“Where 's Miss Polly?” said Dill, hastily, as he passed his threshold.
“She's making the confusion of roses in the kitchen, sir,” said the
maid, whose chemistry had been a neglected study.
“Tell her that I have come back, and that there is a gentleman along
with me,” said he, imperiously, as he led the way into his study. “I
have brought you into this den of mine, Major, because I would just say
one word more by way of caution before you see Polly. You may imagine,
from the small range of her intercourse with the world, and her village
life, that her acuteness will not go very far; don't be too sure of
that,--don't reckon too much on her want of experience.”
“I suppose I have encountered as sharp wits as hers before this time
o' day,” replied he, half peevishly; and then, with an air of better
temper, added, “I have no secrets to hide, no mystery to cloak. If
I want her alliance, she shall herself dictate the terms that shall
requite it.”
The doctor shook his head dubiously, but was silent.
“I half suspect, my good doctor,” said Stapylton, laughing, “that your
charming daughter is a little, a very little, of a domestic despot; you
are all afraid of her; never very sure of what she will say or do or
think on any given circumstances, and nervously alive to the risk of her
displeasure.”
“There is something in what you say,” remarked Dill, with a sigh; “but
it was always my mistake to bring up my children with too much liberty
of action. From the time they were so high”--and he held his hand out
about a yard above the floor--“they were their own masters.”
Just as the words had fallen from him, a little chubby, shock-headed
fellow, about five years old, burst into the room, which he believed
unoccupied, and then, suddenly seeing his papa, set up a howl of terror
that made the house ring.
“What is it, Jimmy,--what is it, my poor man?” said Polly, rushing with
tucked-up sleeves to the spot; and, catching him up in her arms, she
kissed him affectionately.
“Will you take him away?--will you take him out of that?” hissed out
Dill between his teeth. “Don't you see Major Stapylton here?”
“Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toilette that was never intended for
his presence.”
“I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming one, nor a more
charming tableau to display it in!”
“There, Jimmy,” said she, laughing; “you must have some bread and jam
for getting me such a nice compliment.”
And she bore away the still sobbing urchin, who, burying his head in her
bosom, could never summon courage to meet his father's eye.
“What a spacious garden you appear to have here!” said Stapylton, who
saw all the importance of a diversion to the conversation.
“It is a very much neglected one,” said Dill, pathetically. “My poor
dear boy Tom used to take care of it when he was here; he had a perfect
passion for flowers.”
Whether that Tom was associated in the Major's mind with some other very
different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled slightly, and after a moment
said, “If you permit me, I 'll take a stroll through your garden, and
think over what we have been talking of.”
“Make yourself at home in every respect,” said Dill. “I have a few
professional calls to make in the village, but we 'll meet at luncheon.”
“He's in the garden, Polly,” said Dill, as he passed his daughter on the
stairs; “he came over here this morning to have a talk with you.”
“Indeed, sir!”
“Yes; he has got it into his head that you can be of service to him.”
“It is not impossible, sir; I think I might.”
“I'm glad to bear it, Polly; I'm delighted to see you take a good
sensible view of things. I need not tell you he's a knowing one.”
“No, sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, 'he shows his
hand.'”
“So he does, Polly; but I have known fellows do that just to mislead the
adversary.”
“Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily.” And with a saucy
toss of her head she passed on, scarcely noticing the warning gesture of
her father's finger as she went.
When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself with the means
of occupying her fingers for an hour or so, she repaired to the garden
and took her seat under a large elm, around whose massive trunk a mossy
bench ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places.
“What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, Miss Dill!” said
Stapylton as he seated himself at her side; “how unpicturesque and how
prudish!”
“It was a simple notion of my brother Tom's,” said she, smiling, “who
thought people would not be less agreeable by being reminded that
they had a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of their
neighbor.”
“What an unsocial thought!”
“Poor Tom! A strange reproach to make against _you_,” said she, laughing
out.
“By the way, has n't he turned out a hero,--saved a ship and all she
carried from the flames,--and all at the hazard of his own life?”
“He has done a very gallant thing; and, what's more, I 'll venture to
say there is not a man who saw it thinks so little of it as himself.”
“I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling.”
“I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority,” said she, with a
slight bend of the head.
“A prettily turned compliment, Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to
flattery?”
“No? I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call me more
candid than courteous.”
“Will you let me take you at the world's estimate,--that is, will you
do me the inestimable favor to bestow a little of this same candor upon
_me?_”
“Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?”
“The subject is a very humble one,--myself!”
“How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?”
“Better than you think for, perhaps!” And for a moment he appeared
awkward and ill at ease. “Miss Dill,” said he, after a pause, “fortune
has been using me roughly of late; and, like all men who deem themselves
hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found
a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a self-delusion in
believing that such sentiments are yours?”
Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object
of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in her father's manner how he
himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind
for a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic
mys-teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of
mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very
different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major's
speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely
turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, “Continue!”
“I have not deceived myself, then,” said he, with more warmth of manner.
“I have secured one kind heart in my interest?”
“You must own,” said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, “that
you scarcely deserve it.”
“How,--in what way?” asked he, in astonishment.
“What a very short memory you are blessed with! Must I, then, remind you
of a certain evening at Cobham? Must I recall what I thought at the time
very particular, as they certainly were very pleasant, attentions on
your part? Must I, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from
you, the day and hour all named by yourself,--a visit which never came
off? And after all this, Major, are you not really a bold man to come
down and take up your negotiation where you dropped it? Is there not
in this a strong conviction of the greatness of Major Stapylton and the
littleness of the doctor's daughter?”
Stapylton was struck dumb. When a general sees that what he meant as
a feint has been converted into a real attack, the situation is often
imminent; but what comparison in difficulty is there between that
mistake and that of him who assails what he never desired to conquer?
How he inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he had opened his
negotiation!
“I perceive,” said she, triumphing over his confusion, “that your calmer
judgment does not reassure you. You feel that there is a certain levity
in this conduct not quite excusable! Own it frankly, and at once!”
“I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater
embarrassment!”
“Shall I tell you why?”
“You couldn't; it would be totally impossible.”
“I will try, however, if you permit me. You do! Then here goes. You no
more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at Cobham than
you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came here this morning
to make your court to _me_, You are much pained at the awkwardness of
a situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of you, you
cannot imagine what escape there is out of such a difficulty.”
“You are wonderfully clever, Miss Dill,” said he; and there was an
honest admiration in his look that gave the words a full significance.
“No,” said she, “but I am wonderfully good-natured. I forgive you what
is the hardest thing in the world to forgive!”
“Oh! if you would but be my friend,” cried he, warmly.
“What a want of tact there was in that speech, Major Stapylton!” said
she, with a laugh; “but perhaps you wanted to reverse the line of our
dear little poet, who tells of some one 'that came but for Friendship,
and took away Love'!”
“How cruel you are in all this mockery of me!”
“Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from _you?--you_, who
can afford to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. From
the time of that 'Major bold of Halifax' the song tells of, I never
heard your equal.”
“Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes?” said
he, gravely.
“I think not,--at least not just now; but why should I make the
attempt?”
“Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency,--a matter in
which I am deeply interested, and which involves probably my future
happiness.”
“Ah, Major! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feelings
once more?”
“My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy?”
“No, don't do any such thing; it would seem ungenerous to refuse, and
yet I could not accord it.”
“Fairly beaten,” said he, with a sigh; “there is no help for it. You are
the victor!”
“How did you leave our friends at 'The Home'?” said she, with an easy
indifference in her tone.
“All well, perfectly well; that is to say, I believe so, for I only saw
my host himself.”
“What a pleasant house; how well they understand receiving their
friends!”
“It is so peaceful and so quiet!” said he, with an effort to seem at
ease.
“And the garden is charming!”
“And all this is perfectly intolerable,” said he, rising, and speaking
in a voice thick with suppressed anger. “I never came here to play a
part in a vaudeville! Your father led me to believe, Miss Dill, that you
might not be indisposed to lend me your favoring aid in a suit which
I am interested in. He told me I should at least find you frank and
outspoken; that if you felt inclined to assist me, you'd never enhance
the service by a seeming doubt or hesitation--”
“And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he then give you to
expect?”
“That you'd say so!”
“So I do, then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my counsels offer a
bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you.”
“This is the acme of candor. You can only equal it by saying how I could
have incurred your disfavor.”
“There is nothing of disfavor in the matter. I think you charming. You
are a hero,--very clever, very fascinating, very accomplished; but
I believe it would be a great mistake for Fifine to marry you. Your
tempers have that sort of resemblance that leave no reliefs in their
mutual play. You are each of you hot and hasty, and a little imperious;
and if she were not very much in love, and consequently disposed to
think a great deal of you and very little of herself, these traits that
I speak of would work ill. But if every one of them were otherwise,
there would still be one obstacle worse than all!”
“And that is--”
“Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton? You do not, surely,
want confidences from me that are more than candor!”
“Do I understand you aright?” said he, growing red and pale by turns, as
passion worked within him; “do I apprehend you correctly? These people
here are credulous enough to be influenced by the shadowy slanders of
the newspapers, and they listen to the half-muttered accusations of a
hireling press?”
“They do say very awkward things in the daily press, certainly,” said
she, dryly; “and your friends marvel at the silence with which you treat
them.”
