FRIENDLY TONGUES.
Yes, it was very hard for her; much harder than any one knew
but herself. The joke was too striking to be passed by, even
in the case of an ordinary person; but when it was Miss
Kennedy,--heiress, beauty, and queen of favour,--all tongues
took it up. She could go nowhere, wear nothing, do nothing,
without meeting that one subject face to face. Many things
brought it forward. Kitty Fisher of course had exasperation in
her heart; but there were other (supposably) gentle breasts
where even less lovely feelings, of shorter names, found
lodgment. Hazel was condoled with, laughed at, twitted, by
turns; until even Mr. Rollo's name in the distance made her
shrink. Mrs. Coles had not (apparently) made known the
conditions upon which he had assumed his office; but Wych
Hazel was in daily terror lest she would; and as people often
graze the truth which yet they do not know, so hardest of all
to bear just now, were Kitty Fisher's two new names for her:
'the Duchess,' and 'Your Grace.' Most people indeed did not
know their point, ignorant of Prim's pet name for Mr. Rollo;
but Wych Hazel needed no telling; and her face was sometimes a
thing to see.
That was the worst of it!--it _was_ a thing to see. And so, while
now and then one of her special gentlemen friends would
interpose, and draw the strokes upon himself; yet her
delicate, womanly fencing was so pretty, so novel; it was such
sport to watch the little hands turn off and parry Kitty
Fisher's rude thrusts; that few masculine hearts were
unselfish enough to forego it. There were actual wagers out as
to how long 'the Duchess' could carry it on without losing her
temper or clipping the truth; and how soon 'the Fisher' would
get tired and give it up. And as for the tokens in Miss
Kennedy's face sometimes, who that had once seen them did not
watch to see them again? Other people began to take up the new
titles; and Mme. Lasalle made courtesies to 'the Duchess,' and
Stuart Nightingale and Mr. May bowed low before 'her Grace,'
entreating her hand for the quadrille or the promenade.
'And some night he will be standing by and hear them say it!'
thought Wych Hazel to herself. What should she do? Where
should she go?
Since the talk on the drive home from Mme. Lasalle's, the girl
had never set foot in one the round dances. Not that she gave
in to Mr. Rollo's strictures,--how could _she_ be mistaken?--but
because the talk had left an unbearable association about
everything that looked like a round dance. There was the
constant remembrance of the words he had spoken,--there was the
constant fear that he might stand by and think those thoughts
again. Then she had been extremely disgusted with Kitty
Fisher's new figures; and so, on the whole, in the face of
persuasions and charges of affectation, Miss Kennedy could be
had for nothing but reels, country dances, and quadrilles.
Miss Fisher and her set were furious, of course; for all the
gentlemen liked what Miss Kennedy liked: there was no use
talking about it.
If anybody had asked the girl in those weeks before the fancy
ball what she was doing--and why she wanted to do it,--she would
have found it hard to tell. Braving out people's tongues, was
one thing; and plunging into all sorts of escapades because
any day they might be forbidden, was another. A sort of wild
resolving that her young guardian should _not_ feel his power;
and endeavour to prove to him that anybody aspiring to that
office without her leave asked and obtained, was likely to
serve a short term.
'Is it only till you marry, my dear?--or is it for life?' Mme.
Lasalle said, meaningly. And Hazel laughed off an answer, and
set her little foot down (mentally) with tremendous force.
Wouldn't she marry whom she liked--_if_ she liked?
'He proposes to make you his wife'--Mrs. Coles had said. She
would like to know what his 'proposing' had to do with it?--
except, perhaps, as an initiatory step.
It was a new version of _Katharine and Petruchio_,--sneered Kitty
Fisher.
It was a striking instance of disinterested benevolence--in so
young a man! chimed in Mrs. Seaton,--until at last Hazel rushed
into anything that would put a black coat or whirl of white
muslin between her and her tormentors. If she was in truth
running away from herself as well, the confusion was too great
for her to know it just then. The very idea of stopping to
think what he meant and what she meant, frightened her; and
then she ran faster than ever.
Of all this Rollo was but slightly aware. Yet he did guess at
part of it. He had seen too much of both men and women not to
know in a measure what must be the natural effect of
circumstances. And he would have saved Miss Kennedy the worst
of it,--only he could not. He was sometimes at the
entertainments where she met so much exasperation, and saw
from a distance as it were the wild whirl of her gaiety.
