DICK OBJECTS TO THE MOUNTAINS.
"Shall we have our usual stroll?" asked Phillis, as Nan and Dick
joined her at the window.
This was one of the customs at Glen Cottage. When any such fitting
escort offered itself, the three girls would put on their hats, and,
regardless of the evening dews and their crisp white dresses, would
saunter, under Dick's guidance through the quiet village, or down and
up the country roads "just for a breath of air," as they would say.
It is only fair to Mrs. Challoner's views of propriety to say that she
would have trusted her three pretty daughters to no other young man
but Dick; and of late certain prudential doubts had crossed her mind.
It was all very well for Phillis to say Dick was Dick, and there was
an end of it. After all, he belonged to the phalanx of her enemies,
those shadowy invaders of her hearth that threatened her maternal
peace. Dick was not a boy any longer; he had outgrown his hobbledehoy
ways; the slight sandy moustache that he so proudly caressed was not a
greater proof of his manhood than the undefinable change that had
passed over his manners.
Mrs. Challoner began to distrust these evening strolls, and to turn
over in her own mind various wary pretexts for detaining Nan on the
next occasion.
"Just this once, perhaps, it does not matter," she murmured to
herself, as she composed herself to her usual nap.
"We shall not be long, little mother; so you must not be dull," Dulce
had said, kissing her lightly over her eyes. This was just one of the
pleasant fictions at the cottage,--one of those graceful little
deceptions that are so harmless in families.
Dulce knew of those placid after-dinner naps. She knew her mother's
eyes would only unclose when Dorothy brought in the tea-tray; but she
was also conscious that nothing would displease her mother more than
to notice this habit. When they lingered in-doors, and talked in
whispers so as not to disturb her, Mrs. Challoner had an extraordinary
facility for striking into the conversation in a way that was somewhat
confusing.
"I don't agree with you at all," she would say, in a drowsy voice. "Is
it not time for Dorothy to bring in the tea? I wish you would all talk
louder. I must be getting a little deaf, I think, for I don't hear
half you say."
"Oh, it was only nonsense talk, mammie," Dulce would answer; and the
sisterly chit-chat would recommence, and her mother's head nid-nodded
on the cushions until the next interruption.
"We shall not have many more of these strolls," observed Dick,
regretfully, as they all walked together through the village, and then
branched off into a long country road, where the air blew freshly in
their faces and low mists hung over the meadow land. Though it was not
quite dark, there was a tiny moon, and the glimmer of a star or two;
and there was a pleasant fragrance as of new-mown grass.
They were all walking abreast, and keeping step, and Dick was in the
middle, with Nan beside him. Dulce was hanging on to her arm, and
every now and then breaking into little snatches of song.
"How I envy you!" exclaimed Phillis. "Think of spending three whole
months in Switzerland. Oh, you lucky Dick!"
For the Maynes had decided to pass the long vacation in the Engadine.
Some hints had been dropped that Nan should accompany them, but Mrs.
Challoner had regarded the invitation with some disfavor, and Mrs.
Mayne had not pressed the point. If only Nan had known! but her mother
had in this matter kept her own counsel.
"I don't know about that," dissented Dick; he was rather given to
argue from the mere pleasure of opposition. "Mountains and glaciers
are all very well in their way; but I think, on the whole, I would as
soon be here. You see, I am so accustomed to mix with a lot of
fellows, that I am afraid of finding the pater's sole company rather
slow."
"For shame!" remarked his usual monitress. But she spoke gently: in
her heart she knew why Dick failed to find the mountains alluring.
"Why could not one of you girls join us?" he continued, wrathfully.
The rogue had fairly bullied the unwilling Mrs. Mayne into giving that
invitation.
"Do ask her, mother; she will be such a nice companion for you when
the pater and I are doing our climbing; do, there's a dear good soul!"
he had coaxed. And the dear good soul, who was secretly jealous of
Nan, and loved her about as much as mothers usually love an only son's
choice, had bewailed her hard fate in secret; and had then stepped
over to the cottage with a bland and cheerful exterior, which grew
more cheerful as Mrs. Challoner's reluctance made itself felt.
"It is not wise; it will throw them so much together," Nan's mother
had said. "If it were only Phillis or Dulce; but you must have
noticed----"
"Oh, yes, I have noticed!" returned Mrs. Mayne, hastily. She was a
stout, comely-looking woman, but beside Mrs. Challoner she looked like
a housekeeper dressed in her mistress's smart clothes. Mrs. Mayne's
dresses never seemed to belong to her; it could not be said that they
fitted her ill, but there was a want of adaptability,--a lack of taste
that failed to accord with her florid style of beauty.