“Then I _have_ divined your meaning,” said he. “It is by these cowardly
assailants I am supposed to be vanquished. I suspect, however, that
Colonel Barrington himself was, once on a time, indulged with the same
sort of flattery. They said that he had usurped a sovereignty, falsified
documents, purloined jewels of immense value. I don't know what they did
not charge him with. And what do they say of me? That I exhibited great
severity--cruelty, if you will--towards a mob in a state of rebellion;
that I reprimanded a very silly subaltern for a misplaced act of
humanity. That I have been cashiered, too, they assert, in face of the
'Gazette,' which announces my appointment to an unattached majority. In
a word, the enormity of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and
they write of me whatever their unthinking malevolence can suggest to
them. You have, perhaps, seen some of these paragraphs?”
“Like every one else, I have read them occasionally; not very
attentively, indeed. But, in truth, I'm not a reader of newspapers.
Here, for instance, is this morning's as it came from Dublin, still
unopened;” and she handed it as she spoke.
“Let us see if I be still honored with their notice,” said he, unfolding
the paper, and running his eyes hastily over it. “Debate on the Sugar
Bill--Prison Reforms--China--Reinforcements for Canada--Mail Service to
the Colonies--Bankruptcy Court. Oh, here we have it--here it is!” and he
crushed the paper while he folded down one part of it. “Shall I read it
for you? The heading is very tempting: 'Late Military Scandal.--A very
curious report is now going through our West-end Clubs, and especially
such as are the resort of military officers. It is to the purport that a
certain Field-officer of Cavalry--whose conduct has been the subject of
severe strictures from the Press--will speedily be called to answer for
a much graver offence than the transgression of regimental discipline.
The story which has reached us is a very strange one, and we should call
it incredible, if we were not informed, on author-ity, that one of our
most distinguished Indian generals has declared himself fully satisfied
of its truth in every particular.' Can you fancy anything worse than
that, Miss Dill? An unknown somebody is alleged to be convinced of an
unknown something that attaches to me; for, of course, I am designated
as the 'Field-officer of Cavalry,' and the public is graciously pleased
to hold me in abhorrence till I have found out my calumniator and
refuted him!”
“It seems very hard. Who do you suspect is the Indian General alluded
to?”
“Tell me, first of all,--does he exist?” “And this, too, you will not
reply to, nor notice?” “Not, certainly, through such a channel as it
reaches me. If the slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, I may
know how to deal with him. But what has led us into this digression? I
am sure it is as little to your taste as to mine. I have failed in my
mission, and if I were able to justify every act of my life, what would
it avail me? You have pronounced against me; at least, you will not take
my brief.”
“What if I were retained by the other side?” said she, smiling.
“I never suspected that there was another side,” said he, with an air of
extreme indifference. “Who is my formidable rival?”
“I might have told you if I saw you were really anxious on the subject.”
“It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for example, Major
McCormick--”
“Oh, that is too bad!” cried Polly, interrupting. “This would mean an
impertinence to Miss Barrington.”
“How pleasant we must have been! Almost five o'clock, and I scarcely
thought it could be three!” said he, with an affected languor.
“'Time's foot is not heard when he treads upon flowers,'” said she,
smiling.
“Where shall I find your father, Miss Dill? I want to tell him what a
charming creature his daughter is, and how wretched I feel at not being
able to win her favor.”
“Pray don't; or he might fall into my own mistake, and imagine that you
wanted a lease of it for life.”
“Still cruel, still inexorable!” said he, with a mockery of affliction
in his tone. “Will you say all the proper things--the regrets, and
such like--I feel at not meeting him again; and if he has asked me to
dinner--which I really forget--will you make the fitting apology?”
“And what is it, in the present case?”
“I 'm not exactly sure whether I am engaged to dine elsewhere, or too
ill to dine at all.”
“Why not say it is the despair at being rejected renders you unequal to
the effort? I mean, of course, by myself, Major Stapylton.”
“I have no objection; say so, if you like,” said he, with an insulting
indifference. “Good-day, Miss Dill. This is the way to the road, I
believe;” and, with a low bow, very deferential but very distant, he
turned away to leave the garden. He had not, however, gone many
paces, when he stopped and seemed to ponder. He looked up at the sky,
singularly clear and cloudless as it was, without a breath of wind in
the air; he gazed around him on every side, as if in search of an object
he wanted; and then, taking out his purse, he drew forth a shilling and
examined it. “Yes,” muttered he, “Chance has been my only counsellor for
many a year, and the only one that never takes a bribe! And yet, is it
not taking to the raft before the ship has foundered? True; but shall
I be sure of the raft if I wait for the shipwreck? She is intensely
crafty. She has that sort of head that loves a hard knot to unravel!
