"Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue
His breath's like caller air;
His very fit has music in't,
As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy with the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet."--W. J. MICKLE.
It is the most important day of all the three hundred and sixty-five, at
least to Lilian, because it will bring her Taffy. Just before dinner he
will arrive, not sooner, and it is now only half-past four.
All at Chetwoode are met in the library. The perfume of tea is on the
air; the click of Lady Chetwoode's needles keeps time to the
conversation that is buzzing all round.
Miss Beauchamp, serene and immovable as ever, is presiding over the
silver and china, while Lilian, wild with spirits, and half mad with
excitement and expectation, is chattering with Cyril upon a distant
sofa.
Sir Guy, upon the hearthrug, is expressing his contempt for the views
entertained by a certain periodical on the subject of a famous military
scandal, in real parliamentary language, and Florence is meekly agreeing
with him straight through. Never was any one (seemingly) so thoroughly
_en rapport_ with another as Florence with Sir Guy. Her amiable and
rather palpable determination to second his ideas on all matters, her
"nods and becks and wreathed smiles," when in his company, would, if
recited, fill a volume in themselves. But I don't deny it would be a
very stupid volume, from the same to the same: so I suppress it.
"Sir Guy," says Lilian, suddenly, "don't look so stern and don't stand
with one hand in your breast, and one foot advanced, as though you were
going to address the House."
"Well, but he is going to address the House," says Cyril, reprovingly:
"we are all here, aren't we?"
"It is perfectly preposterous," says Guy, who is heated with his
argument, and scarcely hears what is going on around him, so great is
his righteous indignation. "If being of high birth is a reason why one
must be dragged into notoriety, one would almost wish one was born
a----"
"Sir Guy," interrupts Lilian again, throwing at him a paper pellet she
has been preparing for the last two minutes, with sure and certain aim,
"didn't you hear me desire you not to look like that?"
Sir Guy laughs, and subsides into a chair. Miss Beauchamp shrugs her
shapely shoulders and indulges in a smile suggestive of pity.
"I begin to feel outrageously jealous of this unknown Taffy," says
Cyril. "I never knew you in such good spirits before. Do you always
laugh when you are happy?"
"'Much laughter covers many tears,'" returns Lilian, gayly. "Yes, I am
very happy,--so happy that I think a little would make me cry."
"Oh, don't," says Cyril, entreatingly; "if you begin I'm safe to follow
suit, and weeping violently always makes me ill."
"I can readily believe it," says Miss Chesney. "Your expression is
unmistakably doleful, O knight of the rueful countenance!"
"And his manner is so dejected," remarks his mother, smiling. "Have you
not noticed how silent he always is? One might easily imagine him the
victim of an unhappy love tale."
"If you say much more," says Mr. Chetwoode, "like Keats, I shall 'die of
a review.' I feel much offended. It has been the dream of my life up to
this that society in general regarded me as a gay and brilliant
personage, one fitted to shine in any sphere, concentrating (as I hoped
I did) rank, beauty, and fashion in my own body."
"_Did_ you hope all that?" asks Lilian, with soft impertinence.
"'A modest hope, but modesty's my forte,'" returns he, mildly. "No, Miss
Chesney, I won't be told I am conceited. This is a case in which we
'all do it;' every one in this life thinks himself better than he is."
"I am glad you so scrupulously exonerate the women," says Lilian,
maliciously.
At this moment a step is heard in the hall outside. Lilian starts, and
rises impulsively to her feet; her face lights; a delicate pink flush
dawns upon it slowly, and then deepens into a rich carnation.
Instinctively her eyes turn to Lady Chetwoode, and the breath comes a
little quicker from her parted lips.
"But," she murmurs, raising one hand, and speaking in the low tone one
adopts when intently listening,--"but that I know he can't be here for
another hour, I should say that was--Taffy!"
The door has opened. A tall, very young man, with a bright boyish face,
fair brown hair, and a daring attempt at a moustache, stands upon the
threshold. Lilian, with a little soft glad cry, runs to him and throws
herself into his arms.
