"OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, AND ON WITH THE NEW."
The next morning saw Mrs. Gibson in a much more contented frame of
mind. She had written and posted her letter, and the next thing was
to keep Cynthia in what she called a reasonable state, or, in other
words, to try and cajole her into docility. But it was so much labour
lost. Cynthia had already received a letter from Mr. Henderson before
she came down to breakfast,--a declaration of love, a proposal of
marriage as clear as words could make it; together with an intimation
that, unable to wait for the slow delays of the post, he was going
to follow her down to Hollingford, and would arrive at the same time
that she had done herself on the previous day. Cynthia said nothing
about this letter to any one. She came late into the breakfast-room,
after Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had finished the actual business of the
meal; but her unpunctuality was quite accounted for by the fact that
she had been travelling all the night before. Molly was not as yet
strong enough to get up so early. Cynthia hardly spoke, and did not
touch her food. Mr. Gibson went about his daily business, and Cynthia
and her mother were left alone.
"My dear," said Mrs. Gibson, "you are not eating your breakfast as
you should do. I am afraid our meals seem very plain and homely to
you after those in Hyde Park Street?"
"No," said Cynthia; "I'm not hungry, that's all."
"If we were as rich as your uncle, I should feel it to be both a duty
and a pleasure to keep an elegant table; but limited means are a
sad clog to one's wishes. I don't suppose that, work as he will, Mr.
Gibson can earn more than he does at present; while the capabilities
of the law are boundless. Lord Chancellor! Titles as well as
fortune!"
Cynthia was almost too much absorbed in her own reflections to reply,
but she did say,--"Hundreds of briefless barristers. Take the other
side, mamma."
"Well; but I have noticed that many of these have private fortunes."
"Perhaps. Mamma, I expect Mr. Henderson will come and call this
morning."
"Oh, my precious child! But how do you know? My darling Cynthia, am I
to congratulate you?"
"No! I suppose I must tell you. I have had a letter this morning from
him, and he's coming down by the 'Umpire' to-day."
"But he has offered? He surely must mean to offer, at any rate?"
Cynthia played with her teaspoon before she replied; then she looked
up, like one startled from a dream, and caught the echo of her
mother's question.
"Offered! yes, I suppose he has."
"And you accept him? Say 'yes,' Cynthia, and make me happy!"
"I shan't say 'yes' to make any one happy except myself, and the
Russian scheme has great charms for me." She said this to plague
her mother, and lessen Mrs. Gibson's exuberance of joy, it must be
confessed; for her mind was pretty well made up. But it did not
affect Mrs. Gibson, who affixed even less truth to it than there
really was. The idea of a residence in a new, strange country, among
new, strange people, was not without allurement to Cynthia.
"You always look nice, dear; but don't you think you had better put
on that pretty lilac silk?"
"I shall not vary a thread or a shred from what I have got on now."
"You dear, wilful creature! you know you always look lovely in
whatever you put on." So, kissing her daughter, Mrs. Gibson left the
room, intent on the lunch which should impress Mr. Henderson at once
with an idea of family refinement.
Cynthia went upstairs to Molly; she was inclined to tell her about
Mr. Henderson, but she found it impossible to introduce the subject
naturally, so she left it to time to reveal the future as gradually
as it might. Molly was tired with a bad night; and her father, in
his flying visit to his darling before going out, had advised her to
stay upstairs for the greater part of the morning, and to keep quiet
in her own room till after her early dinner, so Time had not a fair
chance of telling her what he had in store in his budget. Mrs. Gibson
sent an apology to Molly for not paying her her usual morning visit,
and told Cynthia to give Mr. Henderson's probable coming as a reason
for her occupation downstairs. But Cynthia did no such thing. She
kissed Molly, and sate silently by her, holding her hand; till at
length she jumped up, and said, "You shall be left alone now, little
one. I want you to be very well and very bright this afternoon: so
rest now." And Cynthia left her, and went to her own room, locked the
door, and began to think.
Some one was thinking about her at the same time, and it was not Mr.
