him thanks for those beautiful flowers,
mamma."
"Oh!" said Osborne, "you must not thank me exclusively. I believe it
was my thought, but Roger took all the trouble of it."
"I consider the thought as everything," said Mrs. Gibson. "Thought is
spiritual, while action is merely material."
This fine sentence took the speaker herself by surprise; and in such
conversation as was then going on, it is not necessary to accurately
define the meaning of everything that is said.
"I'm afraid the flowers were too late to be of much use, though,"
continued Osborne. "I met Preston the next morning, and of course we
talked about the ball. I was sorry to find he had been beforehand
with us."
"He only sent one nosegay, and that was for Cynthia," said Molly,
looking up from her work. "And it did not come till after we had
received the flowers from Hamley." Molly caught a sight of Cynthia's
face before she bent down again to her sewing. It was scarlet in
colour, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes. Both she and her
mother hastened to speak as soon as Molly had finished, but Cynthia's
voice was choked with passion, and Mrs. Gibson had the word.
"Mr. Preston's bouquet was just one of those formal affairs any one
can buy at a nursery-garden, which always strike me as having no
sentiment in them. I would far rather have two or three lilies of the
valley gathered for me by a person I like, than the most expensive
bouquet that could be bought!"
"Mr. Preston had no business to speak as if he had forestalled you,"
said Cynthia. "It came just as we were ready to go, and I put it into
the fire directly."
"Cynthia, my dear love!" said Mrs. Gibson (who had never heard of the
fate of the flowers until now), "what an idea of yourself you will
give to Mr. Osborne Hamley; but, to be sure, I can quite understand
it. You inherit my feeling--my prejudice--sentimental I grant,
against bought flowers."
Cynthia was silent for a moment; then she said, "I used some of
your flowers, Mr. Hamley, to dress Molly's hair. It was a great
temptation, for the colour so exactly matched her coral ornaments;
but I believe she thought it treacherous to disturb the arrangement,
so I ought to take all the blame on myself."
"The arrangement was my brother's, as I told you; but I am sure he
would have preferred seeing them in Miss Gibson's hair rather than
in the blazing fire. Mr. Preston comes far the worst off." Osborne
was rather amused at the whole affair, and would have liked to probe
Cynthia's motives a little farther. He did not hear Molly saying in
as soft a voice as if she were talking to herself, "I wore mine just
as they were sent," for Mrs. Gibson came in with a total change of
subject.
"Speaking of lilies of the valley, is it true that they grow wild
in Hurst Wood? It is not the season for them to be in flower yet;
but when it is, I think we must take a walk there--with our luncheon
in a basket--a little picnic in fact. You'll join us, won't you?"
turning to Osborne. "I think it's a charming plan! You could ride to
Hollingford and put up your horse here, and we could have a long day
in the woods and all come home to dinner--dinner with a basket of
lilies in the middle of the table!"
"I should like it very much," said Osborne; "but I may not be at
home. Roger is more likely to be here, I believe, at that time--a
month hence." He was thinking of the visit to London to sell
his poems, and the run down to Winchester which he anticipated
afterwards--the end of May had been the period fixed for this
pleasure for some time, not merely in his own mind, but in writing to
his wife.
"Oh, but you must be with us! We must wait for Mr. Osborne Hamley,
must not we, Cynthia?"
"I'm afraid the lilies won't wait," replied Cynthia.
"Well, then, we must put it off till dog-rose and honey-suckle time.
You will be at home then, won't you? or does the London season
present too many attractions?"
"I don't exactly know when dog-roses are in flower!"
"Not know, and you a poet? Don't you remember the lines--
It was the time of roses,
We plucked them as we passed?"
"Yes; but that doesn't specify the time of year that is the time
of roses; and I believe my movements are guided more by the lunar
calendar than the floral. You had better take my brother for your
companion; he is practical in his love of flowers, I am only
theoretical."
"Does that fine word 'theoretical' imply that you are ignorant?"
asked Cynthia.