She had been a handsome woman when Richard Mayne married her, but a
certain deepening of tints and broadening of contour had not improved
the mistress of Longmead. Her husband was a decided contrast: he was a
small, wiry man, with sharp features that expressed a great deal of
shrewdness. Dick had got his sandy hair; but Richard Mayne the elder
had not his son's honest, kindly eyes. Mr. Mayne's were small and
twinkling; he had a way of looking at people between his half-closed
lids, in a manner half sharp and half jocular.
He was not vulgar, far from it; but he had a homely air about him that
spoke of the self-made man. He was rather fond of telling people that
his father had been in trade in a small way and that he himself had
been the sole architect of his fortune. "Look at Dick," he would say;
"he would never have a penny, that fellow, unless I made it for him:
he has come into the world to find his bread ready buttered. I had to
be content with a crust as I could earn it. The lad's a cut above us
both, though he has the good taste to try and hide it."
This sagacious speech was very true. Dick would never have succeeded
as a business man; he was too full of crotchets and speculations to be
content to run in narrow grooves. The notion of money-making was
abhorrent to him; the idea of a city life, with its hard rubs and
drudgery, was utterly distasteful to him. "One would have to mix with
such a lot of cads," he would say. "English, pure and undefiled, is
not always spoken. If I must work, I would rather have a turn at law
or divinity; the three old women with the eye between them knows
which."
It could not be denied that Dick winced a little at his father's
homely speeches; but in his heart he was both proud and fond of him,
and was given to assert to a few of his closest friends "that, take it
all in all, and looking at other fellows' fathers, he was a rattling
good sort, and no mistake."
When Mrs. Challoner had entered her little protest against her
daughter's acceptance of the invitation, Mrs. Mayne had risen and
kissed her with some effusion as she took her leave.
"It is so nice of you to say this to me; of course I should have been
pleased, delighted to have had Nan with us" (oh, Mrs. Mayne, fie for
shame! when you want your boy to yourself), "but all the same I think
you are so wise."
"Poor child! I am afraid I am refusing her a great treat," returned
Mrs. Challoner, in a tone of regret. It was the first time since her
husband's death that she had ever decided anything without reference
to her daughters; but for once her maternal fears were up in arms, and
drove her to sudden resolution.
"Yes, but, as you observed, it would throw them so entirely together;
and Dick is so young. Richard was only saying the other night that he
hoped the boy would not fancy himself in love for the next two years,
as he did not approve of such early engagements."
"Neither do I," returned Mrs. Challoner, quickly. "Nothing would annoy
me more than for one of my daughters to entangle herself with so young
a man. We know the world too well for that, Mrs. Mayne. Why, Dick may
fall in and out of love half a dozen times before he really makes up
his mind."
"Ah, that is what Richard says," returned Dick's mother, with a sigh;
in her heart she was not quite of her husband's opinion. She
remembered how that long waiting wasted her own youth,--waiting for
what? For comforts that she would gladly have done without,--for a
well-furnished house, when she would have lived happily in the poorest
lodging with the Richard Mayne who had won her heart,--for whom she
would have toiled and slaved with the self-abnegating devotion of a
loving woman; only he feared to have it so.
"'When poverty enters the door, love flies out of the window:' we had
better make up our minds to wait, Bessie. I can better work in single
than double harness just now." That was what he said to her, and
Bessie waited,--not till she grew thin, but stout, and the spirit of
her youth was gone; and it was a sober, middle-aged woman who took
possession of the long-expected home.
Mrs. Mayne loved her husband, but during that tedious engagement her
ardor had a little cooled, and it may be doubted whether the younger
Richard was not dearer to her than his father; which was ungrateful,
to say the least of it, as Mr. Mayne doted on his comely wife, and
thought Bessie as handsome now as in the days when she came out
smiling to welcome him, a slim young creature with youthful roses in
her cheeks.
From this brief conversation it may be seen that none of the elders
quite approved of this budding affection. Mrs. Challoner, who
belonged to a good old family, found it hard to forgive the Maynes'
lowliness of birth; and though she liked Dick, she thought Nan could
do better for herself. Mr. Mayne pooh-poohed the whole thing so
entirely that the women could only speak of it among themselves.