Perhaps he guessed at the meaning of that too. But he was only
a man, and he could not be sure. He never asked her to dance
himself, and never joined a quadrille or reel when she was one
of the set. And that is nearly tantamount to saying he did not
dance at all. For reels and quadrilles were very much out of
favour, and rarely adopted except just for Miss Kennedy. And
in truth Mr. Rollo in this state of affairs chose to be only
now and then seen at evening entertainments. When there he was
rather Spanish in his manners, after the old Catskill fashion.
Very Spanish indeed Mrs. Coles found him at home; his lofty
courtesy kept her at the extreme distance permitted in the
grace of good manners.
Meanwhile, no _tête-à-tête_ conversation had been practicable
with Wych Hazel. He had sought it; but she refused his
invitations to ride, and while she was in that mood he did not
choose either to risk being turned away again from the
Chickaree door, or to encounter her in a drawing-room full of
company. However, when a good many days had come and gone in
this state of estrangement, Rollo began to feel that it was
getting unbearable. So he rode up to Chickaree one day just at
luncheon time.
Miss Kennedy was not at home. Not at home in the honest sense
of the words. Mr. Rollo asked for Mrs. Bywank, and marched
straight to the housekeeper's room. And Mrs. Bywank's greeting
made him feel that, for some reason, he had come at the right
time. She begged him to sit down, and ordered luncheon; asking
if he was in haste, or if they might wait a little for Miss
Wych?
'She walked down to Mr. Falkirk's a long time ago,' said the
housekeeper, 'but I am looking for her every minute. Unless
you cannot wait, Mr. Rollo?'
He would wait; and desired to have Mrs. Bywank's report
touching the health of her young mistress. Mrs. Bywank looked
perplexed.
'She's not herself, sir,' she answered slowly. 'And yet it
would be hard to explain that. I've been wanting to see you,
Mr. Rollo, more than I can say; and now you are here I hardly
know how to tell why.'
'That makes me wish very much you would find out.'
'Phoebe will have it she is sick,' said the housekeeper,
pondering,--'and sometimes I think so myself. I know she goes
out too much. And stays up too late. Why, the last time she
came from Governor Powder's I was frightened half to death.'
'That was two weeks ago?'
'Yes, Mr. Rollo. I expected her early, and then Lewis brought
word it would be late,--and so it was. Near morning, in fact.'
'Yes. Well?--She did not suffer from being out too late?'
'I'm sure I don't know, sir, what it was. She walked into the
hall just as strong and straight as ever, and then she dropped
right down on the first stair, and put her hands and face
against the balustrade, and I couldn't get one word from her--
nor one look,--any more than if she'd been part of the
staircase.
'For how long?' asked the gentleman after a short pause, and
in a lowered tone.
'It seemed a week to me,' said Mrs. Bywank,--'but I only know
nothing stirred her till she heard the servants begin to move
about the house. And then she got up, in a sort of slow way,
so that I thought she would fall. And I put my arm around her,
and she laid her head on my shoulder, and so we went upstairs.
But she only said she was "very, very tired," and didn't want
any breakfast. I couldn't get another word but that.'
'And since then?'--said her hearer, after another pause in
which he seemed to have forgotten himself.
'Since then,' said Mrs. Bywank, 'there have been balls and
picnics and dinners enough to take one's breath away. But it
don't seem to me she can enjoy them much--she comes home so
often with a sort of troubled look that I can't understand.
And when I ask if she's not well, she says, "Yes, very well."
So what is one to to?'
'I don't think you can do anything, Mrs. Bywank. Perhaps I
can. Is that all you have to tell me?'
'Not quite, sir,'--but the old housekeeper hesitated. 'I am not
sure about saying all I wanted to say.'
'Why?' said Rollo, smiling.
'It is a nice matter for one woman to talk about another
woman,' said Mrs. Bywank; and again she paused, evidently
considering where care ended and treason began. 'I am a little
uneasy, sir,--more than a little,--about some of these young men
that come here so often.'
'On what account?' said Rollo shortly and gravely, with a tone
that meant to get to the bottom of _that_ at least.
'Why,' said Mrs. Bywank, glancing at him, 'chiefly because I
think Miss Wych does not know in the least how often they
come. Which, if she thought twice about any one of them, she
would. And if I just hint it to her, she looks at me, and
says--"Often?--when was he here before? I don't remember." All
the same, _they_ don't understand that.'
