JUNE ROSES.
Uncle Joseph was a good judge of many things besides bonds, debentures,
shares, and scrip. When he bought "The Lilies" we may be sure he had his
wits about him, and made no imprudent investment. A prettier villa never
was reflected in the Thames. Huge elms, spreading cedars, delicate
acacias quivering in the lightest air, the very point-lace of the
forest, were grouped by Nature's master-hand round a wide-porched,
creeper-clad building, with long low rooms, and windows opening on a
lawn, all aglow with roses budding, blushing, blooming, to the water's
edge. It was a little Paradise of leaf and flower and stream, such as is
only to be found on the banks of our London river; such as calls up at
sight images of peace and love and hope, and sweet untried romance for
the young and trustful; such as wafts a thrill, not altogether painful,
to the hearts of weary, wayworn travellers, for whom, in all that golden
belief of the Past, there is nothing real now but a memory and a sigh.
Such a lawn, such a scene, such flowers, were thoroughly in keeping with
such a woman as Mrs. Lascelles, moving gracefully among the roses under
a summer sky.
So thought poor Goldthred, emerging from the French windows of the
breakfast-room for a _tête-à-tête_ with his goddess, that might last
half an hour, that might be cut short (he knew her caprices) in less
than five minutes! A _tête-à-tête_ from which he hoped to advance
positively and tangibly in her favour, but which, like many others of
the same kind, he feared might terminate in disappointment,
discomfiture, despair.
Breakfast, with this unfortunate young man, had been a repast of
paroxysms, alternating between rapture and dismay, such as completely
destroyed anything like appetite or digestion. It was all very well for
Uncle Joseph to go twice at the ham on the side-table, and devour such a
lump of _pâté de foie gras_ as would have choked a coal-heaver. It was
all very well for Sir Henry, lounging down when everybody else had
nearly done, avowedly with no appetite, after a cup of exceedingly hot
coffee, to play as good a knife and fork as an Eton boy. It was all very
well for the ladies, Mrs. Lascelles especially, to peck here and peck
there--a slice of chicken, a strawberry, a bit of toast, an egg, a
morsel of muffin, the least possible atom of pie--till each had made a
pretty substantial meal. But could their heartless voracity stifle _his_
(Goldthred's) sensibilities, or prevent his food tasting like leather,
his tea like camomiles? Breakfast was over ere he recovered his proper
senses, and then it was too late! The tonic so long denied this patient
sufferer consisted of a few words from Mrs. Lascelles, not addressed,
indeed, to himself, but accompanied by a glance he interpreted
correctly, and accepted with delight.
"Uncle Joseph," said she, "your roses are shamefully neglected, and I
shall inspect them thoroughly when I've drunk my tea."
Uncle Joseph, who, for sanitary reasons, never stirred till half an hour
had elapsed after eating, grunted acquiescence; but Goldthred, unmindful
of the _convenances_, rapturously followed his tyrant into the garden,
the instant her muslin skirt disappeared over the window-sill.
She waited till they were out of sight from the house, then gathered a
rose, fragrant, blooming, lovable as herself, and gave it him with a
winning smile.
"I've got something to say to you, Mr. Goldthred--something I don't want
everybody else to hear."
But for the flower pressed close against his lips, he felt that his
heart must have leaped out of his mouth, and fallen at her feet. Never a
word he spoke, but the light in his eyes, the glow on his face were
answer enough.
"You won't be offended?" she continued, gathering rose after rose, and
tying them up in a cluster, as she walked on. "You won't be cross,
unreasonable, unkind? Indeed, it's for your own sake quite as much as
mine. Mr. Goldthred, you can do me a great favour. Promise now; will you
do it?"
He made no bargain; he showed no hesitation, but his very ears were
crimson with sincerity while he answered:
"_Do_ it, Mrs. Lascelles! What is there I wouldn't do for you? I wish
you--you'd ask me to do something dangerous, or difficult, or--or
impossible even! You'd see there's something in me, then, and perhaps
you'd think better of me than you do now."
"Think better!" she repeated gaily. "Upon my word, I wonder what you'd
have! But I don't want you to do anything impossible, no, nor even
disagreeable. On the contrary, I should say it would be very pleasant. I
want you to--to flirt a little with Miss Hallaton--there!"
"Mrs. Lascelles!" was all he said, but something in his tone caused her
to laugh rather nervously, and quicken her pace as she continued:
"Oh! it's nothing to make a fuss about, and you needn't look so
reproachful! Miss Hallaton is a very nice girl, and very pretty. I'm
sure everybody thinks so, though she hasn't quite colour enough for my
taste. You know you admire her, Mr. Goldthred, and why should you mind
telling her so?"
"But I _don't_!" persisted Goldthred, in a great heat and fuss. "Can't
you see, Mrs. Lascelles? Is it not plain?"
She made no scruple of interrupting him.
