FISHING.
Several people were on the steps before the door, watching and
waiting for them. The house shewed large and stately; the
flight of steps imposing. Hot-house plants stood around in
boxes; the turf was well shaven; the gravelled road in order;
the overhanging trees magnificent. Moscheloo was a fine place.
As the riders approached the door, Mme. Lasalle came forward,
pouring forth welcomes, and invitations to Rollo. But after
dismounting Wych Hazel, and so disappointing the gentleman who
wanted to do it, Rollo excused himself and set off down the
hill again. Mme. Lasalle turned to Wych Hazel, and led her,
with flying introductions by the way, to the stairs and up to
a dressing-room.
'It is quite charming to see you, and to think that Chickaree
is inhabited and has a mistress--it makes Moscheloo, I assure
you, several degrees brighter. Now, my dear, what will you
have?--is it nothing but to take off this habit-skirt?--let me
undo it. What an odd mortal that is, that came with you!'
But to that Wych Hazel answered nothing. The light riding
skirt and jacket taken off, left her in green from head to
foot. A daring colour for a brunette. But her own tint was so
clear and the mossy shade of her dress was so well chosen,
that the effect was extremely good. She looked like a wood
nymph.
'Charming!--vraie Française'--said Madame, softly. 'That is a
coquettish colour, my dear--are you of that character!'
'I am not sure that I know my own character yet,' Hazel said,
laughing a little.
'Ah! that's dangerous. You don't know your own character?--then
do you read other people's? Rollo--do you know him well?'
Mme. Lasalle was somewhat officiously but with great attention
stroking into order one or two of Wych Hazel's curls which the
riding had tossed.
'O, I dare say I shall make new discoveries, Mme. Lasalle.'
'He's the best creature in the world, everybody likes him;
but--Oh dear! well I suppose all young men are so; they all
like power. Did you notice that Miss Powder down stairs, that
I introduced to you?'
'Hardly.'
'You had no time. She's a sweet creature. Oh, no, you hadn't
time; but I want you to see her do-day. I have a little plan
in my head.' And Mme. Lasalle left the curls and whispered
with a serious face. '_She's_ the young lady Rollo paid so much
devotion to before he went abroad. Everybody knew that; and I
know he liked her; but then, you see, he went off, and nothing
came of it; but it's a pity, for Mrs. Powder would have been
much pleased, I know, with her large family of daughters--to be
sure, she has married two of them now;--but what is worse,' (in
a lower whisper) 'Annabella would have been pleased too; and
she hasn't been pleased since. Now isn't it a shame?'
Wych Hazel considered the matter. With a curious feeling of
disbelief in her mind, which (without in the least knowing
where it came from) found its way to her face.
'I wonder she would tell of it!'
'My dear, she didn't; only one sees, one can't help it. One
sees a great many disagreeable things, but it's no use to
think about it. It was nothing very bad in Rollo, you know; he
has that way with him, of seeming to like people; but it don't
mean anything, _except_ that he does like them. O, I know that
he liked her--and I am going to make you accomplice in a little
plot of mine. I won't tell you now--by and by, when you have
seen Annabella a little more. I would have asked Dane to join
our party to-day, but I didn't dare--I was afraid he would
guess what I was at. Now, my dear, I won't keep you up here
any longer. Pardon me, you are charming! If Dane sees much of
you, I am afraid my fine scheming will do Annabella no good!'
And shaking her head gaily, the lady ran down stairs followed
by Wych Hazel.
There was a great muster then of fishing-rods and baskets; and
everybody being provided, the company was marshalled forth,
each lady being under the care of a gentleman, who carried her
basket and rod. Wych Hazel found herself without knowing how
or why, leading the march with Mr. Lasalle. He proved rather a
sober companion. A sensible man, but thoroughly devoted to
business, his French extraction seemed to have brought him no
inheritance of grace or liveliness--unless Mme. Lasalle had
acted as an absorbent and usurped it at all. He was polite,
and gave good host-like attention to his fair little
companion; but it was as well for her that the walk presently
sufficed of itself for her entertainment. They went first
across several fields, where the sun beat down freely on all
their heads, and divers fences gave play to the active and
useful qualities of the gentlemen. Suddenly from the last
field they went down a grassy descent--and found themselves at
the side of a brook.
