"I AM QUITE SURE OF HIM."
Nan would willingly have effected her escape too, but she was detained
by the flowers that Dick had tossed so lightly into her lap. She was
rather dismayed at her position, and her fingers trembled a little
over their work. There was a breath--a sudden entering current--of
antagonism and prejudice that daunted her. Lady Fitzroy cast an
admiring look at the girl as she sat there with glowing cheeks and
downcast lids.
"How pretty she is!" she said, in a low voice, as Mr. Mayne pointed
out his favorite orchid. "She is like her mother; there is just the
same quiet style, only I suspect Mrs. Challoner was even better
looking in her time."
"Humph! yes, I suppose so," returned her host, in a dissatisfied tone.
He had not brought Lady Fitzroy there to talk of the Challoners, but
to admire his orchids. Then he shot another glance at Nan between his
half-closed eyes, and a little spice of malice flavored his next
words.
"Shall we sit here a moment? Let me see: you were asking me, Lady
Fitzroy, about Dick's prospects. I was talking to his mother about
them the other day. I said to her then, Dick must settle in life well;
he must marry money."
"Indeed?" replied Lady Fitzroy, somewhat absently; she even indulged
in a slight yawn behind her fan. She liked Dick well enough, as every
one else did, but she was not partial to his father. How tiresome it
was of Fitzroy to insist so much on their neighborly duties!
Mr. Mayne was not "one of them," as she would have phrased it; he did
not speak their language or lead their life; their manners and
customs, their little tricks and turns of thought were hieroglyphics
to him.
A man who had never had a grandfather,--at least a grandfather worth
knowing,--whose father's hands had dabbled in trade,--actually
trade,--such a one might be a very worthy man, an excellent citizen,
an exemplary husband and father, but it behooved a woman in her
position not to descend too freely to his level.
"Percival is such a sad Radical," she would say to herself; "he does
not make sufficient distinction between people. I should wish to be
neighborly, but I cannot bring myself to be familiar with these
Maynes;" which was perhaps the reason why Lady Fitzroy was not as
popular at Longmead and in other places as her good-natured husband.
"Oh, indeed?" she said, with difficulty repressing another slight yawn
behind her fan, but speaking in a fatigued voice: but Mr. Mayne was
too intent on his purpose to notice it.
"If Dick had brothers and sisters it would not matter so much; but
when one has only a single hope--eh, Lady Fitzroy?--things must be a
little different then."
"He will have plenty of choice," she returned, with an effort at
graciousness. "Oldfield is rich in pretty girls:" and she cast another
approving glance at poor Nan, but Mr. Mayne interrupted her almost
rudely.
"Ah, as to that," he returned, with a sneer, "we want no such nonsense
for Dick. Here are the facts of the case. Here is an honest,
good-tempered young fellow, but with no particular push in him; he has
money, you say,--yes, but not enough to give him the standing I want
him to have. I am ambitious for Dick. I want him to settle in life
well. Why, he might be called to the bar; he might enter Parliament;
there is no limit to a man's career nowadays. I will do what I can for
him, but he must meet me half-way."
"You mean," observed Lady Fitzroy, with a little perplexity in her
tone, "that he must look out for an heiress." She was not in the
secret, and she could not understand why her host was treating her to
this outburst of confidence. "It was so disagreeable to be mixed up
with this sort of thing," as she told her husband afterwards. "I never
knew him quite so odious before; and there was that pretty Miss
Challoner sitting near us, and he never let me address a word to
her."
Nan began to feel she had had enough of it. She started up hastily as
Lady Fitzroy said the last words, but the entrance of some more young
people compelled her to stand inside a moment, and she heard Mr.
Mayne's answer distinctly: "Well, not an heiress exactly; but the girl
I have in view for him has a pretty little sum of money, and the
connection is all that could be wished; she is nice-looking, too, and
is a bright, talking little body----" But here Nan made such a
resolute effort to pass, that the rest of the sentence was lost upon
her.
Dick, who was strolling up and down the lawn rather discontentedly,
hurried up to her as she came out.
"They are playing a valse; come, Nan," he said, holding out his hand
to her with his usual eagerness; but she shook her head.
"I cannot dance; I am too tired: there are others you ought to ask."
She spoke a little ungraciously, and Dick's face wore a look of
dismay, as she walked away from him with quick even footsteps.
Tired! Nan tired! he had never heard of such a thing. What had put her
out? The sweet brightness had died out of her eyes, and her cheeks
were flaming. Should he follow her and have it out with her, there and
then? But, as he hesitated, young Hamilton came over the grass and
linked his arm in his.
"Come and introduce me to that girl in blue gauze, or whatever you
call that flimsy manufacture. Come along, there's a good fellow," he
said, coaxingly; and Dick's opportunity was lost.
But he was wrong; for once in her life Nan was tired; the poor girl
felt a sudden quenching of her bright elasticity that amounted to
absolute fatigue.