"Of course we shall be happy to see your brother; but why can't we
have you too? I confess to a little timidity in the presence of one
so deep and learned as your brother is from all accounts. Give me a
little charming ignorance, if we must call it by that hard word."
Osborne bowed. It was very pleasant to him to be petted and
flattered, even though he knew all the time that it was only
flattery. It was an agreeable contrast to the home that was so dismal
to him, to come to this house, where the society of two agreeable
girls, and the soothing syrup of their mother's speeches, awaited
him whenever he liked to come. To say nothing of the difference that
struck upon his senses, poetical though he might esteem himself, of a
sitting-room full of flowers, and tokens of women's presence, where
all the chairs were easy, and all the tables well covered with pretty
things, to the great drawing-room at home, where the draperies were
threadbare, and the seats uncomfortable, and no sign of feminine
presence ever now lent a grace to the stiff arrangement of the
furniture. Then the meals, light and well-cooked, suited his taste
and delicate appetite so much better than the rich and heavy viands
prepared by the servants at the Hall. Osborne was becoming a little
afraid of falling into the habit of paying too frequent visits to
the Gibsons (and that, not because he feared the consequences of
his intercourse with the two young ladies; for he never thought of
them excepting as friends;--the fact of his marriage was constantly
present to his mind, and Aime too securely enthroned in his heart,
for him to remember that he might be looked upon by others in the
light of a possible husband); but the reflection forced itself
upon him occasionally, whether he was not trespassing too often on
hospitality which he had at present no means of returning.
But Mrs. Gibson, in her ignorance of the true state of affairs, was
secretly exultant in the attraction which made him come so often
and lounge away the hours in her house and garden. She had no doubt
that it was Cynthia who drew him thither; and if the latter had been
a little more amenable to reason, her mother would have made more
frequent allusions than she did to the crisis which she thought was
approaching. But she was restrained by the intuitive conviction that
if her daughter became conscious of what was impending, and was made
aware of Mrs. Gibson's cautious and quiet efforts to forward the
catastrophe, the wilful girl would oppose herself to it with all
her skill and power. As it was, Mrs. Gibson trusted that Cynthia's
affections would become engaged before she knew where she was, and
that in that case she would not attempt to frustrate her mother's
delicate scheming, even though she did perceive it. But Cynthia had
come across too many varieties of flirtation, admiration, and even
passionate love, to be for a moment at fault as to the quiet friendly
nature of Osborne's attentions. She received him always as a sister
might a brother. It was different when Roger returned from his
election as Fellow of Trinity. The trembling diffidence, the hardly
suppressed ardour of his manner, made Cynthia understand before long
with what kind of love she had now to deal. She did not put it into
so many words--no, not even in her secret heart--but she recognized
the difference between Roger's relation to her and Osborne's long
before Mrs. Gibson found it out. Molly was, however, the first to
discover the nature of Roger's attention. The first time they saw
him after the ball, it came out to her observant eyes. Cynthia had
not been looking well since that evening; she went slowly about the
house, pale and heavy-eyed; and, fond as she usually was of exercise
and the free fresh air, there was hardly any persuading her now to go
out for a walk. Molly watched this fading with tender anxiety, but
to all her questions as to whether she had felt over-fatigued with
her dancing, whether anything had occurred to annoy her, and all
such inquiries, she replied in languid negatives. Once Molly touched
on Mr. Preston's name, and found that this was a subject on which
Cynthia was raw; now, Cynthia's face lighted up with spirit, and her
whole body showed her ill-repressed agitation, but she only said a
few sharp words, expressive of anything but kindly feeling towards
the gentleman, and then bade Molly never name his name to her again.
Still, the latter could not imagine that he was more than intensely
distasteful to her friend, as well as to herself; he could not be
the cause of Cynthia's present indisposition. But this indisposition
lasted so many days without change or modification, that even Mrs.