Well, it was a good-sized brook, overhung with a fine
bordering of trees that shaded and sheltered it. The ladies
cried 'lovely!'--and so it was, after the sunshiny fields on a
warm June morning. But this was not the fishing ground. The
brook must be followed up to the woods whence it came. And
soon the banks became higher and broken, the ascent steeper,
the trees closer; no longer a mere fringe or veil to the
fostering waters. Fields were forgotten; the brook grew wild
and lively, and following its course became a matter of some
difficulty. Sometimes there was no edge of footing beside the
stream; they must take to the stones and rocks which broke its
way, or cross it by fallen trees, and recross again. The woods
made a thicket of wilderness and stillness and green beauty
and shady sweetness, invaded just now by an inroad of fashion
and society.
Like a sprite Wych Hazel led the van, making her way over
rocks and through vine tangles and across the water, after a
fashion attainable by no other feet. Mr. Lasalle had no
trouble but to follow; had not even the task of hearing
exclamations or being entertained; for Wych Hazel had by no
means acquired that amiable habit of society which is full
dress upon all occasions. To-day she was like a child out of
school in her gleeful enjoyment, only very quiet. So she
flitted on through the mazes of the wood and the brook, making
deep remarks to herself over its dark pools, perching herself
on a rock for a backward look at Miss Powder, and then darting
on. The party in the rear, struggling after, eyed her in the
distance with various feelings.
'The flower she trod on dipped and rose,
'And turned to look at her!--'
So quoted Metastasio Simms, who played the part of cavalier to
Mme. Lasalle, and of poet and troubadour in general.
'There steals over me, Madame,' said another cavalier, 'the
fairy tale remembrance of a marvellous bird with green
plumage--which flitting along before the traveller did thereby
allure him to his captivity. Are you pledge for Miss Kennedy's
good faith?'
'I am pledged for nothing. I advise you to take care of
yourself, Mr. May--I have no doubt she is dangerous. Haven't we
come far enough? Do run down the line, and tell them all to
stop where they are; we must not be too close upon one
another. And when you come back I will reward you with another
commission.'
While Mr. Simms was gone down the brook, however, Mme. Lasalle
permitted the pair next below to pass her and go up to stop
Mr. Lasalle and Wych Hazel from proceeding any further. So it
came to pass that the highest group on the stream was composed
of four instead of two; and the additional two were Stuart
Nightingale and Miss Annabella Powder. Now the fishing rods
were put into the ladies' hands; now the cavaliers attentively
supplied their hooks with what was supposed to be bait, and
performing afterwards the same office for their own, the brook
presently had the appearance, or would to a bird's-eye view,
of a brook in toils.
'What do we expect to catch, sir?' asked Miss Kennedy of Mr.
Lasalle, as she watched his motions and dropped her own line
in imitation.
'If I were a member of the firm, I should say, "all hearts,"
mademoiselle, without doubt.'
'For shame, Mr. Lasalle!' cried Miss Powder.
'Fish are made to be caught, mademoiselle,' said Mr. Lasalle,
throwing his own line again.
'For shame, Mr. Lasalle! How many hearts do you think one lady
wishes to catch?'
'No limit that I know'--said the gentleman serenely.
'Well, but--are there no other fish in this brook?' said Wych
Hazel.
'Miss Kennedy makes small account of the first kind,' said
Stuart, laughing. 'That sport is old already. There must be
difficulty to give interest, Lasalle, you know.'
'You gentlemen are complimentary,' said Miss Powder.
'Upon my word, I said what I thought,' replied the first
gentleman.