"Oh, dear, dear boy, you have come!" she says, whereupon the tall young
man laughs delightedly, and bestows upon her an honest and most palpable
hug.
"Hug," quotha! and what is a "hug"? asks the fastidious reader: and yet,
dear ignorance, I think there is no word in all the English language, or
in any other language, that so efficiently describes the enthusiasm of a
warm embrace as the small one of three letters.
Be it vulgar or not, however, I cannot help it: the fact remains. Taffy
openly and boldly hugged Miss Chesney before her guardian's eyes, and
Miss Chesney does not resent it; on the contrary, she kisses him with
considerable _empressement_, and then turns to Lady Chetwoode, who is an
admiring spectator of the scene. Cyril is visibly amused; Sir Guy a
trifle envious; Miss Beauchamp thinks the new-comer far too grown for
the reception of such a public demonstration of affection on the part of
a well-conducted young woman, but is rather glad than otherwise that
Lilian has so far committed herself before her guardian.
"It is Taffy," says Lilian, with much pride. "I knew it was. Do you
know," turning her sweet, flushed, excited face to her cousin, "the
moment I heard your step outside, I said, 'That is Taffy,' and it
_was_," with a charming laugh.
Meanwhile Mr. Musgrave is being kindly received by Lady Chetwoode and
her sons.
"It was so awfully good of you to ask me here!" he is saying,
gratefully, and with all a boy's delightful frankness of tone and
manner. "If you hadn't, I shouldn't have known what to do, because I
hate going to my guardian's, one puts in such a bad time there, the old
man is so grumpy. When I got your invitation I said to myself, 'Well, I
_am_ in luck!'"
Here he is introduced to Miss Beauchamp, and presses the hand she
extends to him with much friendliness, being in radiant spirits with
himself and the world generally.
"Why, Taffy, you aren't a bit altered, though I do think you have grown
half an inch or so," says Lilian, critically, "and I am so glad of it.
When I heard you had really joined and become an undeniable 'heavy,' I
began to fear you would change, and grow grand, and perhaps think
yourself a man, and put on a great deal of 'side;' isn't that the word,
Sir Guy?" saucily, peeping at him from behind Taffy's back. "You mustn't
correct me, because I heard you use that word this morning; and I am
sure you would not give way to a naughty expression."
"We are all very glad to have you, Mr. Musgrave," says Lady Chetwoode,
graciously, who has taken an instantaneous fancy to him. "I hope your
visit will be a happy one."
"Thank you, I know it will; but my name is Taffy," says young Musgrave.
"I hope you will call me by it. I hardly know myself by any other name
now." He says this with a laugh so exactly like Lilian's that they all
notice it, and comment upon it afterward. Indeed, both in feature and
manner he strongly resembles his cousin. Lady Chetwoode smiles, and
promises to forget the more formal address for the future.
"I have so many things to show you," exclaims Lilian, fondly. "The
stables here are even better than at the Park, and I have a brown mare
all my own, and I am sure I could beat you at tennis now, and there are
six lovely new fat little puppies; will you come and see them? but
perhaps"--doubtfully--"of course you are tired."
"He must be tired, I think, and hungry too," says Guy, coming up to him
and laying his hand upon his shoulder, "If you can spare him for a
moment or two, Lilian, I will show Taffy his room." Here Guy smiles at
his new guest, and when Guy smiles he is charming. Mr. Musgrave likes
him on the spot.
"I will go with you," says Lilian promptly, who is never troubled with
the pangs of etiquette, and who cannot as yet bear to lose sight of her
boy. "Such a pretty room as it is! It is near mine, and has an exquisite
view from it,--the lake, and the swans, and part of the garden. Oh,
Taffy, I am so _glad_ you are come!"
