MR. QUENTIN'S PIANO.
"I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice."
_Cymbeline._
MAIL-DAY had come round once more, and Helen could hardly believe that
she had been already six weeks on Ross, it seemed more like six days.
She had made the acquaintance of almost everybody, had visited the
mainland, and Chatham and Viper; had ridden on a settlement elephant,
had been to two picnics, and dozens of tennis parties, and was
beginning to realize that she really was the mistress of that pretty
bungalow under the palm-trees on the hill-side.
She was now great friends with Mrs. Home, and solemnly engaged to
Billy; she saw Miss Caggett daily, and Mrs. Creery almost hourly, and
other people called with complimentary frequency; notably Mr. Quentin,
who found many excuses for tarrying in Miss Denis's drawing-room,
and, remarkable to relate, Miss Caggett invariably contrived to drop
in on the same occasions. She was usually in the highest spirits, and
laughed, and smiled, and chatted as agreeably as if she had not come
on purpose to mount guard over a recreant admirer, and by her presence
endeavour to modify his attentions to her rival! Mr. Quentin found
her company a bore; how could he settle down to read poetry, or to
talk vague sentimental follies, whilst Miss Lizzie's sharp, shadeless
eyes were following every look and movement? Moreover, she seasoned
her conversation with disagreeable remarks, uncomfortable questions,
and unpleasant insinuations.—Miss Denis was musical, but at present
she had no piano; her father had promised her a new one from Calcutta
after Christmas, but in the meantime she must wait. Mr. Quentin was
surprised to find that he did not make as rapid strides in Helen's good
graces as he usually did under similar circumstances, but he accounted
for this amazing fact quite readily in his own mind, and was not one
whit daunted. In the first place, she had but little sentiment in her
composition; she was a sort of a girl who, if you invited her "to come
out and look at the moon" in your company, would be certain to burst
out laughing in your face—and yet it seemed to him that her own face
would make an admirable subject for a very charming romance—she was so
absurdly matter-of-fact, so ready in turning off tender speeches, and
so provokingly inclined to ridicule his most warranted compliments. Of
_course_ she liked him—the reverse never once dawned upon his arrogant
brain—but why was she so hard to get on with? Doubtless, Lizzie
Caggett's haunting presence handicapped him heavily; but Rome was not
built in a day, and he had a grand idea—nothing less than sending
Miss Denis over his piano as a loan—with a view to vocal duets. His
attentions to the young lady had been very "marked" in Mrs. Creery's
opinion; he was her shadow at all the "at homes," no other man had a
chance of speaking to her; but _this_"attention," which Mrs. Creery
beheld coming up the pier, and borne by twenty staggering coolies,
threw all his previous advances entirely into the shade.
The good lady hurried on ahead, and burst into Helen's drawing-room,
breathless (the umbrella-rapping stage was a ceremony of the past),
saying,—
"What do you think? There is a piano coming up the pier in charge of
Mr. Quentin's butler—twenty coolies carrying it, at eight annas each!
Mr. Quentin is sending it over to you—and, of course, it's _all_
settled? and," aggrievedly, "I really think you might have told _me_,"
and here she was obliged to pause for breath.
Helen stared at Mrs. Creery; never had she seen her so excited, was she
going out of her mind, and about a piano?
"A piano, Mrs. Creery?—what piano?"
"A large square."
"And you say that Mr. Quentin is sending it; but it is certainly not
coming _here_."
"But it _is_. I saw a note addressed to you in the butler's hand."
"Well, it shall go back at once; it is some mistake. I don't know what
papa would say!"
"Your father!" scornfully, "as if _he_ would meddle, and as if your
wishes are not his law; besides, he knows it would be an excellent
match!"
"Mrs. Creery," interrupted Helen, becoming scarlet, "please don't say
such things; it's no question of—of—what you hint, but of this piano.
What does it mean?"
"It's the thin end of the wedge, _that's_ what it means."
"It shall go back!"
"Well, here it comes now at any rate," said the elder lady
triumphantly, as the chanting, thin-legged bearers came staggering
along under the heavy piece of furniture, with its wadded red cover;
and a big, bearded butler presented a note with a profound salaam.
"Wait!" cried Helen, making an imperative gesture, tearing the envelope
open. "Don't bring it up yet."
"What's all this?" inquired her father, appearing upon the scene at
this juncture.
"A piano for your daughter from Mr. Quentin," volunteered Mrs. Creery
with infinite gusto.
"Here, papa," handing him the note, "what am I to say?"
"You will have to keep it for the present, I suppose," he answered
rather reluctantly, as he glanced over the missive; "you will have one
of your own soon."
Mr. Quentin's note ran as follows:—
"DEAR MISS DENIS,—Please do not be alarmed at the size of the
accompanying package, nor angry with me for my temerity in sending
it; the piano is going to pieces over here, with no one to play on
or look after it, and the hot winds on Aberdeen are ruination to an
instrument. You will be conferring a great favour on me, if you will
give it room, and honour me by making use of it, until the arrival of
your own. I will crave permission to bring over _a few_ songs, and we
might have a little practice occasionally. If possible, I shall come
across this afternoon.
