MRS. SPARSIT'S POODLE.
While Nan was being _fêted_ and petted at Longmead, Mattie's visit was
dragging heavily to its close. Since the evening of the tea-party
things had been more unsatisfactory than ever.
Archie and Grace were a good deal out. Grace was perpetually at the
Friary, and Archie had resumed his old habit of dropping in there for
a morning or evening chat. Sir Harry came almost daily, and often
spent his disengaged hours with them; but Mattie never saw him for a
moment alone. Grace was always in the room, and his conversation was
chiefly addressed to her. When Mattie dropped sadly out of the talk,
or sat silent in her corner, he did not in his old kind fashion try to
include her in the conversation: indeed, he rarely noticed her, except
in his brief leave-taking. It hurt Mattie inexpressibly to be thus
ignored by her old friend, for from the first his cordiality had had a
sunshiny influence over her,--he had been so good to her, so
thoughtful for her comfort, before Grace came; but now he seemed to
forget sometimes that such a person as Mattie even existed. Was it
because Grace's fair, serious face had bewitched him, or was there
anything on his mind? for more than once Mattie thought he seemed
absent and ill at ease.
Mattie could not understand it at all. She was not a very acute little
person, neither was she over-sensitive by nature, but this sudden
coldness on Sir Harry's part was wounding and perplexing in the
extreme. Had she done anything to offend him? Mattie wondered, or was
he simply bored by her as most people were?
Once Archie had snubbed her very severely in his presence; something
had put him out, and he had spoken to Mattie as though no one were
present but their two selves. It was Grace who called him so gently to
order, and made him feel ashamed of himself. Sir Harry did not even
seem to notice it: he had a paper in his hand, and he went on reading
it. But as Mattie left the room she heard him speaking to Grace in
his usual way about some political question or other.
Mattie cried bitterly in her room that day. Somehow, she had never
taken Archie's snubbing so much to heart before. How could he speak to
her like that, she thought? What would Sir Harry think of her, and of
him too? Archie's conscience pricked him when he saw the traces of
tears on Mattie's face that afternoon, and he was very kind to her all
the remainder of the day; but he did not apologize for his words: no
one ever did apologize to Mattie. But to his surprise, and Grace's
too, Mattie's sad face did not clear.
It was her last afternoon but one at the vicarage, and Mattie was
sitting alone. All the morning she and Grace had been packing
together, for Grace, in her sensible way, had begged her sister not to
leave things for the last day. It would tire her for her journey, she
said; and the Challoners were coming to spend Mattie's last evening
with her at the vicarage; and there were the Middletons probably
coming for an afternoon visit, and so Mattie had better keep herself
free for her friends. Mattie had assented to this, and she had been
very grateful to Grace for all the help she had given her. Her boxes
were ready for cording, and her little parting gifts for the servants
laid ready labelled in her drawers, and nothing remained for her busy
hands to do.
It was a cold, cheerless afternoon; a cutting north wind and a gray
cloudy sky made the fireside all the more tempting by comparison; but
Mattie knew there was one duty unfulfilled that she ought to perform.
She had promised to call and say good-bye to an old acquaintance of
hers who lived at Rock Building.
Mrs. Chamberlain was not a favorite with most people: she was an
invalid of somewhat uncertain temper, and most of her friends felt her
society an infliction on their patience. Mattie, who was very
good-natured, had often done kindly little offices for her, sitting
with her for an hour or two at a time, and teaching her some new
stitch, to beguile her tedious and often painful days.
Mrs. Chamberlain would feel herself aggrieved if Mattie disappointed
her. And she never had stayed at home for the weather; only she was
lazy,--tired, perhaps, from her packing,--and reluctant to move.
Sir Harry was in the study, she knew: she had heard his voice some
time ago. He often turned in there of his own accord or perhaps Archie
had waylaid him and brought him in, for they were excellent friends
now; Grace was there, of course, but Mattie had hesitated to join
them: none of them wanted her, she said bitterly to herself.
A dim hope that Grace might come in search of her, or that even Sir
Henry might saunter in by and by and ask for a cup of tea in his old
way, had kept Mattie in her place; but now it was getting a little
late, and perhaps after all Grace would ring, and have the tea in
there, as she had done once before: and it was no use waiting. And so,
when Mattie reached this point, she hurried upstairs and put on her
hat and thick jacket, and then, after a moment's hesitation, opened
the study door.
It was just the scene she pictured. Sir Harry was in the big chair in
front of the blazing fire, and Grace in her low wicker seat, facing
him, with a Chinese screen in her hand. Archie was standing on the
rug, with his elbow against the narrow wooden mantelpiece, and all
three were talking merrily. Sir Harry stopped in the middle of a
laugh, as Mattie entered, and shook hands with her a little gravely.
"How comfortable you all look!" faltered Mattie. The words came in
spite of her efforts not to say them.
"Then come and join us," returned Archie, with unusual affability.
"Grace was just wondering what you were doing."
