"YOU HAVE MADE IT LIVELIER."
When she had become Mr. Burmistone's champion, indeed! She could scarcely
have told when, unless, perhaps, she had fixed the date at the first time
she had heard his name introduced at a high tea, with every politely
opprobrious epithet affixed. She had defended him in her own mind then,
and felt sure that he deserved very little that was said against him, and
very likely nothing at all. And, the first time she had seen and spoken
to him, she had been convinced that she had not made a mistake, and that
he had been treated with cruel injustice. How kind he was, how manly, how
clever, and how well he bore himself under the popular adverse criticism!
She only wondered that anybody could be so blind and stupid and wilful as
to assail him.
And if this had been the case in those early days, imagine what she felt
now, when--ah, well!--when her friendship had had time and opportunity to
become a much deeper sentiment. Must it be confessed that she had seen
Mr. Burmistone even oftener than Octavia and Miss Belinda knew of? Of
course it had all been quite accidental; but it had happened that now and
then, when she had been taking a quiet walk in the lanes about Oldclough,
she had encountered a gentleman, who had dismounted, and led his horse by
the bridle, as he sauntered by her side. She had always been very timid
at such times, and had felt rather like a criminal; but Mr. Burmistone
had not been timid at all, and would, indeed, as soon have met Lady
Theobald as not, for which courage his companion admired him more than
ever. It was not very long before to be with this hero re-assured her,
and made her feel stronger and more self-reliant. She was never afraid to
open her soft little heart to him, and show him innocently all its
goodness, and ignorance of worldliness. She warmed and brightened under
his kindly influence, and was often surprised in secret at her own simple
readiness of wit and speech.
"It is odd that I am such a different girl when--when I am with you," she
said to him one day. "I even make little jokes. I never should think of
making even the tiniest joke before grandmamma. Somehow, she never seems
quite to understand jokes. She never laughs at them. You always laugh,
and I am sure it is very kind of you to encourage me so; but you must not
encourage me too much, or I might forget, and make a little joke at
dinner, and I think, if I did, she would choke over her soup."
Perhaps, when she dressed her hair, and adorned herself with pale pink
bows and like appurtenances, this artful young person had privately in
mind other beholders than Mrs. Burnham, and other commendation than that
to be bestowed by that most excellent matron.
"Do you mind my telling you that you have put on an enchanted garment?"
said Mr. Burmistone, the first time they met when she wore one of the
old-new gowns. "I thought I knew before how"--
"I don't mind it at all," said Lucia, blushing brilliantly. "I rather
like it. It rewards me for my industry. My hair is dressed in a new way.
I hope you like that too. Grandmamma does not."
It had been Lady Theobald's habit to treat Lucia severely from a sense of
duty. Her manner toward her had always rather the tone of implying that
she was naturally at fault, and yet her ladyship could not have told
wherein she wished the girl changed. In the good old school in which my
lady had been trained, it was customary to regard young people as weak,
foolish, and, if left to their own desires, frequently sinful. Lucia had
not been left to her own desires. She had been taught to view herself as
rather a bad case, and to feel that she was far from being what her
relatives had a right to expect. To be thrown with a person who did not
find her silly or dull or commonplace, was a new experience.
"If I had been clever," Lucia said once to Mr. Burmistone,--"if I had
been clever, perhaps grandmamma would have been more satisfied with me. I
have often wished I had been clever."
"If you had been a boy," replied Mr. Burmistone rather grimly, "and had
squandered her money, and run into debt, and bullied her, you would have
been her idol, and she would have pinched and starved herself to supply
your highness's extravagance."
When the garden-party rumor began to take definite form, and there was no
doubt as to Mr. Burmistone's intentions, a discussion arose at once, and
went on in every genteel parlor. Would Lady Theobald allow Lucia to go?
and, if she did not allow her, would not such a course appear very
pointed indeed? It was universally decided that it would appear pointed,
but that Lady Theobald would not mind that in the least, and perhaps
would rather enjoy it than otherwise; and it was thought Lucia would not
go. And it is very likely that Lucia would have remained at home, if it
had not been for the influence of Mr. Francis Barold.