'Well?' said Rollo. 'They are quite equal to taking care of
themselves. Tell me of any danger to _her_.'
'It lies just there, sir. That she might be drawn on--in her
innocence--to grant favours covering she knows not what. And
sometimes that works trouble. Not caring two snaps for the
men, it might never occur to her that they were favours--till
the cobwebs were all round her feet. You know that, sir?'
Her hearer's brows contracted a little, and the grey eyes
snapped; but he was silent.
'Now here's this fancy ball at Moscheloo,' said Mrs. Bywank,--
'with all sorts of charades that nobody ought to be in.'
'What is that? I have not heard of it.'
'I opine they have kept it rather close,' said the
housekeeper,--'the day after to-morrow it comes off; and not a
soul let in without a ticket. I hoped you might have one, Mr.
Rollo.'
'What about the charades?'
'I don't like them,' said Mrs. Bywank decidedly,--'and they
want Miss Wych in every one. So she's been getting her dresses
ready, with my help, and telling me the whole story. It's "Mr.
May and I are to do this,"--and "While I stand so, Captain
Lancaster stands so." The last of all is a wedding.'
'A wedding!' Rollo repeated. 'Is she to be in that too?'
'Of course,' said Mrs. Bywank. 'And she said she tried ever so
hard to get a ticket for me--that I might see her dressed up.
But Madame would not. So said I, "Miss Wych, I would rather
not see you in _that_ dress, till it's the real thing."
' "O--take what you can get," she said, running the needle into
her finger and making a great fuss about it.
' "My dear," I said, "marriage is much too sacred a thing, in
_my_ judgment, to be turned into a frolic."
' "Well I didn't want to do it," she said, a little sober;
"but Madame would not let me off." '
'Well?--' said Rollo, with a short breath, as the old lady
again paused.
' "But Miss Wych," I said, "are you to act that with Captain
Lancaster?"
'So she flamed out at that, and asked me if I thought she
would?
' "Well," said I, "for my part, I don't understand how any
young lady who expects to be married"--but she put her hand
right over my mouth.
' "Now Byo, stop!" she said. "You know you are talking of _me_--
not of other young ladies."
' "Who is to be the happy man in this case?" said I, when she
would let me speak. And she just looked at me, and wouldn't
answer a word. So I went on. "I suppose I may talk about men,
Miss Wych,--and I say I don't think the right sort of man, who
meant some day to marry the right sort of woman, would ever
want to go through the motions with everybody else."--She was
silent a while,--then she looked up.
' "I wish I had heard all this before, Byo,--but it's too late
now, for I've promised. And of course I never thought it all
out so. You know I've never even seen a wedding. But is only
Mr. Lasalle, in this case; and you know he has 'been though
the motions' "--Mr. Lasalle, truly!' Mrs. Bywank repeated in
great scorn. 'A likely thing!'
'Going through the motions!' Rollo repeated. 'Do you mean that
the wedding ceremony is to be performed?'
'It sounds so, to me,' said Mrs. Bywank. ' "Well, my dear,"
said I,--"then I say this. No man who has been through the
motions in earnest with one woman, ought to go them over in
play with another."
'She looked up again,--one of her pretty, grave looks; and said
slowly, as if she was thinking out her words: "Maybe you are
right, Byo. I never thought about it. And of course _that_ sort
of man never could."
' "What sort?" I said. "Then you _have_ thought about it, Miss
Wych?"--Well, she was like a little fury at that,' said Mrs.
Bywank, smiling at the recollection,--'as near as she can ever
come to it. And she caught up her hat and went off; and called
back to me that she meant to go through motions enough of some
sort, to be ready for her lunch when she got home.--But I wish
she was out of it, Mr. Rollo.'
Her hearer sat silent for a minute.
'Mrs. Bywank, can you find Miss Hazel's ticket for this ball?'
'I daresay, sir. Would you like to see it?--she shewed it to
me.'
'I would like to see it very much.'
The housekeeper went off, and presently brought back the
little perfumed card, with scrolls and signatures, and 'Admit--
--' and 'Not transferable.'
'She puts her own name in this place before she gives it in,'
said Mrs. Bywank.
The gentleman looked at the ticket attentively--then bestowed
it safely in his vest pocket; as if that subject was disposed
of.