Gibson noticed it, and Molly became positively uneasy. Mrs. Gibson
considered Cynthia's quietness and languor as the natural consequence
of "dancing with everybody who asked her" at the ball. Partners whose
names were in the "Red Book" would not have produced half the amount
of fatigue, according to Mrs. Gibson's judgment apparently, and if
Cynthia had been quite well, very probably she would have hit the
blot in her mother's speech with one of her touches of sarcasm.
Then, again, when Cynthia did not rally, Mrs. Gibson grew impatient,
and accused her of being fanciful and lazy; at length, and partly
at Molly's instance, there came an appeal to Mr. Gibson, and a
professional examination of the supposed invalid, which Cynthia hated
more than anything, especially when the verdict was, that there was
nothing very much the matter, only a general lowness of tone, and
depression of health and spirits, which would soon be remedied by
tonics, and meanwhile, she was not to be roused to exertion.
"If there is one thing I dislike," said Cynthia to Mr. Gibson, after
he had pronounced tonics to be the cure for her present state, "it is
the way doctors have of giving tablespoonfuls of nauseous mixtures as
a certain remedy for sorrows and cares." She laughed up in his face
as she spoke; she had always a pretty word and smile for him, even in
the midst of her loss of spirits.
"Come! you acknowledge you have 'sorrows' by that speech: we'll make
a bargain: if you'll tell me your sorrows and cares, I'll try and
find some other remedy for them than giving you what you are pleased
to term my nauseous mixtures."
"No," said Cynthia, colouring; "I never said I had sorrows and cares;
I spoke generally. What should I have a sorrow about?--you and Molly
are only too kind to me," her eyes filling with tears.
"Well, well, we'll not talk of such gloomy things, and you shall have
some sweet emulsion to disguise the taste of the bitters I shall be
obliged to fall back upon."
"Please, don't. If you but knew how I dislike emulsions and
disguises! I do want bitters--and if I sometimes--if I'm obliged
to--if I'm not truthful myself, I do like truth in others--at least,
sometimes." She ended her sentence with another smile, but it was
rather faint and watery.
Now the first person out of the house to notice Cynthia's change of
look and manner was Roger Hamley--and yet he did not see her until,
under the influence of the nauseous mixture, she was beginning to
recover. But his eyes were scarcely off her during the first five
minutes he was in the room. All the time he was trying to talk
to Mrs. Gibson in reply to her civil platitudes, he was studying
Cynthia; and at the first convenient pause he came and stood before
Molly, so as to interpose his person between her and the rest of the
room; for some visitors had come in subsequent to his entrance.
"Molly, how ill your sister is looking! What is it? Has she had
advice? You must forgive me, but so often those who live together in
the same house don't observe the first approaches of illness."
Now Molly's love for Cynthia was fast and unwavering, but if anything
tried it, it was the habit Roger had fallen into of always calling
Cynthia Molly's sister in speaking to the latter. From any one else
it would have been a matter of indifference to her, and hardly to be
noticed; it vexed both ear and heart when Roger used the expression;
and there was a curtness of manner as well as of words in her reply.
"Oh! she was over-tired by the ball. Papa has seen her, and says she
will be all right very soon."
"I wonder if she wants change of air?" said Roger, meditatively. "I
wish--I do wish we could have her at the Hall; you and your mother
too, of course. But I don't see how it would be possible--or else how
charming it would be!"
Molly felt as if a visit to the Hall under such circumstances would
be altogether so different an affair to all her former ones, that she
could hardly tell if she should like it or not.
Roger went on,--
"You got our flowers in time, did you not? Ah! you don't know how
often I thought of you that evening! And you enjoyed it too, didn't
you?--you had plenty of agreeable partners, and all that makes a
first ball delightful? I heard that your sister danced every dance."
"It was very pleasant," said Molly, quietly. "But, after all, I'm not
sure if I want to go to another just yet; there seems to be so much
trouble connected with a ball."
"Ah! you are thinking of your sister, and her not being well?"
