It is very disagreeable to face a large party with anything on your
mind that you cannot help thinking must be known, or at least
suspected, by your associates. When I came down to breakfast, after a
hasty and uncomfortable toilette, and found the greater portion of the
guests assembled at that gossiping meal, I could not help fancying
that every listless dandy and affected fine lady present was
acquainted with my proceedings during the last twelve hours, and was
laughing in his or her sleeve accordingly. I cast a rapid and
frightened glance round the table, and, to my infinite relief, beheld
Cousin John eating his egg as composedly as possible; whilst a
reassuring smile and a pleasant "Good-morning" from Mr. Lumley gave me
to understand that his mediation had averted all fatal proceedings.
The other guests ate and drank, and laughed and chattered much as
usual; but still I could not help remarking on the face of each of
them a subdued expression of intelligence, as though in possession of
some charming bit of news or delightful morsel of scandal. Lady
Scapegrace was the first to put me on a footing of equality with the
rest.
"We have lost some of our party, Kate," said she, as she handed me my
tea. "I confess I suspected it last year, in London. She is a most
amiable girl, and will have a large fortune."
I looked at her ladyship as if I was dreaming.
"You needn't be so surprised, Kate," said she, laughing at my utter
bewilderment; "don't you miss anybody? Look round the table."
Sure enough the Molasses party were absent, and there was no Frank
Lovell. Then it was true, after all! He had sold himself to that
lackadaisical young lady, and had been making a fool of _me_, Kate
Coventry, the whole time. How angry I ought to have been! I was
surprised to find I was _not_. On the contrary, my first feeling was
one of inexpressible relief, as I thought there was now no earthly
obstacle between myself and that kind face on the other side of the
breakfast-table; though too soon a horrid tide of doubts and fears
surged up as I reflected on my own unworthiness and caprice.
How I had undervalued that noble, generous character! How often I had
wounded and annoyed him in sheer carelessness or petulance, and
thought little of inflicting on him days of pain to afford myself the
short and doubtful amusement of an hour's flirtation and folly!
What if he should cast _me_ off now? What if he had obtained an
insight into my character which had cured him entirely of any regard
he might previously have entertained for me? What if I should find
that I had all my life been neglecting the gem which I was too
ignorant to appreciate, and now, when I knew its real value and would
give my life for it, it was beyond my grasp?
At all events, I would never forget _him_. Come what might now, I
would never care for another. I felt quite glad Frank Lovell was as
good as married, and out of the way. The instant I had swallowed my
breakfast I put my bonnet on and rushed into the garden, for I felt as
if fresh air was indispensable to my very existence. The first person
I met amongst the flower-beds was dear old Mr. Lumley. He had hobbled
out on his crutches purposely to give me an interview. I thanked him,
as if he had been my father, for all his kindness; and he talked to me
gently and considerately, as a parent would to a child.
"I promised you, my dear, that they should not fight, and I think I
have kept my word. Your cousin, Miss Coventry, is a noble fellow,"
said the old man, his benevolent features kindling into admiration;
"but I had more difficulty with him than his antagonist. He would not
be satisfied till Captain Lovell had assured him, on his honour, that
you had yourself declined his advances in a manner which admitted of
no misconstruction; and that then, and not till then, he considered
himself free. You were right, my dear--I am an old man, and I take a
great interest in you, so do not think me impertinent--you were right
to have nothing to say to a _roué_ and a gambler.
"I was not always the old cripple you are so forbearing with now. I
lived in the world once, and saw a good deal of life and men. My
experience has convinced me that selfishness is the bane of the
generality of mankind; but that nowhere is it so thoroughly developed
as in those who live what people call 'by their wits,' and enjoy all
the luxuries and pleasures of life by dint of imposing on the world. I
consider Frank Lovell, though we all vote him such a good fellow, one
of that class, and I do not think he would have made a good husband to
my young friend Miss Coventry. Your cousin, my dear, is a character of
another stamp altogether; and if, as I hear everybody say, he is
really to be married to that Welsh girl, I think you will agree with
me that she has got a prize such as falls to the lot of few."