They are half-way up the stairs by this time, and Lilian, putting her
hand through her cousin's arm, beams upon him so sweetly that Guy, who
is the looker-on, feels he would give a small fortune for permission to
kiss her without further delay. Taffy does kiss her on the instant
without having to waste any fortune or ask any permission; and
Chetwoode, seeing how graciously the caress is received and returned,
feels a strange trouble at his heart. How fond she is of this boy!
Surely he is more to her than any cousin ever yet was to another.
At the head of the stairs another interruption occurs. Advancing toward
them, arrayed in her roomiest, most amazing cap, and clad in her Sunday
gown, appears Mrs. Tipping, shining with joy and expectation. Seeing
Taffy, she opens wide her capacious arms, into which Mr. Musgrave
precipitates himself and is for the moment lost.
When he comes to light again, he embraces her warmly, and placing his
hands upon her shoulders, regards her smilingly.
"Bless the boy, how he has grown, to be sure!" says nurse, with tears in
her eyes; taking out her spectacles with much deliberation, she
carefully adjusts them on her substantial nose, and again subjects him
to a loving examination.
"Yes; hasn't he, nurse? I said so," remarks Lilian, in raptures, while
Sir Guy stands behind, much edified.
"So have you, nurse," says Master Taffy,--"_young_. I protest it is a
shame the way you go on deceiving the public. Every year only sees you
fresher and lovelier. Why, you are ten years younger than when last I
saw you. It's uncommonly mean of you not to give us a hint as to how you
manage it."
"Tut," says nurse, giving him a scornful poke with her first finger,
though she is tremendously flattered; "be off with you; you are worse
than ever. Eh, but I always knew how it would be if you took to
soldiering. All the millingtary has soft tongues, and the gift o' the
gab."
"How do you know, nurse?" demands Mr. Musgrave: "I always understood the
fortunate Tipping was a retired mason. I am afraid at some period of
your life you must have lost your heart to a bold dragoon. Never mind:
my soldiering shan't bring me to grief, if only for your sake."
"Eh, darling, I hope not," says nurse, surveying with fond admiration
his handsome boyish face: "such bonnie looks as yours should aye sit
upon a high head."
"I decline to listen to any more flattery. It is downright
demoralizing," says Mr. Musgrave, virtuously, and presently finds
himself in his pretty room, that is sweet with the blossoms of Lilian's
gathering.
* * * * *
Mr. Musgrave on acquaintance proves as great a success as his cousin:
indeed, to like one is to like the other, as no twins could be more
similar. He takes very kindly to the house and all its inmates, and is,
after one day's association, as much at home with them as though they
had been his chosen intimates all his life.
His disposition is certainly sweeter than Lilian's,--bad temper of any
sort being quite unknown to him; whereas Miss Chesney possesses a will
of her own, and a very quick temper indeed. He is bright, sunny, lovable
in disposition, and almost "without guile." So irresistible is he that
even Miss Beauchamp smiles upon him, and is singularly gracious to him,
considering he is not only a youngster but--far worse--a detrimental.
He has one very principal charm. Unlike all the youthful soldiers it has
been my misfortune to meet, he does not spend his days wearying his
friends with a vivid description of his rooms, his daily duties when on
parade, his colonel, and his brother officers. For this grace alone his
familiars should love him and be grateful to him.
Nevertheless, he is so far human that, the evening after his arrival, he
whispers to Lilian how he has brought his uniform with him, for her
inspection only. Whereupon Lilian, delighted, desires him to go up that
instant and put it on, that she may pass judgment upon him without
delay. No, she will not wait another second; she cannot know peace or
happiness until she beholds him in all his grandeur.
After a faint demur, and the suggestion that as it is late he could
scarcely get it on and have time afterward to dress for dinner, he gives
in, and, binding her to secrecy, runs up-stairs, having named a certain
time for her to follow him.
Half an hour later, Miss Beauchamp, sweeping slowly along the corridor
up-stairs, hears the sound of merriment coming from young Musgrave's
room, and stops short.