"No, I was not," said Molly, rather bluntly. "I was thinking of the
dress, and the dressing, and the weariness the next day."
He might think her unfeeling if he liked; she felt as if she had only
too much feeling just then, for it was bringing on her a strange
contraction of heart. But he was too inherently good himself to put
any harsh construction on her speech. Just before he went away, while
he was ostensibly holding her hand and wishing her good-by, he said
to her in a voice too low to be generally heard,--
"Is there anything I could do for your sister? We have plenty of
books, as you know, if she cares for reading." Then, receiving no
affirmative look or word from Molly in reply to this suggestion,
he went on,--"Or flowers? she likes flowers. Oh! and our forced
strawberries are just ready--I will bring some over to-morrow."
"I am sure she will like them," said Molly.
For some reason or other, unknown to the Gibsons, a longer interval
than usual occurred between Osborne's visits, while Roger came almost
every day, always with some fresh offering by which he openly sought
to relieve Cynthia's indisposition as far as it lay in his power.
Her manner to him was so gentle and gracious that Mrs. Gibson became
alarmed, lest, in spite of his "uncouthness" (as she was pleased
to term it), he might come to be preferred to Osborne, who was so
strangely neglecting his own interests, in Mrs. Gibson's opinion. In
her quiet way, she contrived to pass many slights upon Roger; but the
darts rebounded from his generous nature that could not have imagined
her motives, and fastened themselves on Molly. She had often been
called naughty and passionate when she was a child; and she thought
now that she began to understand that she really had a violent
temper. What seemed neither to hurt Roger nor annoy Cynthia made
Molly's blood boil; and now she had once discovered Mrs. Gibson's
wish to make Roger's visits shorter and less frequent, she was
always on the watch for indications of this desire. She read her
stepmother's heart when the latter made allusions to the Squire's
loneliness, now that Osborne was absent from the Hall, and that Roger
was so often away amongst his friends during the day,--
"Mr. Gibson and I should be so delighted if you could have stopped to
dinner; but, of course, we cannot be so selfish as to ask you to stay
when we remember how your father would be left alone. We were saying
yesterday we wondered how he bore his solitude, poor old gentleman!"
Or, as soon as Roger came with his bunch of early roses, it was
desirable for Cynthia to go and rest in her own room, while Molly
had to accompany Mrs. Gibson on some improvised errand or call.
Still Roger, whose object was to give pleasure to Cynthia, and who
had, from his boyhood, been always certain of Mr. Gibson's friendly
regard, was slow to perceive that he was not wanted. If he did not
see Cynthia, that was his loss; at any rate, he heard how she was,
and left her some little thing which he believed she would like, and
was willing to risk the chance of his own gratification by calling
four or five times in the hope of seeing her once. At last there came
a day when Mrs. Gibson went beyond her usual negative snubbiness,
and when, in some unwonted fit of crossness, for she was a very
placid-tempered person in general, she was guilty of positive
rudeness.
Cynthia was very much better. Tonics had ministered to a mind
diseased, though she hated to acknowledge it; her pretty bloom and
much of her light-heartedness had come back, and there was no cause
remaining for anxiety. Mrs. Gibson was sitting at her embroidery
in the drawing-room, and the two girls were at the window, Cynthia
laughing at Molly's earnest endeavours to imitate the French accent
in which the former had been reading a page of Voltaire. For
the duty, or the farce, of settling to "improving reading" in
the mornings was still kept up, although Lord Hollingford, the
unconscious suggestor of the idea, had gone back to town without
making any of the efforts to see Molly again that Mrs. Gibson had
anticipated on the night of the ball. That Alnaschar vision had
fallen to the ground. It was as yet early morning; a delicious,
fresh, lovely June day, the air redolent with the scents of
flower-growth and bloom; and half the time the girls had been
ostensibly employed in the French reading they had been leaning out
of the open window trying to reach a cluster of climbing roses. They
had secured them at last, and the buds lay on Cynthia's lap, but many
of the petals had fallen off; so, though the perfume lingered about
the window-seat, the full beauty of the flowers had passed away. Mrs.