"Yours very sincerely,
"JAMES QUENTIN."
Of course, when the matter was put in the light of a favour to be
conferred, there was nothing for it but to allow the instrument to be
brought in, and lodged in the drawing-room.
Helen received the open note somewhat mechanically from her father,
and will it be believed, that Mrs. Creery actually held out her hand
for the missive—just as if it were quite a matter of course, that she
should peruse it also?
Peruse it she did, and so slowly, that one would imagine that she was
committing it to memory; then she folded it up and returned it to
Helen, saying rather tartly, "So you _are_ going to keep it, after all?"
"Yes! I suppose so."
"It's only an excuse, of course. You will have him here singing, day
and night, mark my words! However, I must allow that he has a sweet
tenor, and I shall often drop in for an hour," with which dire threat,
Mrs. Creery took her departure, and hastened away to spread the last
piece of news, viz., "that it was all _quite_ settled between Helen
Denis and Mr. Quentin; he had sent her over his piano, and written such
a sweet note!"
To Miss Caggett this intelligence was a painful shock; she never
believed half of what Mrs. Creery said, but the arrival of the piano
had been witnessed. What wrath and anguish filled her mind, as she
thought of swains she had snubbed, and chances she had thrown away, for
that agreeable shadow, that fickle, faithless, heartless, handsome Jim
Quentin! But Lizzie was not easily suppressed; in some respects she was
as dauntless as the Bruce!
She put on her best hat, and went up and listened to some solos and
duets that very same afternoon; and Mr. Quentin, whose patience was
almost threadbare, remarked to her very significantly,—
"I like duets, Miss Caggett, as well as any one, but I don't much care
for trios; they are never so harmonious. I'm sure you agree with me."
Lizzie turned pale. She understood, though Helen did not—indeed, _she_
was exceedingly glad of Miss Caggett's society on these occasions; it
took the too personal edge off her visitor's remarks, and acted as a
wet blanket to his compliments. She (Helen) was not quite sure whether
he was in jest or earnest at times, but she sincerely _hoped_ that it
was the former. Strange as it may appear, she was utterly indifferent
to the almost invincible Jim Quentin. Why, she could not have told. She
knew that he was handsome, agreeable, and showed a flattering penchant
for her society. More than this, he had informed her, hundreds of times
(indirectly), that he admired her beyond words. And yet, and yet——
Miss Caggett was firmly resolved to punish her recreant lover, and to
humble him in the eyes of his new Dulcinea; so she smiled, and showed
all her teeth, and put her head on one side, and tried to look playful,
and said,—
"Mr. Quentin, you are a _naughty_ man! What will Mr. Baines say when he
hears you have sent his new Collard and Collard travelling about the
settlement?"
Mr. Baines was the gentleman for whom Mr. Quentin was acting.
"_He_ say?" colouring. "What is it to him?"
"Only his property," laughing rather boisterously.
Helen felt extremely uncomfortable. There was an undercurrent of
hostility in Miss Caggett's laugh, that now struck her for the first
time.
Mr. Quentin was not easily cowed, and never had any hesitation about
telling what Mark Twain calls a "stretcher," and answered quite
promptly,—
"I bought it from Baines; he was hard up. So you are not as wise as you
imagined, Miss Caggett."
Miss Caggett did not believe a word of this. Men who come to "act"
for six months, and have the use of a furnished house as a matter of
course, are not likely to purchase the piano—especially when they
can't _play_. But what was the use of speaking out her mind? For once
she was prudent, and held her peace; however, she cast a glance at Mr.
Quentin that said volumes, and presently she got up and went away; and,
when she had departed, Mr. Quentin exclaimed,—
"How I wish that odious young woman—or middle-aged woman—would
not favour us with so much of her society; her presence has a most
irritating effect on my nerves."
"I thought you and she were great friends," said Helen calmly. "I am
sure she told me that, at one time, you were with them every day, and
dined, and boated, and sang duets with her."
"I suppose I was three times in their house—I don't know what she
will say next! However," anxious to turn to another subject, "do not
let us waste our time, or rather _my_ precious time over here, on such
an insignificant subject. Will you try over the accompaniment of the
Wanderer?"
Mr. Quentin found himself so much out of practice that he went across
to Ross for an hour's vocal exercise about four times a week. Latterly
Mr. Lisle had listened with a gleam of mockery in his eye, as his
companion made excuses for these frequent visits, and one day Mr.
Quentin up and spake boldly,—
"You are right to laugh at my talk about books and music and new songs,
when I say that they are the errands that take me over so often—of
course, it's the girl herself."
"Oh, of course," sarcastically.
"I tell you what it is, Lisle—I'm really serious this time; and the
queer part of it is, that it's her cool airs and sharp little speeches
that have carried the citadel."