Henderson. Roger had heard from Mr. Gibson that Cynthia had come
home, and he was resolving to go to her at once, and have one strong,
manly attempt to overcome the obstacles whatever they might be--and
of their nature he was not fully aware--that she had conjured up
against the continuance of their relation to each other. He left his
father--he left them all--and went off into the woods, to be alone
until the time came when he might mount his horse and ride over to
put his fate to the touch. He was as careful as ever not to interfere
with the morning hours that were tabooed to him of old; but waiting
was very hard work when he knew that she was so near, and the time so
near at hand.
Yet he rode slowly, compelling himself to quietness and patience when
he was once really on the way to her.
"Mrs. Gibson at home? Miss Kirkpatrick?" he asked of the servant,
Maria, who opened the door. She was confused, but he did not notice
it.
"I think so--I'm not sure! Will you walk up into the drawing-room,
sir? Miss Gibson is there, I know."
So he went upstairs, all his nerves on the strain for the coming
interview with Cynthia. It was either a relief or a disappointment,
he was not sure which, to find only Molly in the room:--Molly, half
lying on the couch in the bow-window which commanded the garden;
draped in soft white drapery, very white herself, and a laced
half-handkerchief tied over her head to save her from any ill effects
of the air that blew in through the open window. He was so ready to
speak to Cynthia that he hardly knew what to say to any one else.
"I am afraid you are not so well," he said to Molly, who sat up to
receive him, and who suddenly began to tremble with emotion.
"I'm a little tired, that's all," said she; and then she was quite
silent, hoping that he might go, and yet somehow wishing him to stay.
But he took a chair and placed it near her, opposite to the window.
He thought that surely Maria would tell Miss Kirkpatrick that she was
wanted, and that at any moment he might hear her light quick footstep
on the stairs. He felt he ought to talk, but he could not think of
anything to say. The pink flush came out on Molly's cheeks; once or
twice she was on the point of speaking, but again she thought better
of it; and the pauses between their faint disjointed remarks became
longer and longer. Suddenly, in one of these pauses, the merry murmur
of distant happy voices in the garden came nearer and nearer; Molly
looked more and more uneasy and flushed, and in spite of herself
kept watching Roger's face. He could see over her into the garden. A
sudden deep colour overspread him, as if his heart had sent its blood
out coursing at full gallop. Cynthia and Mr. Henderson had come in
sight; he eagerly talking to her as he bent forward to look into her
face; she, her looks half averted in pretty shyness, was evidently
coquetting about some flowers, which she either would not give,
or would not take. Just then, for the lovers had emerged from the
shrubbery into comparatively public life, Maria was seen approaching;
apparently she had feminine tact enough to induce Cynthia to leave
her present admirer, and to go a few steps to meet her to receive
the whispered message that Mr. Roger Hamley was there, and wished to
speak to her. Roger could see her startled gesture; she turned back
to say something to Mr. Henderson before coming towards the house.
Now Roger spoke to Molly--spoke hurriedly, spoke hoarsely.
[Illustration: CYNTHIA'S LAST LOVER.]
"Molly, tell me! Is it too late for me to speak to Cynthia? I came on
purpose. Who is that man?"
"Mr. Henderson. He only came to-day--but now he is her accepted
lover. Oh, Roger, forgive me the pain!"
"Tell her I have been, and am gone. Send out word to her. Don't let
her be interrupted."
And Roger ran downstairs at full speed, and Molly heard the
passionate clang of the outer door. He had hardly left the house
before Cynthia entered the room, pale and resolute.
"Where is he?" she said, looking around, as if he might yet be
hidden.
"Gone!" said Molly, very faint.
"Gone. Oh, what a relief! It seems to be my fate never to be off with
the old lover before I am on with the new, and yet I did write as
decidedly as I could. Why, Molly, what's the matter?" for now Molly
had fainted away utterly. Cynthia flew to the bell, summoned Maria,
water, salts, wine, anything; and as soon as Molly, gasping and
miserable, became conscious again, she wrote a little pencil-note to
Mr. Henderson, bidding him return to the "George," whence he had come
in the morning, and saying that if he obeyed her at once, he might be
allowed to call again in the evening, otherwise she would not see him
till the next day. This she sent down by Maria, and the unlucky man
never believed but that it was Miss Gibson's sudden indisposition in
the first instance that had deprived him of his charmer's company.