Gibson had once or twice reproved them for the merry noise they were
making, which hindered her in the business of counting the stitches
in her pattern; and she had set herself a certain quantity to do
that morning before going out, and was of that nature which attaches
infinite importance to fulfilling small resolutions, made about
indifferent trifles without any reason whatever.
"Mr. Roger Hamley," was announced. "So tiresome!" said Mrs. Gibson,
almost in his hearing, as she pushed away her embroidery frame. She
put out her cold, motionless hand to him, with a half-murmured word
of welcome, still eyeing her lost embroidery. He took no apparent
notice, and passed on to the window.
"How delicious!" said he. "No need for any more Hamley roses now
yours are out."
"I agree with you," said Mrs. Gibson, replying to him before either
Cynthia or Molly could speak, though he addressed his words to them.
"You have been very kind in bringing us flowers so long; but now our
own are out we need not trouble you any more."
He looked at her with a little surprise clouding his honest face; it
was perhaps more at the tone than the words. Mrs. Gibson, however,
had been bold enough to strike the first blow, and she determined
to go on as opportunity offered. Molly would perhaps have been more
pained if she had not seen Cynthia's colour rise. She waited for her
to speak, if need were; for she knew that Roger's defence, if defence
were required, might be safely entrusted to Cynthia's ready wit.
He put out his hand for the shattered cluster of roses that lay in
Cynthia's lap.
"At any rate," said he, "my trouble--if Mrs. Gibson considers it has
been a trouble to me--will be over-paid, if I may have this."
"Old lamps for new," said Cynthia, smiling as she gave it to him. "I
wish one could always buy nosegays such as you have brought us, as
cheaply."
"You forget the waste of time that, I think, we must reckon as part
of the payment," said her mother. "Really, Mr. Hamley, we must learn
to shut our doors on you if you come so often, and at such early
hours! I settle myself to my own employment regularly after breakfast
till lunch-time; and it is my wish to keep Cynthia and Molly to a
course of improving reading and study--so desirable for young people
of their age, if they are ever to become intelligent, companionable
women; but with early visitors it is quite impossible to observe any
regularity of habits."
All this was said in that sweet, false tone which of late had gone
through Molly like the scraping of a slate-pencil on a slate. Roger's
face changed. His ruddy colour grew paler for a moment, and he looked
grave and not pleased. In another moment the wonted frankness of
expression returned. Why should not he, he asked himself, believe
her? It was early to call; it did interrupt regular occupation. So he
spoke, and said,--
"I believe I have been very thoughtless--I'll not come so early
again; but I had some excuse to-day: my brother told me you had made
a plan for going to see Hurst Wood when the roses were out, and they
are earlier than usual this year--I've been round to see. He spoke of
a long day there, going before lunch--"
"The plan was made with Mr. Osborne Hamley. I could not think of
going without him!" said Mrs. Gibson, coldly.
"I had a letter from him this morning, in which he named your wish,
and he says he fears he cannot be at home till they are out of
flower. I daresay they are not much to see in reality, but the day is
so lovely I thought that the plan of going to Hurst Wood would be a
charming excuse for being out of doors."
"Thank you. How kind you are! and so good, too, in sacrificing your
natural desire to be with your father as much as possible."
"I'm glad to say my father is so much better than he was in the
winter that he spends much of his time out of doors in his fields. He
has been accustomed to go about alone, and I--we think that as great
a return to his former habits as he can be induced to make is the
best for him."
"And when do you return to Cambridge?"
There was some hesitation in Roger's manner as he replied,--
"It is uncertain. You probably know that I am a Fellow of Trinity
now. I hardly yet know what my future plans may be; I am thinking of
going up to London soon."
"Ah! London is the true place for a young man," said Mrs. Gibson,
with decision, as if she had reflected a good deal on the question.
