AN ELYSIAN PICNIC.
Nay, the world--the world,
All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart
To interpret ear and eye, and such a tongue
To blaze its own interpretation!
Three gallant officers, who had been enjoying the hospitality of Elysium
for many weeks, were fired one day with a noble resolve to show their
gratitude to the gentlemen and their devotion to the ladies by whom they
had been so pleasantly entertained. It was an inspiration, everybody
felt at once, and all Elysium thrilled with conscious responsiveness at
the happy thought. There is a little valley near Elysium, a mile or two
from the mountain's summit, where a green, smooth sward invites the
weary climber to repose; where venerable deodars, towering on the steep
hillside, stretch their limbs to ward off the fierce afternoon sun;
where a headlong stream comes bubbling down among the thick-grown ferns
and falls in a feathery cascade and disappears in the gorge below; where
the Genius of the Mountains has, in fact, its chosen haunt. There you
may sit and watch the rose-tipped snowy range warming into fresh life
and beauty as the sun goes down, and fading into cold gloom as he
disappears. Here, in a hundred suggestive nooks, Nature has hinted at a
sylvan _tête-à-tête_, or spread a verdant curtain of wild growth to
festoon an _al fresco_ banquet; and here it was that the three inspired
officers resolved to give an entertainment that should at once do
justice to the warmth of their feelings, the correctness of their
tastes, and the profuseness of their liberality.
It was to be a picnic--the picnic of the season--the picnic of the
world; and if enchanting scenery, a cloudless sky, enthusiastic hosts, a
crowd of pretty women, an army of devoted men, a community not too blasé
to be easily amused, nor yet so unused to pleasure as not to know how to
take it--if all these ingredients, backed with the music of a lovely
band crashing out among the rocks, cookery over which, by gracious
permission, the Viceroy's own chef presided, and champagne, iced to
perfection in Himalayan snows, could make a success, then it would, as
Maud expected, be indeed an era in the lives of all concerned.
Mrs. Vereker, though perhaps less sanguine than her more youthful
companion, determined to have a new dress for the occasion; and a
committee of adorers discussed the rival merits of half-a-dozen
projected costumes. Mrs. Vereker, however, treated all their suggestions
with contempt, and determined in the depths of her own consciousness on
something that should be a sweet surprise.
Maud, happily, had one of her English treasures which was still unknown
to the admiring public, and which she felt at once would be the very
thing.
For some days nothing but the picnic could be talked of in Elysium; what
to wear at it, how to get to it, how to return, were topics of the
liveliest interest to all. A hundred pleasant plans in connection with
it shaped themselves into being. General Beau, who liked being
beforehand with the world, secured for himself the honour of escorting
Mrs. Vereker; and Desvoeux, as a matter of course, established his claim
to act as Maud's gentleman-in-waiting on the occasion. By this time her
spirits were very high and impatient of all that seemed to check their
flow. She was flirting with Desvoeux, she knew, in the most open manner,
yet she resented any notice being taken of it. Boldero had met her at a
croquet party and been very disagreeable. He confessed to having been
two days in Elysium, and could or would give no account of why he had
not been to call. 'How unkind and unlike the old Mr Boldero whom we all
liked so much! How you are changed!'
'Yes,' Boldero said, flushing up quite red, so that Maud knew that he
meant more than met the ear, 'and some one else is changed too and might
not care about her former friends.'
'What do you mean?' Maud said, disturbed at Boldero's serious air; 'how
can I care about you, if you won't come and see me? Come now, and take
me across the lawn for an ice, and tell me what it is that is the
matter.'
'I do not think I can tell you,' said Boldero, greatly alarmed at
finding himself committed to a lecture; 'you will not like it; you want
a scolding.'
'Well,' said Maud, 'I like scoldings from my friends, and I often
deserve them, and often get them, goodness knows. Give me one now; only
you must be quick, please, because there is Mr. Desvoeux signalling me,
and I have promised to go for a ride with him.'
'Don't,' said Boldero, with great alacrity; 'stay and hear my lecture.
Let me go and say you would rather not.'
'Not for the world!' cried Maud; 'I am looking forward to it immensely;
he would be broken-hearted if I disappointed him, poor fellow. How would
you like it yourself?'
'Broken-hearted!' said Boldero, with that peculiar turn of contempt in
his voice with which her husband and his friends always vexed Maud by
speaking of Desvoeux.
'How disagreeable you are!' said Maud. 'Don't you know he is my
particular friend?'
'Friend!' said Boldero; 'he is the very worst enemy you have, believe
me. Forgive me, as your husband's old friend, if I tell you the truth
when, it seems, no one else will. He is making you talked of; and if you
could only know how people talk! He knows it, and he likes it, and it is
what he is always doing.'
'And what you are always doing,' said Maud in a passion, 'is coming and
saying the most horrid things in the most disagreeable way and joining
the horrid people who gossip about one. Do they talk of me? Then why
don't you make them eat their words--you, who used to be my friend?'
'I am your friend,' said the other with a grave persistence, 'and
Sutton's too. It is because I am that I risk your displeasure by telling
you that you are doing wrong.'
'Doing wrong?' cried Maud, by this time quite flushed with excitement
and hardly mistress of her words; 'how dare you say so? You know it is
false. I am alone, or you would not venture to insult me.'
'Come,' said Boldero, unmoved by the taunt, of which Maud herself felt
the outrageous injustice, 'be sensible, and let me take care of you this
evening: do me a kind act for once.'