He comforted himself for the long solitary afternoon by writing to
tell all his friends of his happiness, and amongst them uncle and
aunt Kirkpatrick, who received his letter by the same post as that
discreet epistle of Mrs. Gibson's, which she had carefully arranged
to reveal as much as she wished, and no more.
"Was he very terrible?" asked Cynthia, as she sate with Molly in the
stillness of Mrs. Gibson's dressing-room.
"Oh, Cynthia, it was such pain to see him, he suffered so!"
"I don't like people of deep feelings," said Cynthia, pouting. "They
don't suit me. Why couldn't he let me go without this fuss? I'm not
worth his caring for!"
"You have the happy gift of making people love you. Remember Mr.
Preston,--he too wouldn't give up hope."
"Now I won't have you classing Roger Hamley and Mr. Preston together
in the same sentence. One was as much too bad for me as the other
is too good. Now I hope that man in the garden is the _juste
milieu_,--I'm that myself, for I don't think I'm vicious, and I know
I'm not virtuous."
"Do you really like him enough to marry him?" asked Molly earnestly.
"Do think, Cynthia. It won't do to go on throwing your lovers off;
you give pain that I'm sure you do not mean to do,--that you cannot
understand."
"Perhaps I can't. I'm not offended. I never set up for what I am
not, and I know I'm not constant. I've told Mr. Henderson so--" She
stopped, blushing and smiling at the recollection.
"You have! and what did he say?"
"That he liked me just as I was; so you see he's fairly warned. Only
he's a little afraid, I suppose,--for he wants me to be married very
soon, almost directly, in fact. But I don't know if I shall give
way,--you hardly saw him, Molly,--but he's coming again to-night, and
mind, I'll never forgive you if you don't think him very charming.
I believe I cared for him when he offered all those months ago, but
I tried to think I didn't; only sometimes I really was so unhappy,
I thought I must put an iron band round my heart to keep it from
breaking, like the Faithful John of the German story,--do you
remember, Molly?--how when his master came to his crown and his
fortune and his lady-love, after innumerable trials and disgraces,
and was driving away from the church where he'd been married in a
coach and six, with Faithful John behind, the happy couple heard
three great cracks in succession, and on inquiring, they were the
iron-bands round his heart, that Faithful John had worn all during
the time of his master's tribulation, to keep it from breaking."
In the evening Mr. Henderson came. Molly had been very curious to see
him; and when she saw him she was not sure whether she liked him or
not. He was handsome, without being conceited; gentlemanly, without
being foolishly fine. He talked easily, and never said a silly thing.
He was perfectly well-appointed, yet never seemed to have given a
thought to his dress. He was good-tempered and kind; not without some
of the cheerful flippancy of repartee which belonged to his age and
profession, and which his age and profession are apt to take for
wit. But he wanted something in Molly's eyes--at any rate, in this
first interview, and in her heart of hearts she thought him rather
commonplace. But of course she said nothing of this to Cynthia, who
was evidently as happy as she could be. Mrs. Gibson, too, was in
the seventh heaven of ecstasy, and spoke but little; but what she
did say, expressed the highest sentiments in the finest language.
Mr. Gibson was not with them for long, but while he was there he
was evidently studying the unconscious Mr. Henderson with his dark
penetrating eyes. Mr. Henderson behaved exactly as he ought to have
done to everybody: respectful to Mr. Gibson, deferential to Mrs.
Gibson, friendly to Molly, devoted to Cynthia.
The next time Mr. Gibson found Molly alone, he began,--"Well! and how
do you like the new relation that is to be?"
"It's difficult to say. I think he's very nice in all his bits,
but--rather dull on the whole."
"I think him perfection," said Mr. Gibson, to Molly's surprise;
but in an instant afterwards she saw that he had been speaking
ironically. He went on. "I don't wonder she preferred him to Roger
Hamley. Such scents! such gloves! And then his hair and his cravat!"
"Now, papa, you're not fair. He is a great deal more than that. One
could see that he had very good feeling; and he is very handsome, and
very much attached to her."