"I was in the drawing-room alone. No, I cannot sit down, Archie, thank
you. I am just going to bid old Mrs. Chamberlain good-bye: she is
expecting me, and I must not disappoint her."
"Oh, but it is not fit for you," remonstrated Grace. "Sir Harry says
the wind is piercing. Do put off your visit until to-morrow, Mattie,
and we will go together."
"Fie, Miss Grace! never put off until to-morrow what can be done
to-day," observed Sir Harry, in his joking voice. "What is it the
copy-books say?--is it procrastination or money that is the root of
all evil?"
"Sir Harry is quite right, and I must go," stammered Mattie, made
quite desperate by this joke; he knew how the wind was sweeping over
the gray sea, and yet he had not said a word about her remaining. Poor
Mattie! a miserable choking feeling came into her throat, as she
closed the door on another laugh and struggled along in the teeth of
the wind. Another time she would not have minded it, for she was hardy
by nature; but now the cold seemed to freeze her very heart; she
looked quite blue and pinched when she entered Mrs. Chamberlain's
drawing-room. It seemed to Mattie as though hours had passed before
she brought her visit to a close, and yet she had been sitting there
only three quarters of an hour before she took her leave. The old lady
was very gracious this afternoon; she pressed Mattie again and again
to wait a little until Sallie brought up the tea and a nice hot cake
she was baking. But Mattie steadily refused even these tempting
delicacies: she was not cold any longer, she said; but it was growing
late, or the afternoon was darker than usual. And then she wished her
old friend good-bye,--oh, good-bye for such a long time, Mattie
thought,--and sallied forth bravely into the wind gain.
It had lulled a little, but the scene before her was very desolate;
just the gray expanse of sea, with the white line of surge breaking
into the shore; and here and there a wave tossing up its foamy head
in the distance. The air seemed full of that continuous low rolling
and splashing of breakers on the beach: a sea-gull was flying inland;
the Parade looked white and wind-bleached,--not a creature in sight
but a coast-guard on duty, moving backwards and forwards in a rather
forlorn manner, except----Here Mattie turned her head quickly: yes, a
little beyond there was a man in a rough pilot's coat, looking out
seaward,--a nautical man, Mattie thought, by the way he stood, as
though summer gales were blowing about his ears.
Mattie passed quite close to him, for the wind drifted her a little as
she did so. He turned coolly round and confronted her.
"Sir Harry! Oh, I did not know you in the least," faltered Mattie,
standing still in her surprise.
"I dare say not," he replied, quietly: "you have never seen me in this
costume before, and I had my back turned towards you. I saw you
coming, though, walking as unsteadily as a duck in a storm. What a
time you have been, Miss Mattie! You ladies are so fond of a gossip."
"Were you waiting for me?" she asked, rather breathlessly, and then
colored painfully at her question. How absurd! Of course he was not
waiting for her; his hotel was just opposite, and he was probably
taking a constitutional before his dinner. "Mrs. Chamberlain pressed
me to take tea with her," she went on, by way of saying something,
"but I told her I would rather go home."
"Miss Grace was just ringing for tea when I left," he returned. "No
wonder you look cold or like a starved robin, Miss Mattie. Why are you
walking so fast? there is no hurry, is there? I think you owe me some
amends for keeping me standing for an hour in this bitter wind. There!
why don't you take my arm and hold on, or you will be blown away?"
Mattie always did as she was bidden, and Sir Harry's tone was a little
peremptory. He had been waiting for her, then; he had not quite
forgotten her. Mattie began to feel a little less chilled and numb. If
he would only say a kind word to her, she thought, she could go away
more happily.
"I am thinking about that rejected cup of tea," he said, suddenly,
when they had walked for a moment in silence: "it will be all cleared
away at the vicarage, and you do look so cold, Miss Mattie."
"Oh, no, not very," she corrected.
"But I say that you do," he persisted, in quite a determined manner:
"you are cold, and tired, and miserable,--there!"
"I--I am not particularly miserable," but there were tears in Mattie's
voice, as she uttered this little fib. "I don't quite like going away
and saying good-bye to people."
"Won't your people be kind to you?" Then changing his tone, "I tell
you what, Miss Mattie, no one is in a hurry for you at home, and I
don't see why we should not enjoy ourselves. You remember my old
friend Mrs. Sparsit, who lives up at Rose Cottage,--you know I saved
her poodle from drowning one rough day, when some boys got hold of it:
well, Mrs. Sparsit and I are first-rate friends, and I will ask her to
give us some tea."
"Oh, no," faltered Mattie, quite shocked at this; for what would Grace
say? "I only know Mrs. Sparsit a very little."
"What does that matter?" returned Sir Harry, obstinately: "I am always
dropping in myself for a chat. Now, it is no use your making any
objection, Miss Mattie, for I have got a lot to say to you, and I
don't mean to part with you yet. They will only think you are still at
Rock Building, and I suppose you are old enough to act without Miss
Grace's advice sometimes."