She had spoken to Dick sharply; but that was to get rid of him and to
recall him to a sense of his duty. Not for worlds would she be seen
dancing with him, or even talking to him, again!
She sat down on a stump of a tree in the shrubbery, and wondered
wearily what had taken it out of her so much. And then she recalled,
sentence by sentence, everything that had passed in the conservatory.
She had found out quite lately that Mr. Mayne did not approve of her
intimacy with Dick. His manner had somewhat changed to her, and
several times he had spoken to her in a carping, fault-finding
way,--little cut-and-dried sentences of elderly wisdom that she had
not understood at the time.
She had not pleased him of late, somehow, and all her little efforts
and overtures had been lost upon him. Nan had been quite aware of
this, but it had not troubled her much: it was a way he had, and he
meant nothing by it. Most men had humors that must be respected, and
Dick's father had his. So she bore herself very sweetly towards him,
treating his caustic remarks as jokes, and laughing pleasantly at
them, never taking his hints in earnest; he would know better some
day, that was all; but she had no idea of any deeply-laid plan against
their happiness. She felt as though some one had struck her hard; she
had received a blow that set all her nerves tingling. It was very
funny, what he said; it was so droll that it almost made her laugh;
and yet her eyes smarted, and her cheeks felt on fire.
"'Dick must marry money.' Why must he?--that was so droll. 'Well, not
an heiress exactly, but a pretty little sum of money, and a bright,
taking little body.' Who was this mysterious person whom he had in
view, whose connections were so desirable, who was to be Dick's future
wife? Dick's future wife!" repeated Nan, with an odd little quiver of
her lip. "And was it not droll, settling it all for him like that?"
Nan fell into a brown study, and then woke up with a little gasp. It
was all clear to her now, all these cut-and-dried sentences,--all
those veiled sneers and innuendoes.
They were poor,--poor as church-mice,--and Dick must marry money. Mr.
Mayne had laid his plans for his son, and was watching their growing
intimacy with disapproving eyes. Perhaps "the bright, taking little
body" might accompany them to Switzerland; perhaps among the mountains
Dick would forget her, and lend a ready acquiescence to his father's
plans. Who was she? Had Nan ever seen her? Could she be here this
afternoon, this future rival and enemy of her peace?
"Ah, what nonsense I am thinking!" she exclaimed to herself, starting
up with a little shame and impatience at her own thoughts. "What has
this all got to do with me? Let them settle it between
them,--money-bags and all. Dick is Dick, and after all, I am not
afraid!" And Nan marched back to the company, with her head higher,
and a great assumption of cheerfulness, and a little gnawing feeling
of discomfort at her heart, to which she would not have owned for
worlds.
Nan was the gayest of the gay that evening, but she would not dance
again with Dick: she sent the poor boy away from her with a decision
and peremptoriness that struck him with fresh dismay.
"You are not tired now, Nan; and have been waltzing ever so long with
Cathcart and Hamilton."
"Never mind about me to-night: you must go and ask Lady Fitzroy. No, I
am not cross. Do you think I would be cross to you on your birthday?
but all the same I will not have you neglect your duties. Go and ask
her this moment, sir!" And Nan smiled in his face in the most
bewitching way, and gave a little flutter to her fan. She accepted Mr.
Hamilton's invitation to a valse under Dick's very eyes, and whirled
away on his arm, while Dick stood looking at her ruefully.
Just at the very last moment Nan's heart relented.
"Walk down to the gate with us," she whispered, as she passed him on
her way to the cloak-room.
Dick, who was by this time in a somewhat surly humor, make no sort of
response; nevertheless Nan found him out on the gravel path waiting
for them in company with Cathcart and Hamilton.
Nan shook off the latter rather cleverly, and took Dick's arm, in
cheerful unconsciousness of his ill-humor.
"It is so good of you to come with us. I wanted to get you a moment to
myself, to congratulate you on the success of the evening. It was
admirably managed; every one says so: even Lady Fitzroy was pleased,
and her ladyship is a trifle fastidious. Have the band in-doors, and
set them to dancing,--that is what I said; and it has turned out a
complete success," finished Nan, with a little gush of enthusiasm; but
she did not find Dick responsive.
"Oh! bother the success and all that!" returned that very misguided
young man; "it was the slowest affair to me, I assure you, and I am
thankful it is over. You have spoiled the evening to me, and that is
what you have done," grumbled Dick, in his most ominous voice.
"I spoiled your evening, you ungrateful boy!" replied Nan, innocently;
but she smiled to herself in the darkness, and the reproach was sweet
to her. They had entered the garden of Glen Cottage by this time, and
Dick was fiercely marching her down a side-path that led to the
kitchen. The hall door stood open. Cathcart and Hamilton were
chattering with the girls in the porch, while Mrs. Challoner went
inside. They peered curiously into the summer dusk, as Dick's
impatient footsteps grated on the gravel path.
"I spoiled your evening!" repeated Nan, lifting her bright eyes with
the gleam of fun still in them.