Making a call at Oldclough, he found his august relative in a very
majestic mood, and she applied to him again for information.
"Perhaps," she said, "you may be able to tell me whether it is true that
Belinda Bassett--_Belinda Bassett_," with emphasis, "has been invited by
Mr. Burmistone to assist him to receive his guests."
"Yes, it is true," was the reply: "I think I advised it myself.
Burmistone is fond of her. They are great friends. Man needs a woman at
such times."
"And he chose Belinda Bassett?"
"In the first place, he is on friendly terms with her, as I said before,"
replied Barold; "in the second, she's just what he wants--well-bred,
kind-hearted, not likely to make rows, _et caetera_." There was a slight
pause before he finished, adding quietly, "He's not the man to submit to
being refused--Burmistone."
Lady Theobald did not reply, or raise her eyes from her work: she knew he
was looking at her with calm fixedness, through the glass he held in its
place so cleverly; and she detested this more than any thing else,
perhaps because she was invariably quelled by it, and found she had
nothing to say.
He did not address her again immediately, but turned to Lucia, dropping
the eyeglass, and resuming his normal condition.
"You will go, of course?" he said.
Lucia glanced across at my lady.
"I--do not know. Grandmamma"--
"Oh!" interposed Barold, "you must go. There is no reason for your
refusing the invitation, unless you wish to imply something
unpleasant--which is, of course, out of the question."
"But there may be reasons"--began her ladyship.
"Burmistone is my friend," put in Barold, in his coolest tone; "and I am
your relative, which would make my position in his house a delicate one,
if he has offended you."
When Lucia saw Octavia again, she was able to tell her that they had
received invitations to the _fête_, and that Lady Theobald had accepted
them.
"She has not spoken a word to me about it, but she has accepted them,"
said Lucia. "I don't quite understand her lately, Octavia. She must be
very fond of Francis Barold. He never gives way to her in the least, and
she always seems to submit to him. I know she would not have let me go,
if he had not insisted on it, in that taking-it-for-granted way of his."
Naturally Mr. Burmistone's _fête_ caused great excitement. Miss Chickie
was never so busy in her life, and there were rumors that her feelings
had been outraged by the discovery that Mrs. Burnham had sent to
Harriford for costumes for her daughters.
"Slowbridge is changing, mem," said Miss Chickie, with brilliant sarcasm.
"Our ladies is led in their fashions by a Nevada young person. We're
improving most rapid--more rapid than I'd ever have dared to hope. Do you
prefer a frill, or a flounce, mem?"
Octavia was in great good spirits at the prospect of the gayeties in
question. She had been in remarkably good spirits for some weeks. She had
received letters from Nevada, containing good news she said. Shares had
gone up again; and her father had almost settled his affairs, and it
would not be long before he would come to England. She looked so
exhilarated over the matter, that Lucia felt a little aggrieved. "Will
you be so glad to leave us, Octavia?" she asked. "We shall not be so glad
to let you go. We have grown very fond of you."
"I shall be sorry to leave you, and aunt Belinda is going with us. You
don't expect me to be very fond of Slowbridge, do you, and to be sorry I
can't take Mrs. Burnham--and the rest?"
Barold was present when she made this speech, and it rather rankled.
"Am I one of 'the rest'?" he inquired, the first time he found himself
alone with her. He was sufficiently piqued to forget his usual _hauteur_
and discretion.
"Would you like to be?" she said.
"Oh! Very much--very much--naturally," he replied severely.
They were standing near a rose-bush in the garden; and she plucked a
rose, and regarded it with deep interest.
"Well," she said, next, "I must say I think I shouldn't have had such a
good time if you hadn't been here. You have made it livelier."
"Tha-anks," he remarked. "You are most kind."
"Oh!" she answered, "it's true. If it wasn't, I shouldn't say it. You and
Mr. Burmistone and Mr. Poppleton have certainly made it livelier."