"If it were not that we really are so busy this morning, I should
have been tempted to make an exception to our general rule; one more
exception, for your early visits have made us make too many already.
Perhaps, however, we may see you again before you go?"
"Certainly I shall come," replied he, rising to take his leave, and
still holding the demolished roses in his hand. Then, addressing
himself more especially to Cynthia, he added, "My stay in London will
not exceed a fortnight or so--is there anything I can do for you--or
you?" turning a little to Molly.
"No, thank you very much," said Cynthia, very sweetly, and then,
acting on a sudden impulse, she leant out of the window, and gathered
him some half-opened roses. "You deserve these; do throw that poor
shabby bunch away."
His eyes brightened, his cheeks glowed. He took the offered buds, but
did not throw away the other bunch.
"At any rate, I may come after lunch is over, and the afternoons and
evenings will be the most delicious time of day a month hence." He
said this to both Molly and Cynthia, but in his heart he addressed it
to the latter.
Mrs. Gibson affected not to hear what he was saying, but held out her
limp hand once more to him.
"I suppose we shall see you when you return; and pray tell your
brother how we are longing to have a visit from him again."
When he had left the room, Molly's heart was quite full. She
had watched his face, and read something of his feelings: his
disappointment at their non-acquiescence in his plan of a day's
pleasure in Hurst Wood, the delayed conviction that his presence
was not welcome to the wife of his old friend, which had come so
slowly upon him--perhaps, after all, these things touched Molly more
keenly than they did him. His bright look when Cynthia gave him the
rose-buds indicated a gush of sudden delight more vivid than the pain
he had shown by his previous increase of gravity.
"I can't think why he will come at such untimely hours," said Mrs.
Gibson, as soon as she heard him fairly out of the house. "It's
different from Osborne; we are so much more intimate with him: he
came and made friends with us all the time this stupid brother of
his was muddling his brains with mathematics at Cambridge. Fellow of
Trinity, indeed! I wish he would learn to stay there, and not come
intruding here, and assuming that because I asked Osborne to join in
a picnic it was all the same to me which brother came."
"In short, mamma, one man may steal a horse, but another must not
look over the hedge," said Cynthia, pouting a little.
"And the two brothers have always been treated so exactly alike by
their friends, and there has been such a strong friendship between
them, that it is no wonder Roger thinks he may be welcome where
Osborne is allowed to come at all hours," continued Molly, in high
dudgeon. "Roger's 'muddled brains,' indeed! Roger, 'stupid!'"
"Oh, very well, my dears! When I was young it wouldn't have been
thought becoming for girls of your age to fly out because a little
restraint was exercised as to the hours at which they should receive
the young men's calls. And they would have supposed that there might
be good reasons why their parents disapproved of the visits of
certain gentlemen, even while they were proud and pleased to see some
members of the same family."
"But that was what I said, mamma," said Cynthia, looking at her
mother with an expression of innocent bewilderment on her face. "One
man may--"
"Be quiet, child! All proverbs are vulgar, and I do believe that
is the vulgarest of all. You are really catching Roger Hamley's
coarseness, Cynthia!"
"Mamma," said Cynthia, roused to anger, "I don't mind your abusing
me, but Mr. Roger Hamley has been very kind to me while I've not
been well: I can't bear to hear him disparaged. If he's coarse, I've
no objection to be coarse as well, for it seems to me it must mean
kindliness and pleasantness, and the bringing of pretty flowers and
presents."
Molly's tears were brimming over at these words; she could have
kissed Cynthia for her warm partisanship, but, afraid of betraying
emotion, and "making a scene," as Mrs. Gibson called any signs of
warm feeling, she laid down her book hastily, and ran upstairs to
her room, and locked the door in order to breathe freely. There were
traces of tears upon her face when she returned into the drawing-room
half-an-hour afterwards, walking straight and demurely up to her
former place, where Cynthia still sate and gazed idly out of the
window, pouting and displeased; Mrs. Gibson, meanwhile, counting her
stitches aloud with great distinctness and vigour.