"So was Roger. However, I must confess I shall be only too glad to
have her married. She's a girl who'll always have some love-affair on
hand, and will always be apt to slip through a man's fingers if he
doesn't look sharp; as I was saying to Roger--"
"You have seen him, then, since he was here?"
"Met him in the street."
"How was he?"
"I don't suppose he'd been going through the pleasantest thing in
the world; but he'll get over it before long. He spoke with sense
and resignation, and didn't say much about it; but one could see
that he was feeling it pretty sharply. He's had three months to
think it over, remember. The Squire, I should guess, is showing more
indignation. He is boiling over, that any one should reject his son!
The enormity of the sin never seems to have been apparent to him
till now, when he sees how Roger is affected by it. Indeed, with the
exception of myself, I don't know one reasonable father; eh, Molly?"
Whatever else Mr. Henderson might be, he was an impatient lover; he
wanted to marry Cynthia directly--next week--the week after; at any
rate before the long vacation, so that they could go abroad at once.
Trousseaux, and preliminary ceremonies, he gave to the winds. Mr.
Gibson, generous as usual, called Cynthia aside a morning or two
after her engagement, and put a hundred-pound note into her hands.
"There! that's to pay your expenses to Russia and back. I hope you'll
find your pupils obedient."
To his surprise, and rather to his discomfiture, Cynthia threw her
arms round his neck and kissed him.
"You are the kindest person I know," said she; "and I don't know how
to thank you in words."
"If you tumble my shirt-collars again in that way, I'll charge you
for the washing. Just now, too, when I'm trying so hard to be trim
and elegant, like your Mr. Henderson."
"But you do like him, don't you?" said Cynthia, pleadingly. "He does
so like you."
"Of course. We're all angels just now, and you're an arch-angel. I
hope he'll wear as well as Roger."
Cynthia looked grave. "That was a very silly affair," she said. "We
were two as unsuitable people--"
"It has ended, and that's enough. Besides, I've no more time to
waste; and there's your smart young man coming here in all haste."
Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick sent all manner of congratulations; and
Mrs. Gibson, in a private letter, assured Mrs. Kirkpatrick that
her ill-timed confidence about Roger should be considered as quite
private. For as soon as Mr. Henderson had made his appearance in
Hollingford, she had written a second letter, entreating them not to
allude to anything she might have said in her first; which she said
was written in such excitement on discovering the real state of her
daughter's affections, that she had hardly known what she had said,
and had exaggerated some things, and misunderstood others: all
that she did know now was, that Mr. Henderson had just proposed to
Cynthia, and was accepted, and that they were as happy as the day
was long, and ("excuse the vanity of a mother,") made a most lovely
couple. So Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick wrote back an equally agreeable
letter, praising Mr. Henderson, admiring Cynthia, and generally
congratulatory; insisting into the bargain that the marriage should
take place from their house in Hyde Park Street, and that Mr. and
Mrs. Gibson and Molly should all come up and pay them a visit. There
was a little postscript at the end. "Surely you do not mean the
famous traveller, Hamley, about whose discoveries all our scientific
men are so much excited. You speak of him as a young Hamley, who went
to Africa. Answer this question, pray, for Helen is most anxious to
know." This P.S. being in Helen's handwriting. In her exultation
at the general success of everything, and desire for sympathy, Mrs.
Gibson read parts of this letter to Molly; the postscript among the
rest. It made a deeper impression on Molly than even the proposed
kindness of the visit to London.
There were some family consultations; but the end of them all was
that the Kirkpatrick invitation was accepted. There were many small
reasons for this, which were openly acknowledged; but there was
one general and unspoken wish to have the ceremony performed out
of the immediate neighbourhood of the two men whom Cynthia had
previously--rejected; that was the word now to be applied to her
treatment of them. So Molly was ordered and enjoined and entreated
to become strong as soon as possible, in order that her health might
not prevent her attending the marriage; Mr. Gibson himself, though he
thought it his duty to damp the exultant anticipations of his wife
and her daughter, being not at all averse to the prospect of going
to London, and seeing half-a-dozen old friends, and many scientific
exhibitions, independently of the very fair amount of liking which he
had for his host, Mr. Kirkpatrick himself.