"Then you _must_!" she insisted, tying a white rose deftly in amongst
its blushing sisters. "You needn't be _too_ much in earnest, you know,
but I wish you to pay a little attention to Miss Hallaton, for reasons
of my own. If you're very good I'll tell you what they are."
Oh! cool and crafty spider! Oh! silly struggling fly! Blue-eyed spider
in muslin and ribbons, fresh, smiling, radiant as morning. Helpless fly
in tweed and broadcloth, wondering, blundering, blind as midnight. The
fly buzzed a faint affirmative, and the spider went on.
"The fact is, Mr. Goldthred, you see you're a good deal with us, and I'm
sure we're always delighted to have you. Both Jin and I like you very
much. Jin says you are the only pleasant _young_ man she knows. But the
world _will_ talk, and--and--people are beginning to make remarks. I'm
almost old enough to be your mother. Well; you needn't contradict one so
flat. You know what I mean, you men are so much younger of your age
than us poor women. But that makes no difference. One can't be too
careful. Now if you were seen making up a little to Helen,--and she is a
very charming girl, I assure you,--it would stop all their mouths. They
say very disagreeable things as it is, and one must do _something_. I
shouldn't like to think you were never to come and see me any more."
Was not this a golden opportunity? Did she hear the grating of that
accursed rake just round the laurel-bush? Could that be why her blue
eyes shone so soft and kind, why the words dropped from her rosy mouth
like honey from the comb? The gravel-walk (lately raked, and be hanged
to it!) was rough as Brighton shingle; his trousers were of the thinnest
fabric known to Messrs. Miles; yet I confidently believe Goldthred would
have popped down on his knees, then and there, to run that one great
chance he dwelt on night and day, but for the additional step that
brought them face to face with a gardener working leisurely, in
rolled-up shirt-sleeves, and surrounded by the implements of his art.
Goldthred swore, I fear, though not aloud. The happy moment had slipped
through his fingers like running-water, like the sands of time, like
change for a sovereign, like everything else in a world that "keeps
moving," whether we will or no. Of all impossibilities, there is none so
impossible as to put the clock back.
Beyond this inopportune gardener, they came in sight of certain
haymakers, and turning from these were close to the house once more. No
further explanation was practicable, but unless some tacit agreement had
been made to the lady's satisfaction, she would hardly have pushed her
roses in the gentleman's face, with a sweet smile and a recommendation
to inhale their fragrance while they were fresh.
"You deserve them all, indeed you do!" she said warmly. "And I'll put
the best of them on your dressing-table myself. Thank you _really_. You
won't forget your promise? I know I can depend upon _you_."
Then she marched into the drawing-room laden with her spoils, well
pleased; while Goldthred, retiring to smoke the morning cigar, felt less
satisfied, on reflection, than he had been when the white fingers and
red roses were so close to his lips a while ago.
It seems that in all couples, not excepting the matrimonially tethered,
a pair must necessarily pull different ways. Goldthred's innocent notion
of heaven upon earth was that this despotic lady should become his wife,
but she had handled him so skilfully, he dared not ask for fear of being
refused. Mrs. Lascelles, who deserved some credit for crushing down the
instinct of appropriation, natural to all women, however little they may
prize an admirer, would have been glad, to do her justice, that Helen,
for her own sake, should make an advantageous marriage. She reflected,
moreover, that her furtherance of such an arrangement would bring her
into closer relations with Sir Henry. Then she wondered whether she
still liked him, confessing in her secret heart she was almost afraid
she _did_.
That careless, easy-going personage had disposed himself, in the mean
time, on the most sloping of garden chairs under a tree. Helen had
brought him the morning and weekly papers, also one of the evening
before. He was cool, comfortable, and thoroughly satisfied with Sir
Henry Hallaton. His rings were more abundant, his whiskers more riotous,
his handkerchief of brighter hues than ever. Had he not looked so like a
gentleman his style of dress would have been gaudy and almost slang; but
the combination had done him good service for many years, and he stuck
to it still. Smoking a huge cigar, he watched its wreathes curling and
clinging about the dark, crisp foliage of the cedar-branch over-head,
while his thoughts wandered dreamily amongst the various interests of
his pleasant, lazy, useless, and rather selfish life: his Alderneys at
Blackgrove; his bailiff's book; the two-year old they were breaking at
home; the brougham Barker was building him in London; Outrigger's chance
in the Thames Handicap to-day; Uncle Joseph's dry champagne last night;
the dress Mrs. Lascelles wore yesterday at the races; how Miss Ross had
pulled in her waist this morning; on divine women in endless
perspective, whom he had loved, or _thought_ he loved, or made love to,
without even that excuse, concluding how very few were equal to Helen.
What a dear little thing it was as a child! What a graceful, engaging
girl! So frank, so gentle, such a _lady_, and so fond of _him_!
Suspecting that, after all, he _really_ cared more for his own daughter
than he had ever cared for the daughter, or wife, or mother of anybody
else.