'Miss Kennedy,' called Stuart out from his post down the
brook; 'should compliments be true or false, to be
compliments? Miss Powder is too indignant to be judge in the
case.'
'I do not see how false ones can compliment,' said the lady in
green, much intent upon her line. 'There!--Mr. Lasalle--is that
what you call a bite?'
It was no bite.
'But people need not know they are false?' pursued Stuart.
'Well,' said Wych Hazel, looking down at him, 'you were
talking of what things _are_--not what they seem.'
'You may observe,' said Mr. Lasalle, 'that most people find it
amusing to get bites--if only they don't know there's no fish
at the end of them.' Mr. Lasalle spoke feelingly, for he had
just hooked and drawn up what proved to be a bunch of weeds.
'But where there is,' said Wych hazel. 'There! Mr. Lasalle, I
have got your fish!' and swung up a glittering trophy high
over the gentleman's head.
'The first fish caught, I'll wager!' cried Stuart; and he
looked at his watch. 'Twenty-seven minutes past twelve. Was
that skill or fortune, Miss Kennedy?'
'Neither, sir,' observed Mr. Simms, who had wandered that way
in search of a hook. 'There was no hope of Miss Kennedy's
descending to the bed of the brook--what could the fish do but
come to her? Happy trout!'
'I am afraid he feels very much like a fish out of water,
nevertheless,' said Wych Hazel, eyeing her prize and her line
with a demure face.
Alas! it was the beginning and ending of their good fortune
for some time. Mr. Simms went back to his place; Mr. Lasalle
disengaged the fish and rearranged the bait; and all four fell
to work, or to watching, with renewed animation; but in vain.
The rods kept their angle of suspension, unless when a tired
arm moved up or down; the fishers' eyes gazed at the lines;
the water went running by with a dance and a laugh; the fish
laughed too, perhaps; the anglers did not. There were spicy
wood smells, soft wood flutter and flap of leaves, stealing
and playing sunbeams among the leaves and the tree stems; but
there was too much Society around the brook, and nobody heeded
all these things.
'Well, what success?' said Mme. Lasalle coming up after a
while. 'What have you caught? One little fish! Poor little
thing! Is that all? Well, it's luncheon time. Lasalle, I wish
you'd go and see that everybody is happy at the lower end of
the line; and I'll do your fishing meanwhile. Oh, Simms has
almost killed me! Stuart! do take charge of that basket, will
you?'
Mr. Nightingale receiving the basket from the hands of a
servant, inquired of his aunt what he was to do with it.
'Mercy! open it and give us all something--I am as hungry as I
can be. What have you all been doing that you haven't caught
more fish? My dear,' (to Wych Hazel), 'that is all you will
get till we go home; we came out to work to-day.'
And Stuart coming up, relieved her of her fishing rod, found a
pleasant seat on a mossy stone, and opened his basket.
'As the fish won't bite--Miss Kennedy, will you?'
'If you please,' she said, taking a new view from her new
position. 'How beautiful everything is to-day! Certainly I
have learned something about brooks.'
'And something about fishing?'
'Not much.'
'The best thing about fishing,' said Stuart, after serving the
other ladies and coming back to her, 'is that it gives one an
appetite.'
'Oh, then you have not studied the brook.'
'Certainly not,' said he, laughing, 'or only as one studies a
dictionary--to see what one can get out of it. Please tell me,
what did you?'
'New thoughts,' she said. 'And new fancies. And shadows, and
colours. I forgot all about the fish sometimes.'
'You are a philosopher?' said Stuart, inquisitively.
'Probably. Don't I look like one?'
He laughed again, with an unequivocal compliment in his bright
eyes. He was a handsome fellow, and a gentleman from head to
foot. So far at least as manners can make it.
'I do not judge from appearances. Do you care to know what I
judge from?'
'Your judgment cannot have been worth much just now,' said
Wych Hazel, shaking her head. 'But I am willing to hear what
led it astray.'