Is that Lilian's voice? surely it is; and in her cousin's room! The door
is almost closed,--not quite; and, overcome by curiosity, she lays her
hand against it, and, pushing it gently open, glances in.
Before the dressing-table, clothed in military garments of the most
_recherche_ description, is Taffy, while opposite to him, full of open
admiration, stands Miss Chesney. Taffy is struggling with some part of
his dress that declines to fall into a right position, and Lilian is
flouting him merrily for the evident inexperience he betrays.
Florence, astonished--nay, electrified--by this scene, stands
motionless. A young woman in a young man's bedroom! Oh, shocking! To her
carefully educated mind, the whole thing borders on the improper, while
to have it occur in such a well-regulated household as Chetwoode fills
her with genuine horror.
So struck is she by the criminality of it all that she might have stayed
there until now, but that a well-known step coming up the stairs warns
her that eavesdropping is not the most honorable position to be caught
in. She moves away, and presently finds herself face to face with Guy.
He is coming lazily along the corridor, but stops as he sees her.
"What is it, Florence? You look frightened," he says, half jestingly.
"No, not frightened," Florence answers, coldly, "though I confess I am a
good deal amazed,"--her tone says "disgusted," and Guy knows the tone.
"Really, that girl seems absolutely ignorant of the common decencies of
society!"
"Of whom are you speaking?" asks Guy, coloring.
"Of whom can I say such things but Lilian? She is the only one of my
acquaintance deserving of such a remark, and it is not my fault that we
are acquainted. I think it is clearly Aunt Anne's duty to speak to her,
or yours. There are moments when one positively blushes for her."
"Why, what has she been doing?" asks Guy, overcome with astonishment at
this outburst on the part of the usually calm Florence.
"Doing! Do you not hear her in her cousin's room? Is that the proper
place for a young lady?"
At this instant a sound of laughter coming from Mr. Musgrave's apartment
gives truth to her accusations, and with a slight but expressive shrug
of her white shoulders, Florence sails majestically down the stairs,
while Sir Guy instinctively moves on toward Taffy's quarters.
Miss Beauchamp's touch has left the door quite open, so that, standing
on the threshold, he can see clearly all that is within.
By this time Taffy is quite arrayed, having finally resorted to his
cousin's help.
"There!" says Lilian, triumphantly, "now you are ready. Oh! I say,
Taffy, how nice you do look!"
"No; do I?" returns Mr. Musgrave, with admirable modesty, regarding
himself bashfully though complacently in a full-length mirror. His tall
young figure is well drawn up, his head erect; unconsciously he has
assumed all the full-blown, starchy airs of a military swell. "Does the
coat fit well, do you think?" he asks, turning to await her answer with
doubtful anxiety.
"It is simply perfection," returns she reassuringly, "not a wrinkle in
it. Certainly you owe your tailor something for turning you out so
well."
"I do," says Taffy, feelingly.
"I had no idea it would make such a difference in you," goes on Lilian;
"you look quite grown up."
"Grown up,--nonsense," somewhat indignantly; "I should think I was
indeed. Just twenty, and six feet one. There are very few fellows in the
service as good a height as I am. 'Grown up,' indeed!"
"I beg your pardon," Lilian says, meekly. "Remember I am only a little
rustic, hardly aware of what a man really means. Talking of fitting,
however, do you know," thoughtfully, and turning her head to one side,
the better to mark the effect, "I think--I fancy--there is just a little
pucker in your trousers, just at the knee."
"No; is there?" says Taffy, immediately sinking into the deepest
melancholy as he again refers to the glass.
Here Sir Guy comes forward and creates a diversion. He is immensely
amused, but still sore and angry at Florence's remarks, while wishing
Lilian would not place herself in such positions as to lay her open to
unkind criticism.
"Oh, here is Sir Guy," says that young lady, quite unembarrassed; "he
will decide. Sir Guy, do you think his trousers fit very well? Look
here, now, is there not the faintest pucker here?"