He went home in such a bad humor that his host, who was rather happier
than usual, commented upon his grave aspect at dinner.
"You look as if you had heard ill news, old fellow," he said. "What's
up?"
"Oh, nothing!" he was answered sardonically; "nothing whatever--unless
that I have been rather snubbed by a young lady from Nevada."
"Ah!" with great seriousness: "that's rather cool, isn't it?"
"It's her little way," said Barold. "It seems to be one of the customs
of Nevada."
In fact, he was very savage indeed. He felt that he had condescended a
good deal lately. He seldom bestowed his time on women; and when he did
so, at rare intervals, he chose those who would do the most honor to his
taste at the least cost of trouble. And he was obliged to confess to
himself that he had broken his rule in this case. Upon analyzing his
motives and necessities, he found, that, after all, he must have extended
his visit simply because he chose to see more of this young woman from
Nevada, and that really, upon the whole, he had borne a good deal from
her. Sometimes he had been much pleased with her, and very well
entertained; but often enough--in fact, rather too often--she had made
him exceedingly uncomfortable. Her manners were not what he was
accustomed to: she did not consider that all men were not to be regarded
from the same point of view. Perhaps he did not put into definite words
the noble and patriotic sentiment that an Englishman was not to be
regarded from the same point of view as an American, and that, though all
this sort of thing might do with fellows in New York, it was scarcely
what an Englishman would stand. Perhaps, as I say, he had not put this
sentiment into words; but it is quite certain that it had been uppermost
in his mind upon more occasions than one. As he thought their
acquaintance over, this evening, he was rather severe upon Octavia. He
even was roused so far as to condescend to talk her over with Burmistone.
"If she had been well brought up," he said, "she would have been a
different creature."
"Very different, I have no doubt," said Burmistone thoughtfully. "When
you say well brought up, by the way, do you mean brought up like your
cousin, Miss Gaston?"
"There is a medium," said Barold loftily. "I regret to say Lady Theobald
has not hit upon it."
"Well, as you say," commented Mr. Burmistone, "I suppose there is a
medium."
"A charming wife she would make, for a man with a position to maintain,"
remarked Barold, with a short and somewhat savage laugh.
"Octavia Bassett?" queried Burmistone. "That's true. But I am afraid she
wouldn't enjoy it--if you are supposing the man to be an Englishman,
brought up in the regulation groove."
"Ah!" exclaimed Barold impatiently: "I was not looking at it from her
point of view, but from his."
Mr. Burmistone slipped his hands in his pockets, and jingled his keys
slightly, as he did once before in an earlier part of this narrative.
"Ah! from his," he repeated. "Not from hers. His point of view would
differ from hers--naturally."
Barold flashed a little, and took his cigar from his mouth to knock off
the ashes.
"A man is not necessarily a snob," he said, "because he is cool enough
not to lose his head where a woman is concerned. You can't marry a woman
who will make mistakes, and attract universal attention by her conduct."
"Has it struck you that Octavia Bassett would?" inquired Burmistone.
"She would do as she chose," said Barold petulantly. "She would do things
which were unusual; but I was not referring to her in particular. Why
should I?"
"Ah!" said Burmistone. "I only thought of her because it did not strike
me that one would ever feel she had exactly blundered. She is not easily
embarrassed. There is a _sang-froid_ about her which carries things off."
"Ah!" deigned Barold: "she has _sang-froid_ enough and to spare."
He was silent for some time afterward, and sat smoking later than usual.
When he was about to leave the room for the night, he made an
announcement for which his host was not altogether prepared.
"When the _fête_ is over, my dear fellow," he said, "I must go back to
London, and I shall be deucedly sorry to do it."
"Look here!" said Burmistone, "that's a new idea, isn't it?"
"No, an old one; but I have been putting the thing off from day to day.
By Jove! I did not think it likely that I should put it off, the day I
landed here."
And he laughed rather uneasily.