'Thank you,' said Maud, the tears gleaming in her eyes, 'and hear such
things as you have been saying over again? Take care of me, indeed!
Please never speak to me again!'
She was gone, leaving her companion discomfited. In another instant
Desvoeux was at her side, and, as he lifted her to her pony, said
something which made her laugh and blush. Boldero would have liked to
throttle him.
Maud's conscience, however, prevented her full enjoyment of the ride.
She knew as well as possible that Boldero was telling her truth: she
_was_ doing wrong, she felt only too distinctly. Boldero would have cut
his fingers off to please her, and she had chosen to misunderstand him.
Still it was too provoking to be lectured. When she got home there was a
letter from Dustypore, which told her that Felicia too had heard of her
proceedings and was wanting to warn her. 'You must not forget, dear
Maud,' the letter said, 'what a home of gossip Elysium is, and how all
that is young and pretty and interesting is what gossip busies itself
most about. Some men, like Mr. Desvoeux, for instance, have only to look
at one for the gossipers to begin; but I know you will be very
judicious, even at the expense of being somewhat too particular. How I
wish I were with you!'
'They all want to tease me with their horrid advice and hints,' Maud
thought, in vexation of heart; 'as for Mr. Boldero, he was too odious: I
can never, never forgive him.'
Then, as if all the world were in a conspiracy, Mrs. Fotheringham, whom
Maud met at a dinner-party that night, pounced upon her as the ladies
were filing into the drawing-room and made her come and sit down on a
remote sofa.
Maud always believed, probably not without justice, that Mrs.
Fotheringham bore her a grudge for being married before the two Miss
Fotheringhams. She was, accordingly, quite indisposed to be lectured.
'My dear,' Mrs. Fotheringham said, 'an old woman may sometimes give a
young one a friendly hint. You don't know the world as I do, with my
twenty years of India. Now, don't be angry with me if I give you a bit
of advice. Take care! Young wives whose husbands are in the Plains
cannot take too much.'
This seemed the last drop in the overflowing cup of annoyance and
humiliation. Maud felt excessively indignant. It was an impertinence
surely for Mrs. Fotheringham to venture to speak so.
'And what am I to take care of?' she said; 'and what right have you
to speak to me in this way?'
'Take care of your companions, my dear. You have chosen the most
dangerous, the worst you could find--Mr. Desvoeux.'
'Stop, stop!' cried Maud, jumping up in a fury; 'he is my friend, my
kind friend. I will not hear him abused.'
'You must be on your guard,' continued the other, with exasperating
pertinacity; 'he is very unprincipled.'
'I know he is very agreeable,' cried Maud; 'unprincipled! what do you
mean by that?'
'I mean--I mean,' said the other, 'that he is dangerous--just the sort
of man to try to kiss you, if you gave him the chance.'
'Indeed?' cried Maud, by this time in far too great a passion to be
either courteous or discreet, 'I should think none the worse of him for
that. _I believe they all would!_' Having delivered this parting shot,
Maud hurried away in a great state of agitation, and Mrs. Fotheringham
shrugged her shoulders in despair at so unseemly an outburst of temper,
so awful a view of human nature.
When they got home that night Maud told Mrs. Vereker her troubles, and
was relieved to find what slight importance she attached to them. She
burst out laughing, and clapped her hands in delight at Maud's account
of the encounter with Mrs. Fotheringham. 'But, my dear child, what
induced you to make such a foolish speech? And as for Mr. Boldero, he
wanted you himself, don't you understand? Flirt a little with _him_
to-morrow and see how much he will want to lecture you then.'
'But he won't flirt with me,' said Maud; 'it is very odd. Besides, I was
in a passion, and told him never to speak to me again. Poor fellow!'
'You dear little goose!' Mrs. Vereker said, kissing her, 'sit down this
instant and write and tell him you are broken-hearted for being so rude,
and that he is to come to lunch and finish his lecture to-morrow. You
must not quarrel with all the world at once.'
Of Felicia's letter Mrs. Vereker equally made light. 'She means nothing,
my dear, except what I preach to you and practise myself, discretion and
moderation. So many dances in the evening, so many rides in the week, so
many lunches, so many looks, so many smiles, and so forth. Besides, you
know, Mrs. Vernon is a prude, a born prude; she breathes a congenial
atmosphere of proprieties where I should be suffocated. She likes men to
be polite, and only polite; I take them up where politeness ends and
something else begins. She likes small-beer; I happen to prefer
champagne, bright, sparkling and intoxicatingly delicious! Besides,'
rattled on Mrs. Vereker, quite at ease with a familiar topic, 'Mrs.
Vernon is a flirt too, in her prudish way. She flirts, she used to flirt
with your husband scandalously, I hope he behaves better now. Mine is a
monster, and makes me cry my eyes out. But, I tell you what, my dear
Maud, there is great safety in numbers. Don't speak to that saucy
Desvoeux for a fortnight, and turn your pretty eyes on some one else,
the first you fancy. Would you like my General? or Parson Boldero? Take
him in hand, my dear, and in a week we will make the horrid fellow flirt
just as much as his neighbours.'
'He's a very bad hand at it at present,' said Maud, with a laugh.
However, the result of the conference was that Maud sat down and wrote a
pretty little repentant note: and the next day Boldero came with a
beating heart and took the little scapegrace for a ride, and scolded her
very affectionately, much to his own satisfaction, through a whole
pleasant summer afternoon.