'What led it,--not astray,--was your calm declining of all but
true words of service.'
'O, had you gone back _there?_' she said. 'I think it takes very
little philosophy to decline what one does not want.'
'Evidently. But how came you not to want what everybody else
wants? There is the philosophy, you see. If you bring all
things down to bare truth, you will be Diogenes in his tub
presently.'
' "Bare truth!" '--said the girl. 'How people say that, as if
truth were only a lay figure!'
'But think how disagreeable truth would often be, if it were
not draped! Could you stand it? I beg pardon! I mean, not you,
but other people!'
'I _have_ stood it pretty often,' said the girl with a grave
gesture of her head.
'Impossible! But did you believe that it was truth?'
'Too self-evident to be doubted!'
Stuart laughed, again with a very unfeigned tribute of
pleasure or admiration in his face. 'It is a disagreeable
truth,' said he, 'that that is not a good sandwich. Permit me
to supply its place with something else. Here is cake, and
nothing beside that I can see; will you have a piece of cake?
It is said to be a feminine taste.'
'No, not any cake,' said Wych Hazel, her eyes searching the
brook shadows. 'But I will have another sandwich, Mr.
Nightingale--if there is one. At least, if there is more than
one!'
'Ah,' said Stuart, 'you shall have it, and you shall not know
the state of the basket. Those two people have so much to talk
about, they have no time to eat!' And he took another sandwich
himself.
'Is that old woman in the cottage a friend of yours?'
'I never saw her before the other day.'
'She lost no time! A little garrulous, isn't she? I made
acquaintance there one day when I went in to light a cigar. I
have a mind to ask you to give me the distinction I am ready
to claim, of being your oldest acquaintance in these parts. I
think I shall claim it yet. Let me look at the state of your
hook.'
They dropped their lines in the brook again, but no fish were
caught, and fish might cleverly have run away with their bait
several times without being found out. The conversation was
lively for some time. Stuart had sense and was amusing, and
had roamed about the world enough to have a great deal to say.
The pair were not agreeably interrupted after half an hour by
Mme. Lasalle, who discovered that Wych Hazel was fishing where
she could get nothing, and brought her down the brook to the
close neighbourhood of Miss Powder, where Stuart's attentions
had to be divided. But so the two girls had a chance to see
something of each other; a chance which Miss Powder improved
with manifest satisfaction. She was a wax-Madonna sort of
beauty, with a sweet face, fair, pure, placid, but either
somewhat impassive or quite self-contained in its character.
Her figure was good, her few words showed her not wanting in
sense or breeding.
Wych Hazel was by this time far enough out of the reserve of
first meetings to let the exhilarating June air and sunshine
do their work, and her voice, never raised beyond a pretty
note, was ready with laugh and word and repartee. Now studying
her hook, now questioning Miss Powder, now answering Mr.
Nightingale, and then seriously devoted to her fishing,--she
shewed the absolute sport of her young joyous nature, a thing
charming in itself, even without so piquant a setting. It was
no great wonder that a gentleman now and then took ground on
the opposite side of the brook, and directed his eyes as if
the fish would only come from that point of the shore where
Miss Kennedy sat. This happened more and more, as by degrees
the line of fishers was broken and the unskilled or
unsuccessful, tired of watching the water, gave it up, and
strolled up the brook to see who had better luck. And so few
fish were the result of the day's sport, so many of the
company had nothing better to do than to look at what somebody
else was doing, that by degrees nearly the whole party were
gathered around that spot where Wych Hazel had caught the
first fish. They were relieved, perhaps, that the effort was
over; perhaps the prospect of going home to dinner was
encouraging; certainly the spirits of all the party were
greatly enlivened by something. Mme. Lasalle's ears heard the
pleasant sound of voices in full chorus of speech and laughter
all the way home.