Mr. Lumley was by this time out of breath; but I could not have
answered him to save my life. Like one of his own favourite
house-spiders, I had been unconsciously spinning a web of delightful
self-delusion, and here came the ruthless housemaid and swept it all
away. How blind I must have been not to see it long ago! John might be
very fond of pheasant-shooting, and I believe, when the game is
plentiful and the thing well managed, that sport is fascinating
enough; but people don't travel night and day into such a country as
Wales, where there are no railroads, merely for the purpose of
standing in a ride and knocking over a certain quantity of half-tame
fowls. No, no; I ought to have seen it long ago. I had lost him now,
and _now_ I knew his value when it was too late. Too late!--the knell
that tolls over half the hopes and half the visions of life.
Too late!--the one bitter drop that poisons the whole cup of success.
Too late! The golden fruit has long hung temptingly just above your
grasp; you have laboured and striven and persevered, and you seize it
at last and press it to your thirsty lips. Dust and ashes are your
reward. The fruit is still the same, but it is too late: your desire
for it is gone, or your power of enjoying it has failed you at the
very moment of fruition; all that remains to you is the keen pang of
disappointment, or, worse still, the apathy of disgust. I might have
made John my slave a few weeks ago, and _now_--it was too provoking,
and for that Welsh girl too! How I hated everything Welsh! Not Ancient
Pistol, eating his enforced leek with its accompanying sauce, could
have entertained a greater aversion for the Principality than I did at
that moment.
Presently we were joined by Lady Scapegrace. She too had got something
pleasant to say to me.
"I told you so, Kate," she observed, taking my arm, and leading me
down one of those secluded walks--"I told you so all along. Your
friend Captain Lovell proposed to Miss Molasses yesterday. Don't blame
him too much, Kate; if he's not married within three weeks, he'll be
in the Bench. Never mind how I know, but I _do_ know. I think he has
behaved infamously to you, I confess; but take comfort, my dear--you
are not the first by a good many."
I put it to my impartial reader whether such a remark, though made
with the kindest intentions, was not enough to drive any woman mad
with spite. I broke away from Lady Scapegrace, and rushed back into
the house. We were to leave Scamperley that day by the afternoon
train. Gertrude was already packing my things; but I was obliged to go
to the drawing-room for some work I had left there, and in the
drawing-room I found a whole bevy of ladies assembled over their
different occupations.
Women never spare each other; and I had to go through the ordeal,
administered ruthlessly, and with a refinement of cruelty known only
to ourselves. Even Mrs. Lumley, my own familiar friend, had no mercy.
"We ought to congratulate you, I conclude, Miss Coventry," said one.
"He's a relation of yours, is he not?" inquired another.
"Only a very great _friend_," laughed Mrs. Lumley, shaking her curls.
"It's a great marriage for _him_," some one else went on to say--"far
better than he deserves. Poor thing! he'll lead her a sad life; he's a
shocking flirt!"
Now, if there is one thing to my mind more contemptible than another,
it is that male impostor whom ladies so charitably designate by the
mild term "a flirt." It is all fair for _us_ to have our little
harmless vanities and weaknesses. We are shamefully debarred from the
nobler pursuits and avocations of life; so we may be excused for
passing the time in such trivial manoeuvres as we can invent to excite
the envy of our own and triumph over the pride of the opposite sex.
But that a man should lower himself to act the part of a slave, "tied
to an apron-string," and voluntarily be a fool, without being an
honest one--it is too degrading!
Such a despicable being does us an infinity of harm: he encourages us
to display all the worst points of the female character; he cheats us
of our due amount of homage from many a noble heart, and perhaps robs
us of our own dignity and self-respect. Yet such is the creature we
encourage in our blind vanity, and whilst we vote him "so pleasant and
agreeable," temper our commendation with the mild remonstrance,
"though I am afraid he's rather a flirt!"