"Dick is a clever fellow; he ought to marry money," he would say. "I
am not a millionaire, and a little more would be acceptable;" and
though he was always kind to Nan and her sisters, he was forever
dealing sly hits at her. "Phillis has the brains of the family," he
would say: "that is the girl for my money. I call her a vast deal
better looking than Nan, though people make such a fuss about the
other one;" a speech he was never tired of repeating in his son's
presence, and at which Dick snapped his fingers metaphorically and
said nothing.
When Dick wished that one of them were going to Switzerland, Nan
sighed furtively. Dick was going away for three months, for the
remainder of the long vacation. After next week they would not see him
until Christmas,--nearly six months. A sense of dreariness, as new as
it was strange, swept momentarily over Nan as she pondered this. The
summer months would be grievously clouded. Dick had been the moving
spirit of all the fun; the tennis-parties, the pleasant dawdling
afternoons, would lose their zest when he was away.
She remembered how persistently he had haunted their footsteps. When
they paid visits to the Manor House, or Gardenhurst, or Fitzroy Lodge,
Dick was sure to put in an appearance. People had nicknamed him the
"Challoners' Squire;" but now Nan must go squireless for the rest of
the summer, unless she took compassion on Stanley Parker, or that
dreadful chatterbox his cousin.
The male population was somewhat sparse at Oldfield. There were a few
Eton boys, and one or two in that delightful transition age when youth
is most bashful and uninteresting,--a sort of unfledged manhood, when
the smooth boyish cheek contradicts the deepened bass of the
voice,--an age that has not ceased to blush, and which is full of
aggravating idosyncrasies and unexpected angles.
To be sure, Lord Fitzroy was a splendid specimen of a young guardsman,
but he had lately taken to himself a wife; and Sir Alfred Mostyn, who
was also somewhat attractive and a very pleasant fellow, and
unattached at present, had a tiresome habit of rushing off to Norway,
or St. Petersburg, or Niagara, or the Rocky Mountains, for what he
termed sport, or a lark.
"It seems we are very stupid this evening," observed Phillis for Dick
had waxed almost as silent as Nan. "I think the mother must nearly
have finished her nap, so I propose we go back and have some tea;"
and, as Nan languidly acquiesced they turned their faces towards the
village again, Dulce still holding firmly to Nan's arm. By and by Dick
struck out in a fresh direction.
"I say, don't you wish we could have last week over again?"
"Yes! oh, yes! was it not too delicious?" from the three girls; and
Nan added, "I never enjoyed anything so much in my life," in a tone so
fervent that Dick was delighted.
"What a brick your mother was, to be sure, to spare you all!"
"Yes; and she was so dull, poor dear, all the time we were away.
Dorothy gave us quite a pitiful account when we got home."
"It was a treat one ought to remember all one's life," observed
Phillis, quite solemnly; and then ensued a most animated discussion.
The treat to which Phillis alluded had been simply perfect in the
three girls' eyes. Dick, who never forgot his friends, had so worked
upon his mother that she had consented to chaperon the three sisters
during Commemoration; and a consent being fairly coaxed out of Mrs.
Challoner, the plan was put into execution.
Dick, who was in the seventh heaven of delight, found roomy lodgings
in the High Street, in which he installed his enraptured guests.
The five days that followed were simply hours snatched out of
fairyland to these four happy young creatures. No wonder envious looks
were cast at Dick as he walked in Christ Church Meadows with Nan and
Dulce, Phillis bringing up the rear somewhat soberly with Mrs. Mayne.
"One pretty face would content most fellows," his friends grumbled;
"but when you come to three, and not his own sisters either, why, it
isn't fair on other folk." And to Dick they said, "Come, it is no use
being so awfully close. Of course we see what's up: you are a lucky
dog. Which is it, Mayne?--the pretty one with the pink and white
complexion or the quiet one in gray, or the one with the mischievous
eyes?"
"Faix, they are all darlints and jewels, bless their purty faces!"
drawled one young rogue, in his favorite brogue. "Here's the top of
the morning to ye, Mayne; and it is mavourneen with the brown eyes and
the trick of the smile like the sunshine's glint that has stolen poor
Paddy's heart."
"Oh, shut up, you fellows!" returned Dick, in a disgusted voice. "What
is the good of your pretending to be Irish, Hamilton, when you are a
canny Scotchman?"
"Hoots, man, mind your clavers! You need not grizzle at a creature
because he admires a wee gairl that is just beyond the lave,--a sonsie
wee thing with a glint in her een like diamonds."
"Hamilton, will you leave off this foolery?"