'But Mr. Rollo!'--said the housekeeper in some consternation.
'What, Mrs. Bywank?' he returned innocently.
'Miss Wych will never forgive me, sir!'
'What?'
'Why--for stealing her ticket and giving it to you, sir.'
'You have not stolen it. And you never meant to give it to me.
And she is not to know anything about it.'
'It feels like high treason!' said Mrs. Bywank. 'And she is
certain to get another. But I'm sure I'd be glad there was
some one there to look after things; for if she once got into
that, and found young Nightingale or some of the rest with
her, she'd be fit to fly. And there she comes, this minute.'
As they looked, Wych Hazel came out from the deep shadow of
the trees that clothed this end of the garden approach;
faultlessly dressed as usual, and with her apron gathered up
full of flowers; and herself not alone. A young 'undress
uniform' was by her side.
'Captain Lancaster,'--said Mrs. Bywank.
They came slowly on, talking; then stopped where the road to
the main entrance branched off,--the young officer cap in hand,
extremely deferential. They could see his face now; handsome,
soldierly, and sunburnt; with a pleasant laugh which came
readily at her words. Her face they could not see, beneath the
broad garden-hat. The gentleman touched his ungloved hand to
Wych Hazel's little buff gauntlet; then apparently preferred
some request which was not immediately granted; so gestures
seemed to say. Finally he held out his hand again; and she
took from her apron a flower and placed in it; and it looked
as if fingers and flower were taken together for a second. It
was a pretty scene; and yet Mrs. Bywank sighed. Then with a
profound reverence the young officer moved away, and Wych
Hazel entered the side door. She came on along the passage
singing; trilling out the gay little lullaby by virtue of
which Mrs. Bywank had long ago earned her name.
'Byo, bye! baby bye!
Byo, bye, little baby!
Byo, byo, byo, byo'--
'Where are you, Byo dear?' she said, opening the door. Then
stopped short in undoubted surprise. 'Mr. Rollo!--You two!' she
said, looking from one to the other; adding mentally, 'And you
have been talking about me!'
It was not just a pleased flush that came; and it was with a
little needless straightening of herself up that Wych Hazel
crossed the floor, and untying her apron of flowers laid it
down on Mrs. Bywank's sofa. Then she was the lady of Chickaree
again, graceful and composed. She came back and held out her
hand.
'I hope your luncheon is ready, Byo?' she said; 'and that you
have something very good to reward Mr. Rollo for his long
waiting. I had no idea I was delaying any one but you, or I
should have made more haste. Mrs. Bywank spoils me, Mr. Rollo,
by giving me just the same welcome whether I come early or
late. But I am very sorry if I have hindered you.'
'You have not hindered me,' he said smiling, and giving her
hand the old sort of clasp,--'except from everything I have
tried to do, for some time past.'
But that idea Miss Wych did not see fit to take up.
'What have I done,' he went on audaciously, 'to be ignored in
this fashion?'
'Ignored!' she said, opening her eyes at him.
'Will you substitute another word?' said he, looking for it in
the orbs so revealed. Wych Hazel turned off.
'Will you come to luncheon, sir?' she said; so exactly as if
she were speaking to Mr. Falkirk, that Mrs. Bywank looked up
in mute amazement.
But lunch was not to have much attention, nevertheless. Dingee
began a raid on the housekeeper's room. It was:
'Mas' Nightingale, Missee Hazel.'
'Mas' May and--Miss May, ma'am.--'
'Mrs. Powder, Missee Hazel--and all de rest!' added Dingee. '
'Spect dere ain't a livin' soul _won't_ be there, time I get
back. Miss Fisher, she done ask for Mas' Rollo. But I'se
learnin' to tell the truf fustrate.'
'What is the truth about me, Dingee?' asked that gentleman. 'I
should be glad to hear it.'
'Well, sir,' said Dingee, standing attention, 'she 'quire
'bout you. So I say, "Mas' Rollo, he done come dis mornin',
sure,--but my young mistiss she out. So he done gone straight
away from de door, ma'am." Mighty glad she never ask which
way!' added Dingee with a chuckle. Wych Hazel held down her
head, laughing the sweet laugh which would come now and then,
in the worst of times.
'Run away,' she said, 'and say I am coming. I must go, Byo--if
Mr. Rollo will excuse me. And as he came to see you, I suppose
he will!'
But Mr. Rollo went away without his luncheon, after all.