Here goes! Let Destiny take all the consequences!” and as he flung up
the piece of money in the air, he cried, “Head!” It was some minutes
ere he could discover where it had fallen, amongst the close leaves of a
border of strawberries. He bent down to look, and exclaimed, “Head! she
has won!” Just as he arose from his stooping attitude he perceived that
Polly was engaged in the adjoining walk, making a bouquet of roses. He
sprang across the space, and stood beside her.
“I thought you had been a mile off by this time, at least,” said she,
calmly.
“So I meant, and so I intended; but just as I parted from you, a thought
struck me--one of those thoughts which come from no process of reasoning
or reflection, but seem impelled by a force out of our own natures--that
I would come back and tell you something that was passing in my mind.
Can you guess it?”
“No; except it be that you are sorry for having trifled so unfeelingly
with my hopes, and have come back to make the best reparation in your
power, asking me to forgive and accept you.”
“You have guessed aright; it was for that I returned.”
“What a clever guess I made! Confess I am very ready-witted!”
“You are; and it is to engage those ready wits in my behalf that I am
now before you.”
“'At my feet,' sir, is the appropriate expression. I wonder how a
gentleman so suited to be the hero of a story could forget the language
of the novel.”
“I want you to be serious,” said he, almost sternly.
“And why should that provoke seriousness from _me_ which only costs
_you_ levity?”
“Levity!--where is the levity?”
“Is it not this instant that you flung a shilling in the air, and cried
out, as you looked on it, 'She has won'? Is it not that you asked Chance
to decide for you what most men are led to by their affections, or at
least their interests; and if so, is levity not the name for this?”
“True in part, but not in whole; for I felt it was _I_ who had won when
'head' came uppermost.”
“And yet you have lost.”
“How so! You refuse me?”
“I forgive your astonishment. It is really strange, but I do refuse
you.”
“But why? Are you piqued with me for anything that occurred this
morning? Have I offended you by anything that dropped from me in that
conversation? Tell me frankly, that I may, if in my power, rectify it.”
“No; I rather felt flattered at the notion of being consulted. I thought
it a great tribute to my clear-headedness and my tact.”
“Then tell me what it was.”
“You really wish it?”
“I do.”
“Insist upon it?”
“I insist upon it.”
“Well, it was this. Seeing that you were intrusting your future fortune
to chance, I thought that I would do the same, and so I tossed up
whether, opportunity serving, I should accept you or a certain other,
and the other won!”
“May I ask for the name of my fortunate rival?”
“I don't think it is very fair, perhaps not altogether delicate of you;
and the more since he has not proposed, nor possibly ever may. But no
matter, you shall hear his name. It was Major McCormick.”
“McCormick! You mean this for an insult to me, Miss Dill?”
[Illustration: 472]
“Well, it certainly is open to that objection,” said she, with a very
slight closure of her eyes, and a look of steady, resolute defiance.
“And in this way,” continued he, “to throw ridicule over the offer I
have made you?”
“Scarcely that; the proposition was in itself too ridiculous to require
any such aid from me.”
For a moment Stapylton lost his self-possession, and he turned on her
with a look of savage malignity.
“An insult, and an intentional insult!” said he; “a bold thing to avow.”
“I don't think so, Major Stapylton. We have been playing a very rough
game with each other, and it is not very wonderful if each of us should
have to complain of hard treatment.”
“Could not so very clever a person as Miss Dill perceive that I was only
jesting?” said he, with a cutting insolence in his tone.
“I assure you that I did not,” said she, calmly; “had I known or even
suspected it was a jest, I never should have been angry. That the
distinguished Major Stapylton should mock and quiz--or whatever be the
name for it--the doctor's daughter, however questionable the good taste,
was, after all, only a passing slight. The thought of asking her to
marry him was different,--that was an outrage!”
“You shall pay for this one day, perhaps,” said he, biting his lip.
“No, Major Stapylton,” said she, laughing; “this is not a debt of honor;
you can afford to ignore it.”
“I tell you again, you shall pay for it.”
“Till then, sir!” said she, with a courtesy; and without giving him
time for another word, she turned and re-entered the house.
Scarcely had Stapylton gained the road when he was joined by McCormick.
“Faith, you didn't get the best of that brush, anyhow,” said he, with a
grin.
“What do you mean, sir?” replied Stapylton, savagely.
“I mean that I heard every word that passed between you, and I would n't
have been standing in your shoes for a fifty-pound note.”
“How is your rheumatism this morning?” asked Stapylton, blandly.
“Pretty much as it always is,” croaked out the other.
“Be thankful to it, then; for if you were not a cripple, I 'd throw you
into that river as sure as I stand here to say it.”
Major McCormick did not wait for a less merciful moment, but hobbled
away from the spot with all the speed he could muster.