I saw the drawing-room on that morning was no place for me; so I
folded my work, and curbing my tongue, which I own had a strong
inclination to take its part in the war of words, I sought my own
room, and found there, in addition to the litter and discomfort
inseparable from the process of packing, a letter just arrived by the
post. It was in Cousin Amelia's hand, and bore the Dangerfield
postmark. "What now?" I thought, dreading to open it lest it might
contain some fresh object of annoyance, some further inquiries or
remarks calculated to irritate my already overdriven temper out of due
bounds.
"Cousin Amelia never writes to me unless she has something unpleasant
to say," was my mental observation, "and a very little more would fill
the cup to overflowing. Whatever happens, I am determined not to cry;
rather than face all those ladies with red eyes when I go to wish Lady
Scapegrace good-bye, I would forego the pleasure of ever receiving a
letter or hearing a bit of news again!"
So I popped Cousin Amelia's epistle into my pocket without breaking
the seal, and put on my bonnet at once, that I might be ready to
start, and not keep Cousin John waiting.
The leavetaking was got over more easily than I expected. People
generally hustle one off in as great a hurry as the common decencies
of society would admit of, in order to shorten as much as possible the
unavoidable gêne of parting. Sir Guy, staunch to his colours, was to
drive me back on the detested drag; but his great face fell several
inches when I expressed my determination to perform the journey _this_
time _inside_.
"I've bitted the team on purpose for you, Miss Kate," he exclaimed,
with one of his usual oaths, "and now you throw me over at the last
moment. Too bad; by all that's disappointing, it's too bad! Come now,
think better of it; put on my box-coat, and catch hold of 'em, there's
a good girl."
"_Inside_, or not at all, Sir Guy," was my answer; and I can be pretty
determined, too, when I choose.
"Then perhaps your maid would like to come on the box," urged the
Baronet, who seemed to have set his heart on the enjoyment of _some_
female society.
"Gertrude goes with me," I replied stoutly; for I thought Cousin John
looked pleased, and Sir Guy was at a nonplus.
"Awfully high temper," he muttered, as he took his reins and placed
his foot on the roller-bolt. "I like 'em saucy, I own, but this girl's
a regular vixen!"
Sir Guy was very much put out, and vented his annoyance on his
off-wheeler, "double-thonging" that unfortunate animal most
unmercifully the whole way to the station. He bade me farewell with a
coldness, and almost sulkiness, quite foreign to his usual demeanour,
and infinitely pleasanter to my feelings. Besides, I saw plainly that
the more I fell in the Baronet's good opinion, the higher I rose in
that of my _chaperone_; and by the time John and I were fairly settled
in a _coupé_, my cousin had got back to his old, frank, cordial
manner, and I took courage to break the seal of Cousin Amelia's
letter, and peruse that interesting document, regardless of all the
sarcasms and innuendoes it might probably contain.
What a jumble of incongruities it was! Long stories about the weather,
and the garden, and the farm, and all sorts of things which no one
knew better than I did had no interest for my correspondent whatever.
I remarked, however, throughout the whole composition, that "mamma's"
sentiments and regulations were treated with an unusual degree of
contempt, and the writer's own opinions asserted with a boldness and
freedom I had never before observed in my strait-laced, hypocritical
cousin. Mr. Haycock's name, too, was very frequently brought on the
_tapis_: he seemed to have breakfasted with them, lunched with them,
walked, driven, played billiards with them, and, in short, to have
taken up his residence almost entirely at Dangerfield. The postscript
explained it all, and the postscript I give verbatim as I read it
aloud to Cousin John whilst we were whizzing along at the rate of
forty miles an hour.
"_P.S._--I am sure my dear Kate will give me joy. You cannot have
forgotten a _certain_ person calling this autumn at Dangerfield for a
_certain_ purpose, in which he did not seem clearly to know his own
mind. Everything is now explained. My dear Herod (is it not a pretty
Christian name!)--my dear Herod is all that I can wish, and assures me
that all along _it_ was intended for me. The _happy day_ is not yet
fixed; but my dearest Kate may rest assured that I will not fail to
give her the _earliest intelligence_ on the _first opportunity_. Tell
Mr. Jones I shall be married before him, after all."