It was rather late before Madame's carriage could be ordered
to take Miss Kennedy home. Mme. Lasalle herself attended her,
and would suffer the attendance of no one else. A young moon
was shedding a delicious light on the Lollard poplars past
which Wych Hazel had cantered in the morning. It was an hour
to be still an enjoy, and think; but did Mme. Lasalle ever
think? She ceased not to talk. And Wych Hazel, after her day
of caressing and petting and admiration, how was she? She had
caught the first fish; she had been queen of the feast; she
had given the first toast, she had received the first honours
of every eye and ear in the company. Her host and hostess had
lavished all kindness on her; ladies had smiled; and
gentlemen, yes, six gentlemen had come down the steps to put
her into the carriage. But if she wanted to think, Mme.
Lasalle gave her no chance.
'Where shall you go to church on Sunday, my dear?' she asked
on the way.
'Dr. Maryland's, of course, ma'am.'
'O, that's where we all go, of course; delightful creature
that he is. And yet he rebukes every single individual thing
that one does. Dear Dr. Maryland, he's so good, he don't see
what is going in his own family. Do you know, it makes me
unhappy when I think of it. But, my dear, that's the very
thing I wanted to talk to you about,--Miss Powder, you've seen
her, aren't you pleased with her?'
'She was very pleasant to me.'
'She is that to everybody, and her mother is a very fine
woman. Now, my dear, you will be at your pleasure, seeing your
friends at Chickaree--couldn't you contrive to bring Dane and
Annabella together again?'
'I?' said Wych Hazel, surprised. 'Why, I do not know how to
contrive things for myself.'
'O! I do not mean anything complicated--that never does well;
but you could quite naturally, you know, give them
opportunities of seeing each other pleasantly. I think if he
saw her he might come round again and take up his old fancy;
and you being a stranger, you know, might do it without the
least difficulty or gaucherie; they would meet quite on
neutral ground, for nobody would suspect that you were _au fait_
of our country complications. I dare not stir, you see; that
was the reason I could not invite Dane to our fishing to-day.
I knew it wouldn't do. This was my plot for you, that I told
you about--what do you think? It would be doing a kind thing,
and hurting nobody, at any rate.'
It did come to Miss Kennedy's mind that Mr. Rollo was quite
capable of 'contriving' his own situations; but she answered
only, 'Would it, ma'am?'
'It couldn't do any harm, you know. And you are the very
person to do it. And then, if your plan should succeed, it
would have another good effect, to put Primrose Maryland in
safety.'
If it had been daylight instead of moonlight, Mme. Lasalle
might have seen the young face at her side knit itself into a
very perplexed state indeed at these words; and the more Hazel
thought the deeper she got.
'It would be quite natural, you know,' Mme. Lasalle went on
after a pause, 'that a girl like her should be fascinated, and
Rollo, without meaning to do any harm, would give her cause
enough. He _is_ fascinating you know, but he is too cool by
half. Dr. Maryland, of course, never would see or understand
what was going on; and Primrose is so sweet and inexperienced.
I know her sister was very uneasy about it before Rollo went
away--so long ago. I fancy his going was partly thanks to her
care.'
Closer and closer came the dark brows together, until by
degrees her extremely fancy-free thoughts took a turn. 'What a
fuss! what was Mme. Lasalle talking about? "Fascinating,"
forsooth!--she should like to see anybody that could fascinate
her.' And so the whole thing grew ludicrous, and she laughed,
her soft ringing, girlish laugh.
'What a pirate he must be, Mme. Lasalle. A true Dane! Do many
of that sort live on shore?'
'Take care!' said the lady in a different tone--'dangers that
are slighted are the first to be run into.'
The carriage stopped at that moment, so Wych Hazel had no need
to reply. She watched Mme. Lasalle drive off, took a
comprehensive view of the moon for a minute, and then
pirouetting round on the tips of her toes she flashed into the
sitting room and favoured Mr. Falkirk with a courtesy profound
enough for her grandmother.