DICK'S FÊTE.
As Mr. Mayne's wrath soon evaporated, and Dick was a sweet-tempered
fellow and bore no malice, this slight altercation produced no lasting
effect, except that Dick, for the next few days, hurried home to his
dinner, talked a good deal about Switzerland, and never mentioned a
Challoner in his father's hearing.
"We must keep him in a good temper for the 25th," he said to his
mother, with a touch of the Mayne shrewdness.
That day was rapidly approaching, and all sorts of festive
preparations were going on at Longmead. Dick himself gravely
superintended the rolling of the tennis-ground in the large meadow,
and daubed himself plentifully with lime in marking out the courts,
while Mr. Mayne stood with his hands in the pockets of his
shooting-coat watching him. The two were a great deal together just
then: Dick rather stuck to his father during one or two mornings; the
wily young fellow knew that Nan was closeted with his mother, helping
her with all sorts of feminine arrangements, and he was determined to
keep them apart. Nan wondered a great deal why Dick did not come to
interrupt or tease them as usual, and grew a little absent over Mrs.
Mayne's rambling explanations. When the gong sounded, no one asked her
to stay to luncheon. Mrs. Mayne saw her put on her hat without
uttering a single protest.
"It is so good of you to help me, dear," she said, taking the girl
into her embrace. "You are quite sure people won't expect a sit-down
supper?"
"Oh no; the buffet system is best," returned Nan, decidedly. "Half the
people will not stay, and you need not make a fuss about the rest. It
is an afternoon party, you must remember that; only people who are
very intimate will remain for the fun of the thing. Tell Nicholson to
have plenty of ices going; people care most for that sort of
refreshment."
"Yes, dear; I will be sure to remember," returned her friend, meekly.
She was very grateful to Nan for these hints, and was quite willing to
follow her guidance in all such matters; but when Nan proposed once
sending for Dick to ask his opinion on some knotty point that baffled
their women's wits, Mrs. Mayne demurred.
"It is a pity to disturb him; he is with his father; and we can settle
these things by ourselves," she replied, not venturing to mar the
present tranquillity by sending such a message to Dick. Mr. Mayne
would have accompanied his son, and the consultation would hardly have
ended peaceably. "Men have their hobbies. We had better settle all
this together, you and I," she said hurriedly.
Nan merely nodded, and cut the Gordian knot through somewhat
ruthlessly; but on that occasion she put on her hat before the gong
sounded.
"You must be very busy, for one never has a glimpse of you in the
morning," she could not help saying to Dick, as he came in that
afternoon to escort them to Fitzroy Lodge.
"Well, yes, I am tolerably busy," he drawled. "I am never free to do
things in the afternoons,"--a fact that Nan felt was unanswerable.
When Nan and her sisters woke on the morning of the memorable day, the
bright sunshine of a cloudless June day set all their fears at rest.
If the sun smiled on Dick's fête, all would be well. If Nan's
devotions were longer than usual that morning, no one was the wiser;
if she added a little clause, calling down a blessing on a certain
head, no one would be the poorer for such pure prayers; indeed, it
were well if many such were uttered for the young men who go forth
morning after morning into the temptations of life.
Such prayers might stretch like an invisible shield before the
countless foes that environ such a one; fiery darts may be caught upon
it; a deadly thrust may be turned away. What if the blessing would
never reach the ear of the loved one, who goes out unconscious of
sympathy? His guardian angel has heard it, and perchance it has
reached the very gate of heaven.
Nan came down, smiling and radiant, to find Dick waiting for her in
the veranda and chattering to Phillis and Dulce.
"Why, Dick!" she cried, blushing with surprise and pleasure, "to think
of your being here on your birthday morning!"
"I only came to thank you and the girls for your lovely presents,"
returned Dick, becoming rather incoherent and red at the sight of
Nan's blush. "It was so awfully good of you all, to work all those
things for me;" for Nan had taken secret measurements in Dick's room,
and had embroidered a most exquisite mantelpiece valance, and Phillis
and Dulce had worked the corners of a green cloth with wonderful
daffodils and bulrushes to cover Dick's shabby table: and Dick's soul
had been filled with ravishment at the sight of these gifts.
Nan would not let him go on, but all the same his happy face delighted
her.
"No, don't thank us, we liked doing it," she returned, rather coolly.
"You know we owed you something after all your splendid hospitality,
and work is never any trouble to us."
"But I never saw anything I liked better," blurted out Dick. "All the
fellows will be jealous of me. I am sure I don't know what Hamilton
will say. It was awfully good of you, Nan, and so it was of the
others: and if I don't make it up to you somehow, my name is not
Dick:" and he smiled round at them as he spoke. "Fancy putting in all
those stitches for me!" he thought to himself.
"We are so glad you are pleased," returned Nan, with one of her sweet,
straightforward looks; "that is what we wanted to give you,--a little
surprise on your birthday. Now you must tell us about your other
presents." And Dick, nothing loath, launched into eloquent
descriptions of the silver-fitted dressing-case from his mother, and
the gun and thorough-bred collie that had been his father's gifts.