Arriving at this conclusion, and the end of his cigar, he was aware of a
light step on the lawn, a rustle of muslin skirts trailing across the
sward,--a familiar sound, to which, I fear, Sir Henry's ear turned, as
turns the charger's to the trumpet call, the hunter's to the well-known
challenge of a "find." Miss Ross, carrying a plateful of strawberries,
bent over him, a world of mirth and mischief gleaming in her bright
black eyes.
"You take life very easily, Sir Henry," said she, looking down on his
recumbent figure with a sort of sarcastic admiration. "I'm a pretty cool
hand myself, so people tell me, but I can't hold a candle to _you_, I
must confess."
"Exactly," replied Sir Henry. "Prettier, but not so cool. I quite agree
with you. I know what you mean."
"I don't mean it a bit!" exclaimed Miss Ross; "and of all people in the
world I don't want _you_ to tell me I'm pretty. You know that, or, at
least, you ought to know it by this time!"
"Don't you think I'm a good judge?" asked this incorrigible person, with
a smile of entire satisfaction.
She could not help laughing.
"Perhaps _too_ good a judge," she answered, "but a judge that shall
never find _me_ guilty, I promise you! No; what I envy is your
unrivalled _sang-froid_, your entire freedom from anxiety in a position
that would make most people feel awkward, if not uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable!" he repeated; "why uncomfortable! Ah! perhaps you're
right, and I _do_ want another cushion. I'd go and fetch it, Miss Ross,
only I'd much rather stay where I am, and talk to you."
She shot another scornful glance, not that he was the least abashed by
it, and went on:--
"You've got all sorts of duties, cares, responsibilities, but they don't
seem to affect you in the least--property, debts, of course" (Sir Henry
nodded assent), "politics, position, that charming daughter; a bad day
yesterday--you see I know all about it--and a certain loss to-day, if
you don't bestir yourself, on the Thames Handicap. Yet there you sit, as
unmoved and almost as highly ornamented as a Hindoo idol. I wish I had
your secret!"
"Very simple," answered the other. "Irons! Nothing but irons! Plenty of
them, and put them all in the fire at once. Dividing your cares is like
dividing your affections--one balances another, and you carry them as
easy as a milkmaid carries her pails."
"That's all very fine in theory," replied Miss Ross; "but there's such a
thing as spilt milk, and a dozen cold irons won't prevent a hot one
burning your fingers. There's a hot one to-day in the Thames Handicap.
Never mind how I know it, Sir Henry, but I _do_ know it. This horse they
call Outrigger has no more chance of winning than your hat! Why do you
tie that hideous gauze thing round it?"
Sir Henry was equal to the occasion.
"Suits my style of ugliness," he answered; adding, with well-assumed
carelessness--"So Outrigger won't win, Miss Ross. Why won't he?"
"Not meant!"
"I never thought he was," said Sir Henry, who had backed the horse for
more money than he liked to think of. "My impression, you see, agrees
with your information. I don't doubt it, of course, particularly as you
won't tell me where you got it."
"I won't, indeed," asseverated Jin, who would have been puzzled to name
her authority, inasmuch as the startling intelligence originated in her
own fertile brain. For particular reasons this unscrupulous young lady
was anxious the whole party from The Lilies should start for the races
together, while she alone remained at home. In discussing their plans
the evening before, great lukewarmness had been shown on this point;
Helen, perhaps for particular reasons, too, professing indifference to
the coming day's sport. Even Sir Henry did not seem to have made up his
mind; but Miss Ross argued, correctly enough, that if he went, Mrs.
Lascelles would go, and the rest of the party would surely accompany
their hostess; then, at the last moment, she could frame an excuse, and
so have the day to herself. Therefore it was she made no scruple in
calumniating the merits of Outrigger and the honesty of his owners.
Sir Henry was now in a desperate fidget to be off. He must get "out," he
felt, at any price, and a few minutes might make all the difference. He
stretched himself, yawned with an affectation of carelessness that did
not in the least deceive his companion, and asked when the carriages
were ordered.
"The same time as yesterday," answered Miss Ross, pleased with the
result of her stratagem. "You won't say I told you," she added, looking
coquettishly down at the recumbent baronet.
"Of course not," was the reply; but his thoughts were far away,
probably with a stout speculator, wearing a suit of gorgeous tartan, and
diamond rings on exceedingly dirty hands.
"How shall I stop your mouth?" she said, innocently enough, blushing
nevertheless, though she rarely betrayed confusion, as the words escaped
her.
It was impossible to be offended at the quaint, mischievous expression
with which Sir Henry looked up in her face, and Jin fairly burst out
laughing, while she popped a ripe red strawberry between his lips.
"This will do it for the present!" said she; "and don't forget you owe
me a good turn for giving you what, I believe, you racing gentlemen call
'the straight tip!'"