"I think they fit uncommonly well," says Guy, gravely. Taffy has turned
a warm crimson and is silent; but his confusion arises not from Miss
Chesney's presence in his room, but because Chetwoode has discovered him
trying on his new clothes like a school-boy.
"Lilian wanted so much to see me in my uniform," he says, meanly,
considering how anxious he himself has been to show himself to her in
it.
"Yes, and doesn't he look well in it?" asks Lilian, proudly; "I had no
idea he could look so handsome. Most men appear perfect fools in
uniform, but it suits Taffy. Don't you think so?"
"I do; and I think something else, too; your auntie is coming up-stairs,
and if she catches you in Taffy's room she will give you a small lecture
on the proprieties."
This is the mildest rebuke he can think of. Not that he thinks her at
all worthy of rebuke, but because he is afraid of Florence's tongue for
her sake.
"Why?" asks Lilian, opening large eyes of utter amazement, after which
the truth dawns upon her, and as it dawns amuses her intensely. "Do you
mean to say," blushing slightly, but evidently struck with the
comicality of the thought,--"what would auntie say, then, if she knew
Taffy had been in mine? Yes; he was,--this afternoon,--just before
lunch," nodding defiantly at Sir Guy, "actually in mine; and he stole my
eau de Cologne, which I thought mean of him. When I found it was all
gone, I was very near running across to your room to replenish my
bottle. Was it not well I didn't? Had I done so I should of course have
earned two lectures, one from auntie and one from--you!" provokingly.
"Why, Guardy, how stupid you are! Taffy is just the same as my brother."
"But he is not your brother," says Guy, beginning to feel bewildered.
"Yes, he is, and better than most brothers: aren't you, Taffy?"
"Are you angry with Lil for being in my room?" asks Mr. Musgrave,
surprised; "she thinks nothing of it: and why should she? Bless you,
all last year, when we were at home--at the Park--she used to come in
and settle my ties when we were going out anywhere to dinner, or that."
"Sir Guy never had a sister, so of course he doesn't understand," says
Lilian, disdainfully, whereupon Guy gives up the point. "I wish you
would come down and show yourself to auntie. Do now, Taffy,"--coaxingly:
"you can't think how well you look. Come, if only to please me."
"Oh, I couldn't," says Taffy. "I really couldn't, you know. She would
think me such an awful fool, and Miss Beauchamp would laugh at me, and
altogether it wouldn't be form. I only meant to show myself to you,
but----"
"Guy, my dear," says Lady Chetwoode from the doorway, "why, what is
going on here?" advancing and smiling gently.
"Oh, auntie, I am so glad you have come!" says Lilian, going forward to
welcome her: "he would not go down-stairs to you, though I did my best
to persuade him. Is he not charming in uniform?"
"He is, indeed. Quite charming! He reminds me very much of what Guy was
when first he joined his regiment." Not for a moment does Lady
Chetwoode--dear soul--think of improprieties, or wrong-doing, or the
"decencies of society." And, watching her, Guy grows gradually ashamed
of himself. "It was really selfish of you, my dear Taffy, to deny me a
glimpse of you."
"Well, I didn't think you'd care, you know," says Mr. Musgrave, who is
positively consumed with pride, and who is blushing like a demoiselle.
"I couldn't resist coming in when I saw you from the doorway. All my
people were in the army: so I have quite an affection for it. But
Lilian, darling, dinner is almost ready, and you have not yet changed
your dress."
"I shan't be a minute," says Lilian; and Guy, lighting a candle, escorts
her to her own room, while Lady Chetwoode goes down-stairs.
"Shall I get you the eau de Cologne now?" he asks, pausing on her
threshold for a moment.
"If," says Miss Chesney, lowering her eyes with affected shyness, "you
are _quite_ sure there would be nothing reprehensible in my accepting
it, I should like it very much, thank you. By the bye, that reminds me,"
glancing at him with a mocking smile, "Lady Chetwoode quite forgot to
deliver that small lecture. You, Sir Guy, as my guardian, should have
reminded her."