"He is such a fine fellow; I must show him to you this afternoon,"
went on Dick, eagerly. "His name is Vigo, and he has such a superb
head. Was it not good of the pater? he knew I had a fancy for a
collie, and he has been in treaty for one ever so long. Is he not a
dear old boy?" cried Dick, rapturously. But he did not tell his
friends of the crisp bundle of bank-notes with which Mr. Mayne had
enriched his son; only as Dick fingered them lovingly, he wondered
what pretty foreign thing he could buy for Nan, and whether her mother
would allow her to accept it.
After this Nan dismissed him somewhat peremptorily; he must go back to
his breakfast, and allow them to do the same.
"Mind you come early," were Dick's last words as he waved his straw
hat to them. How often the memory of that morning recurred to him as
he stood solitarily and thoughtful, contemplating some grand sketch of
Alpine scenery!
The snow peaks and blue glaciers melted away before his eyes; in their
place rose unbidden a picture framed in green trellis-work, over which
roses were climbing.
Fresh girlish faces smiled back at him; the brightest and kindest of
glances met his. "Good-bye, Dick; a thousand good wishes from us all."
A slim white hand had gathered a rose-bud for him; how proudly he had
worn it all that day! Stop, he had it still; it lay all crushed and
withered in his pocket-book. He had written the date under it; one day
he meant to show it to her. Oh, foolish days of youth, so prodigal of
minor memories and small deeds of gifts, when a withered flower can
hold the rarest scent, and in a crumpled roseleaf there is a whole
volume of ecstatic meaning! Oh, golden days of youth, never to be
surpassed!
Never in the memory of Oldfield had there been a more delicious day.
The sky was cloudless; long purple shadows lay under the elm-trees; a
concert of bird-music sounded from the shrubberies: in the green
meadows flags were waving, tent-draperies fluttering; the house-doors
stood open, showing a flower-decked hall and vista of cool shadowy
rooms.
Dick, looking bright and trim, wandering restlessly over the place,
and Mr. Mayne fidgeted after him; while Mrs. Mayne sat fanning herself
under the elm-trees and hoping the band would not be late.
No there it was turning in now at the stable-entrance, and playing
"The girl I left behind me;" and there at the same moment was Nan
coming up the lawn in her white gown, closely followed by her mother
and sisters.
"Are we the first?" she asked, as Dick darted across the grass to meet
her. "That is nice; we shall see all the people arrive. How
inspiriting that music is, and how beautiful everything looks!"
"It is awfully jolly of you to be the first," whispered Dick; "and how
nice you look, Nan! You always do, you know, but to-day you are
first-rate. Is this a new gown?" casting an approving look over Nan's
costume, which was certainly very fresh and pretty.
"Oh, yes; we have all new dresses in your honor, and we made them
ourselves," returned Nan, carelessly. "Mother has got her old silk,
but for her it does not so much matter; at least that is what she
says."
"And she is quite right. She is always real splendid, as the Yankees
say, whatever she wears," returned Dick, wishing secretly that his
mother in her new satin dress looked half so well as Mrs. Challoner in
her old one. But it was no use. Mrs. Mayne never set off her handsome
dresses; with her flushed, good-natured face and homely ways, she
showed to marked disadvantage beside Mrs. Challoner's faded beauty.
Mrs. Challoner's gown might be antique, but nothing could surpass the
quiet grace of her carriage, or the low pleasant modulations of her
voice. Her figure was almost as slim as her daughters', and she could
easily have passed for their elder sister.
Lady Fitzroy, who was a Burgoyne by birth,--and every one knows that
for haughtiness and a certain exclusive intoleration none could match
the Burgoynes,--always distinguished Mrs. Challoner by the marked
attention she paid her.
"A very lady-like woman, Percival. Certainly the most lady-like person
in the neighborhood," she would say to her husband, who was not quite
so exclusive, and always made himself pleasant to his neighbors; and
she would ask very graciously after her brother-in-law, Sir Francis
Challoner. "He is still in India, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; he is still in India," Mrs. Challoner would reply, rather
curtly. She had not the faintest interest in her husband's brother,
whom she had never seen more than twice in her life, and who was
understood to be small credit to his family. The aforesaid Sir Francis
Challoner had been the poorest of English baronets. His property had
dwindled down until it consisted simply of a half ruined residence in
the north of England.
In his young days Sir Francis had been a prodigal, and, like the
prodigal in the parable, he had betaken himself into far countries,
not to waste his substance, for he had none, but if possible to glean
some of the Eastern riches.
Whether he had been successful or not Mrs. Challoner hardly knew. That
he had married and settled in Calcutta,--that he had a son named
Harry, who had once written to her in round hand and subscribed
himself as her affectionate nephew, Henry Ford Challoner--this she
knew; but what manner of person Lady Challoner might be, or what sort
of home her brother-in-law had made for himself, those points were
enveloped in mystery.
"I suppose she is so civil to me because of your uncle Francis," she
used to say to her girls, which was attributing to Lady Fitzroy a
degree of snobbishness that was quite undeserved. Lady Fitzroy really
liked Mrs. Challoner and found intercourse with her very pleasant and
refreshing. When one is perfectly well-bred, there is a subtile charm
in harmony of voice and manner. Mrs. Challoner might have dressed in
rags if she liked, and the young countess would still have aired her
choicest smiles for her.