"What citadel?" raising his eyes, and searching the other's face.
"My heart, to be sure!"
"Pooh! your heart! Why that has been taken as often as there are days
in the year."
"Merely a temporary occupation, my dear sir, but this time it's a
complete surrender. 'Pon my word, if she had any money, I'd marry her
to-morrow!"
In answer to this remark, Mr. Lisle blew a cloud of smoke into the air,
and calmly ejaculated the word,—
"Bosh!"
"I never knew such a fellow as you are," cried Apollo indignantly. "You
have no appreciation of sentiment; you are as tough and matter-of-fact
as an old boot! All you care for are rough field sports, such as a long
day's shooting, hunting, or fishing, and then to come home to your
dinner, and sleep like a dog."
"I only wish I _could_ sleep like a dog," rejoined the other with a
laugh. "What with the gun and bugles, and those confounded peacocks,
there is no such thing as getting a wink of sleep after four o'clock."
"Now," continued Mr. Quentin querulously, "I hate your style of life.
You don't care what clothes you wear, you tramp the bush and over hill
and dale with a gun on your shoulder, on the off chance of a wild pig,
or a paltry brace of snipe! Or you grill by the hour in a boat, fishing
for sharks and sword-fish. Now give me instead——"
"Yes, I know exactly what I'm to give you instead; the refining charms
of ladies' society, vocal duets and afternoon tea. Far, far pleasanter,
is it not, to sit in a cool, shady verandah, whispering soft nothings
to a pretty girl—I believe you said she _was_ pretty—than to be
out in a boat blistering in the sun, or tramping the woods, gun on
shoulder, with a good average chance of being winged oneself by an
Andamanese arrow? But let me tell you, James Quentin, that your
amusement is in reality the most dangerous of the two, and, if Dr.
Parks is to be believed, you have already burnt your fingers badly."
"Hang Dr. Parks! I don't want to hear about him, or any one else,
except Helen Denis."
"Helen Denis! And does she not wish to hear about any one but James
Quentin?"
Mr. Quentin smiled a seraphic smile that inferred much; his companion
was not surprised. Quentin was exactly the sort of fellow to please
a young lady's fancy; naturally he would seem to her the very beau
ideal of a hero, with his low voice, heavenly blue eyes, and handsome
face; but then she was not aware that he did not stand the test of
close intimacy. _She_ had never heard him cursing his chokra or his
creditors—she never saw him in ragged moral deshabille!
"Of course she does not know that this is by no means your first tender
effort at gallantry?—However, that is of no moment, Miss Caggett will
undeceive her," tranquilly remarked his companion.
"What a beastly ironical fellow you are, Lisle! First you rake up old
Parks, and then Lizzie Caggett. I wish she were in a sack at the bottom
of Ross harbour!" blustered Mr. Quentin.
"Because she represents a kind of conscience in her own person? Take
care that Miss Denis does not do the same some day."
"No fear," stoutly. "She is now a mere child in many ways, full of
delight with everything about her, and with no more idea of flirting
than——" pausing.
"I have," suggested his listener, innocently.
"I would be sorry to name her in the same breath with you; and that
reminds me, that more than once she has asked me questions about Mr.
Lisle."
"Oh, of course, they all do _that_!"
"She has heard of you."
"From my good, kind friend, Mrs. Creery, I'll bet a fiver, and I'll bet
another that she has painted me as black as an Andamanese,—and the
devil himself would not be blacker."
"Well, come over with me to-morrow, and let Miss D. see that you are
not as bad as you are painted."
"What would be the use? If she is all you _say_, I might fall in love
with her also! and that would be a very uncomfortable state of affairs."
Mr. Quentin looked at him for a second with a cool stare, and then
burst out laughing.
"Well, upon my word! you are the queerest fellow I ever met, and that's
saying a good deal; you can never be in earnest for five minutes. Now
look here, I want to talk to you seriously about my money affairs.—You
see my governor is an old man, and when he is laid in the family vault,
I'll have a decent little competence, but until _then_ I cannot keep
myself, much less a wife. I'm certain he won't give me a halfpenny more
allowance than I have already. I've an uncontrollable knack of spending
coin, and running into debt; but with the family acres, I think I might
manage to rub along pretty well."
"So you might," agreed his listener.
"But then the governor may live till he is a hundred."
"So he may," again admitted the other gentleman.
"For goodness' sake, Lisle, don't sit there with your eyes half shut,
driving me mad with your 'so you might' and 'so he may.' Make a
suggestion."
"My dear sir, I cannot think of any to offer. If you were an Earth
Indian, you would be all right; you know they tie up their aged as bait
for wild beasts. Being a mere Englishman——"
Mr. Lisle never finished what he was about to say; for his companion
sprang to his feet, towered above him, glared at him for a second,
opened his mouth and endeavoured to speak,—but failed; and then flung
out of the apartment in a terrible passion.