"Nae doubt, nae doubt; would his honor pe axing if he pe wrang in the
head, puir thing? Never mind that, put pe giving me the skene-dhu, or
I will fight with proud-swords like a gentleman for the bit lassie;"
but here a wary movement on Dick's part extinguished the torrent of
Highland eloquence, and brought the canny Scotchman to the ground.
Perfectly oblivious of all these compliments, the Challoners enjoyed
themselves with the zest of healthy, happy English girls. They were
simply indefatigable: poor Mrs. Mayne succumbed utterly before the
fine days were over.
They saw the procession of boats; they were at the flower-show at
Worcester; Sunday afternoon found them in the Broad Walk; and the next
night they were dancing at the University ball.
They raved about the beauty of Magdalen cloisters; they looked down
admiringly into the deer-park; Addison's Walk became known to them,
and the gardens of St. John's. Phillis talked learnedly about Cardinal
Wolsey as she stood in Christ Church hall: and in the theatre "the
young ladies in pink" invoked the most continuous cheers.
"Can they mean us?" whispered Dulce, rather alarmed, to their faithful
escort Dick. "I don't see any other pink dresses!"
And Dick said, calmly,--
"Well, I suppose so. Some of those fellows up there are such a
trumpery lot."
So Dulce grew more reassured.
But the greatest fun of all was the afternoon spent in Dick's room,
when all his special friends were bidden to five o'clock tea, over
which Nan, in her white gown, presided so gracefully.
What a dear, shabby old room it was, with old-fashioned window-seats,
where one could look down into the quadrangle. Dick was an Oriel man,
and thought his college superior even to Magdalen.
It became almost too hot and crowded at last, so many were the
invitations given; but then, as Dick said afterwards, "he was such a
soft-hearted beggar that he could not refuse the fellows that pestered
him for invitations."
Mrs. Mayne, looking very proud and happy, sat fanning herself in one
of these windows. Phillis and Dulce were in the other attended by that
rogue Hamilton and half a dozen more. Nan was the centre of another
clique, who hemmed her and the tea-table in so closely that Dick had
to wander disconsolately round the outskirts: there was no getting a
look from Nan that afternoon.
How hot it was! It was a grand _coup_ when the door opened and the
scout made his appearance carrying a tray of ices.
"It is well to be Mayne!" half grumbled young Hamilton, as Dulce took
one gratefully from his hand. "He is treating us like a prince,
instead of the thin bread-and-butter entertainment he led us to
expect. Put down that tea, Miss Challoner. I see iced claret-cup and
strawberries in the corner. There is nothing like being an only child;
doting parents are extremely useful articles. I am one of ten; would
you believe it?" continued the garrulous youth. "When one has six
brothers older than one's self, I will leave you to imagine the
consequences."
"How nice!" returned Dulce, innocently; "I have always so longed for a
brother. If it had not been for Dick, we should have had no one to do
things for us."
"Oh, indeed! Mayne is a sort of adopted brother!" observed her
companion, looking at her rather sharply.
"We have always looked upon him as one. We do just as we like with
him,--scold and tease him, and send him on our errands;" which
intelligence fairly convinced the envious Hamilton that the youngest
Miss Challoner was not his friend's fancy.
Dick always recalled that evening with a sense of pride. How well and
gracefully Nan had fulfilled her duties! how pretty she had looked, in
spite of her flushed cheeks! He had never seen a girl to compare with
her,--not he!
They were so full of these delightful reminiscences that they were at
the cottage gate before they knew it; and then Dick astonished them by
refusing to come in. He had quite forgotten, he said, but his mother
had asked him to come home early, as she was not feeling just the
thing.
"Quite right; you must do as she wishes," returned Nan, dismissing him
far too readily, as he thought; but she said "Good-night!" with so
kind a smile after that, that the foolish young fellow felt his pulses
quicken.
Dick lingered at the corner until the cottage door was closed, and
then he raced down the Longmead shrubbery and set the house-bell
pealing.
"They are in the library, I suppose?" he asked of the butler who
admitted him; and, on receiving an answer in the affirmative, he
dashed unceremoniously into the room, while his mother held up her
finger and smiled at the truant.
"You naughty boy, to be so late; and now you have spoiled you father's
nap!" she said, pretending to scold him.
"Tut! tut! what nonsense you talk sometimes!" said Mr. Mayne, rather
crossly, as he stood on the hearth-rug rubbing his eyes. "I was not
asleep, I will take my oath of that; only I wish Dick could sometimes
enter a room without making people jump;" by which Dick knew that his
father was in one of his contrary moods, when he could be very
cross,--very cross indeed!