It was lucky Nan had those few words from Dick, for they fell apart
after this, and were separated the greater portion of the afternoon.
Carriages began to drive in at the gates; groups of well-dressed
people thronged the lawn, and were drafted off to the field where the
band was playing.
Nan and her sisters had their work cut out for them; they knew
everybody and they were free of the house. It was they who helped Dick
arrange the tennis-matches, who pointed out to the young men of the
party which was the tea-tent, and where the ices and claret-cup were
to be found. They marshalled the elder ladies into pleasant nooks,
where they could be sheltered from the sun and see all that was going
on.
"No, thank you; I shall not play tennis this afternoon; there are too
many of us, and I am so busy," Nan said, dismissing one after another
who came up to her. "If you want a partner, there is Carrie Paine, who
is dying for a game."
Dick, who was passing with Lady Fitzroy on his arm, whom he was
hurrying somewhat unceremoniously across the field, threw her a
grateful glance as he went by.
"What a sweet-looking girl that is!" said Lady Fitzroy, graciously, as
she panted a little over her exertion.
"Who?--Nan? Yes; isn't she a brick?--and the others too?" for Phillis
and Dulce were just as self-denying in their labors. As Mr. Mayne said
afterwards, "They were just everywhere, those Challoners, like a hive
of swarming bees;" which, as it was said in a grumbling tone, was
ungrateful, to say the least of it.
Dick worked like a horse too; he looked all the afternoon as though he
had a tough job in hand that required the utmost gravity and despatch.
He was forever hurrying elderly ladies across the field towards the
refreshment-tent, where he deposited them, panting and heated, in all
sorts of corners.
"Are you quite comfortable? May I leave you now? or shall I wait and
take you back again?" asked Dick, who was eager for a fresh convoy.
"No, no; I would rather stay here a little," returned Mrs. Paine, who
was not desirous of another promenade with the hero of the day. "Go
and fetch some one else, Dick: I am very well off where I am,"
exchanging an amused glance with one of her friends, as Dick, hot and
breathless, started off on another voyage of discovery.
Dick's behavior had been simply perfect all the afternoon in his
father's eyes; but later on, when the band struck up a set of
quadrilles, he committed his first solecism in manners: instead of
asking Lady Fitzroy to dance with him, he hurried after Nan.
"This is our dance; come along," he said, taking her unwilling hand;
but she held back a moment.
"Are you sure? Is there not some one else you ought to choose?--Lady
Fitzroy, for example?" questioned Nan, with admirable forethought.
"Bother Lady Fitzroy!" exclaimed Dick, under his breath; he had had
quite enough of that lady. "Why are you holding back, Nan, in this
fashion?" a cloud coming over his face. "Haven't you promised weeks
ago to give me the first dance?" And Nan, seeing the cloud on his
face, yielded without another word. Dick always managed to have his
own way somehow.
"Dick! Dick!" cried his father, in a voice of agony, as they passed
him.
"All in good time; coming presently," returned the scapegrace,
cheerfully. "Now, Nan, this is our place. We will have Hamilton and
Dulce for our _vis-a-vis_. What a jolly day; and isn't this
first-rate?" exclaimed Dick, rubbing his hands, and feeling as though
he were only just beginning to enjoy himself.
Nan was not quite so easy in her mind.
"Your father does not look very pleased. I am afraid, after all, you
ought to have asked Lady Fitzroy," she said, in a low voice; but Dick
turned a deaf ear. He showed her the rose in his buttonhole; and when
Nan told him it was withered, and wanted him to take it out, he gave
her a reproachful look that made her blush.
They were very happy after this; and, when the dance was over, Dick
gave her his arm, and carried her off to see Vigo, who was howling a
deep mournful bass at the back of the gardener's cottage.
Nan made friends with him, and stroked his black curly head, and
looked lovingly into his deep melancholy eyes; and then, as her
flowers were fading, they strolled off into the conservatory, where
Dick gathered her a fresh bouquet and then sat down and watched her
arrange it.
"What clever fingers you have got!" he said, looking at them
admiringly, as Nan sorted the flowers in her lap; and at this unlucky
moment they were discovered by Mr. Mayne, who was bringing Lady
Fitzroy to see a favorite orchid.
He shot an angry suspicious glance at his son.
"Dick, your mother is asking for you," he said, rather abruptly; but
Dick growled something in an undertone, and did not move.
Nan gave him a frightened nudge. Why was he so imprudent?
"I cannot move, because of my flowers; do go, Dick. You must indeed,
if your mother wants you;" and she looked at him in such a pleading
way that Dick dared not refuse. It was just like his father to come
and disturb his first happy moments and to order him off to go and do
something disagreeable. He had almost a mind to brave it out, and
remain in spite of him; but there was Nan looking at him in a
frightened, imploring way.
"Oh, do go, Dick," giving him a little impatient push in her
agitation; "if your mother wants you, you must not keep her waiting."
But Nan in her heart knew, as Dick did in his, that the message was
only a subterfuge to separate them.