The last sentence escaped my lips without my meaning it. Had I not
come upon it unexpectedly, I think I should have kept it to myself.
John blushed, and looked hurt. For a few minutes there was a
disagreeable silence, which we both felt awkward. He was the first to
break it.
"Kate," said he, "do you think I shall be married before Miss
Horsingham?"
"How can I tell?" I replied, looking steadfastly out of the window,
whilst my colour rose and my heart beat rapidly.
"Do you believe that Welsh story, Kate?" proceeded my cousin.
I knew by his voice it _couldn't_ be true; I _felt_ it was a slander;
and I whispered, "No."
"One more question, Kate," urged Cousin John, in a thick, low voice.
"Why did you refuse Frank Lovell?"
"He never proposed to me," I answered; "I never gave him an
opportunity."
"Why not?" said my cousin.
"Because I liked some one else better," was my reply; and I think
those few words settled the whole business.
* * * * *
I shall soon be five-and-twenty now, and on my birthday I am to be
married. Aunt Deborah has got better ever since it has all been
settled. Everybody seems pleased, and I am sure no one can be better
pleased than I am. Only Lady Horsingham says, "Kate will _never_
settle." I think I know better. I think I shall make none the worse a
wife because I can walk, and ride, and get up early, and stand all
weathers, and love the simple, wholesome, natural pleasures of the
country. John thinks so too, and that is all I need care about.
I have such a charming trousseau, though I am ashamed to say I take
very little pleasure in looking at it. But kind, thoughtful Cousin
John has presented Brilliant with an entirely new set of clothing; and
I think my horse seems almost more delighted with his finery than his
mistress is with hers. My Cousin and I ride together every day. Dear
me, how delightful it is to think that I shall always be as happy as I
am now!
THE END.
NELSON'S CLASSICS
A Library of Masterpieces, well printed, well bound in cloth, and
unabridged.
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
Tom Brown's Schooldays. THOMAS HUGHES.
Since its publication more than half a century ago, this book has been
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Henry Esmond. W. M. THACKERAY.
If the merit of a historical novel be the exact reproduction of the
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Kenilworth. Sir WALTER SCOTT.
Like all Sir Walter Scott's books, _Kenilworth_ is a great picture of
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Quentin Durward. Sir WALTER SCOTT.
One of the most brilliant of Scott's romances. It presents a
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Ivanhoe. Sir WALTER SCOTT.
The most popular novel of Sir Walter Scott, and the first which every
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Adam Bede. GEORGE ELIOT.
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Hard Times. CHARLES DICKENS.
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This book is a remarkable instance of the range of Kingsley's powers.
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The Last Days of Pompeii. Lord LYTTON.
A classical romance is always a difficult form of art, but Lord
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The Channings.
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The Last of the Mohicans, "
The Pathfinder. "
Fenimore Cooper was the Scott of America, the man who, by turning his
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The Three Musketeers. ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
Dumas is, after Scott, the foremost of historical novelists, and _The
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From an artistic point of view, the most perfect of Charlotte Brontë's
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Pride and Prejudice, JANE AUSTEN.
Sense and Sensibility. "
Jane Austen's novels were Sir Walter Scott's especial favourites, and
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Uncle Tom's Cabin. Mrs. H. B. STOWE.
This is one of the books which have made history. It was the chief
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One of the most brilliant and entertaining of books of travel.
The Pilgrim's Progress. JOHN BUNYAN.
Robinson Crusoe. DANIEL DEFOE.
Gulliver's Travels. DEAN SWIFT.
Three immortal works, of which nothing remains to be said that has not
been said over and over again.
_In Preparation._
Silas Marner. GEORGE ELIOT.
Notre Dame. VICTOR HUGO.
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
The following misprints in the original have been corrected:
men think they are begining to grow old! (beginning)
the very personification of that danydism (dandyism)
in London that would destory (destroy)
"_Traitre!_" shouted the marquis; (Traître)
The Frenchmen _sacreéd_, and fumed (sacréed)