"Yes," blurted out Dick. "Why have you kept me at such a distance all
the evening? Why would you not dance with me? and you gave Hamilton
three valses. It was not like you, Nan, to treat me so,--and on my
birthday too," went on the poor fellow, with a pathos that brought
another sort of gleam to Nan's eyes, only she still laughed.
"Ah, you foolish boy!" she said, and gave his coat-sleeve a coaxing
little pat. "I would rather have danced with you than Mr. Hamilton,
though he does reverse beautifully, and I never knew any one who
waltzed more perfectly."
"Oh, I do not presume to rival Hamilton," began Dick hotly, but she
silenced him.
"Listen to me, you foolish Dick! I would have danced with you, and
willingly, but I knew my duty better, or rather I knew yours. You were
a public man to-day; the eyes of the county were upon you. You had to
pay court to the big ladies, and to take no notice of poor little me.
I sent you away for your own good, and because I valued your duty
above my pleasure," continued this heroic young person, in a perfectly
satisfied tone.
"And you wanted to dance with me, Nan, and not with that goose of a
Hamilton?" in a wheedling voice.
"Yes, Dick; but he is not a goose for all that: he is more of a swan
in my opinion."
"He is a conceited ass!" was the very unexpected reply, which was a
little hard on Dick's chum, who was in many ways a most estimable
young man and vastly his superior. "Why are you laughing, when you
know I hate prigs? and Hamilton is about the biggest I ever knew." But
this did not mend matters, and Nan's laugh still rang merrily in the
darkness.
"What are those two doing?" asked Phillis, trying to peep between the
lilac-bushes, but failing to discover more than the white glimmer of
Nan's shawl.
Nan's laugh, though it was full of sweet triumph, only irritated Dick;
the lord of the evening was still too sore and humiliated by all these
rebuffs and repulses to take the fun in good part.
"What is it that amuses you so?" he asked, rather crossly. "That is
the worst of you girls; you are always so ready to make merry at a
fellow's expense. You are taking Hamilton's part against me, Nan,--I,
who am your oldest friend, who have always been faithful to you ever
since you were a child," continued the young man, with a growing sense
of aggravation.
"Oh, Dick!" and Nan's voice faltered a little; she was rather touched
at this.
Dick took instant note of the change of key, and went on in the same
injured voice:
"Why should I look after all the big people and take no notice of you?
Have I not made it my first duty to look after you as long as I can
remember? Though the whole world were about us, would you not be the
first and the principal to me?"
"Don't, Dick," she said, faintly, trying to repress him; "you must not
talk in that way, and I must not listen to you; your father would not
like it." The words were sweet to her,--precious beyond
everything,--but she must not have him speak them. But Dick, in his
angry excitement, was not to be repressed.
"What does it matter what he likes? This is between you and me, Nan;
no one shall meddle between us two." But what imprudent speech Dick
was about to add was suddenly quenched in light-pealing laughter. At
this critical moment they were met and surrounded; before them was the
red glow of Cathcart's cigar, the whiteness of Phillis's gown; behind
were two more advancing figures. In another second the young people
had joined hands: a dusky ring formed round the startled pair.
"Fairly caught!" cried Dulce's sunshiny voice; the mischievous little
monkey had no idea of the sport she was spoiling. None of the young
people thought of anything but fun; Dick was just Dick, and he and Nan
were always together.
Dick muttered something inaudible under his breath; but Nan was quite
equal to the occasion; she was still palpitating a little with the
pleasure Dick's words had given her, but she confronted her tormentors
boldly.
"You absurd creatures," she said, "to steal a march on us like that!
Dick and I were having a quarrel; we were fighting so hard that we did
not hear you."
"I enjoy a good fight above everything," exclaimed Cathcart, throwing
away his cigar. He was a handsome dark-eyed boy, with no special
individuality, except an overweening sense of fun. "What's the odds,
Mayne? and who is likely to be the winner?"
"Oh, Nan, of course," returned Dick, trying to recover himself. "I am
the captive of her spear and of her bow: she is in possession of
everything, myself included."
The rest laughed at Dick's jest, as they thought it; and Mr. Hamilton
said, "Bravo, Miss Challoner! we will help to drag him at your
chariot-wheels." But Nan changed color in the darkness.
They went in after this, and the young men took their leave in the
porch. Dick's strong grip of the hand conveyed his meaning fully to
Nan: "Remember, I meant it all," it seemed to say to her.
"What did it matter? I am quite sure of him. Dick is Dick," thought
Nan, as she laid her head happily on the pillow.
As for Dick, he had a long ordeal before him ere he could make his
escape to the smoking-room, where his friends awaited him. Mr. Mayne
had a great deal to say to him about the day, and Dick had to listen
and try to look interested.
"I am sure Dick behaved beautifully," observed Mrs. Mayne, when the
son and heir had at last lounged off to his companions.
"Well, yes; he did very well on the whole," was the grudging response;
"but I must say those Challoner girls made themselves far too
conspicuous for my taste;" but to this his wife prudently made no
reply.