Mattie hung her head without replying to this. What a feeble, helpless
sort of creature he must think her! his voice seemed to express a
good-humored sort of contempt. Well, he was right; she was old enough
to do as she pleased, and she would like very much to go with him to
Mrs. Sparsit's. It was rather a reckless proceeding, perhaps; but
Mattie was too down and miserable to argue it out, so she walked
beside Sir Harry in a perfectly unresisting manner. Perhaps this was
the last time she would enjoy his company for a long time: she must
make the most of it.
"We need not walk quite so fast," he said, checking her, for she was
hurrying again. "Look here, Miss Mattie, I want to ask you a queer
sort of question, if only this confounded wind will let me make myself
heard. Please don't laugh; I don't want to be laughed at, for I am
quite in earnest. But have you any special objection to red hair?--I
mean, do you particularly dislike it?"
Mattie opened her eyes rather widely at this. "No, I rather like it,"
she returned, without a moment's hesitation, and quite in the dark as
to his possible meaning.
"Oh, that is all right," he returned, cheerfully. "You won't believe
it, Miss Mattie, but, though I am such a great big fellow, I am as
bashful as anything; and I have always had a fancy that no one would
have me because of my red hair."
"What an idea!" observed Mattie, with a little laugh, for she thought
this so droll, and had not the dimmest idea of his real purpose in
asking her such a question.
"Don't laugh, please," he remonstrated, "for I am quite serious; I
never was more serious in my life; for this sort of thing is so
awkward for a fellow. Then, Miss Mattie, you won't say 'No' to me?"
Mattie stared; but Sir Harry's face, red and embarrassed as it was,
gave her no clue to his meaning.
"I don't think you understand me," he said, a little impatiently; "and
yet I am sure I am putting it very plainly. You don't object to me,
do you, Miss Mattie? I am sure I will do my best to make you happy.
Gilsbank is a pretty place, and we shall have Aunt Catherine and the
girls near us. We shall all be as merry as larks, if you will only
promise to marry me, for I have liked you from the first; I have
indeed, Miss Mattie."
Sir Harry was a gentleman, in spite of his rough ways. He understood
in a moment, when Mattie's answer to this was a very feeble clutch at
his arm, as though her strength were deserting her. What with the
sudden surprise of these words, and the force of the wind, the poor
little woman felt herself reeling.
"Stand here for a moment, and I will shelter you from the wind. No,
don't speak; just hold on, and keep quiet: there is no hurry. No one
shall scold you, if I can help it. I am afraid"--speaking as gently as
to a child--"that I have been a little rough and sudden with you. Do
you feel faint? I never saw you look so pale. What a thoughtless brute
I have been!"
"No,--oh, no," panted Mattie; "only I am so giddy, and--so happy." The
last words were half whispered, but he caught them. "Are you sure you
really mean this, Sir Harry?"
"As sure as that the wind blows," he returned, cheerfully. "Well,
that's settled. You and I are to be in the same boat for good and
all,--eh, Miss Mattie? Now let us walk on; and I won't say another
word until we reach Mrs. Sparsit's."
Perhaps he had taken this resolution because he saw that Mattie found
speech impossible. Her very footsteps tottered as she struggled
against the opposing wind. Only the arm on which she leaned seemed to
give her strength; and yet Mattie no longer shivered in the cutting
blast. She was no longer cold, and numb, and desolate. Something
wonderful and incredible and altogether unreal had befallen
her,--something that had turned her dizzy with happiness, and which
she could not in the least believe. All she knew was that he had told
her that no one should scold her now.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Sir Harry, stopping at a trim little cottage,
with a side-view of the sea; "and, by Jove, there is the poodle
himself at the window. How do you do, Mrs. Sparsit?" as a pleasant,
wrinkled dame appeared on the threshold. "You know Miss Drummond, I
believe? though not as well as you know me. How is Popples? Oh, there
you are, old fellow,--ready to give me your paw, as usual! Look at
him, Miss Mattie! Now, Mrs. Sparsit," in a coaxing voice, "this lady
is dreadfully tired; and I know your kettle is boiling----" but here
Mrs. Sparsit interrupted him:
"Oh, yes, indeed, Sir Harry; and you shall have some tea directly.
Dear me, Miss Drummond, you do look poorly, to be sure! Let me stir
the fire a little, and draw out the couch. Bettie has gone out to see
her sick mother, Sir Harry; but if you don't mind my leaving you a
minute, while I just brew the tea----" And without waiting for his
answer, the worthy creature bustled off to her tiny kitchen, leaving
Popples to entertain her guests.
Sir Harry closed the door, and then he helped Mattie to divest herself
of her warm jacket, and placed her in a snug corner of the
old-fashioned couch.
"You will be all right directly," he said, as he sat down beside her.
"The wind was too strong; and I was a little sudden: wasn't I,
Mattie?" And now the color began to come into Mattie's face.
Sir Harry found plenty to tell her as Mrs. Sparsit brewed the tea and
prepared the hot buttered cakes.
Mattie shed tears of pure happiness when she heard from his own lips
how good and unselfish and amiable he thought her, and how he had
liked her from the first in a sort of way,--"not quite the right way,
you know," explained Sir Harry, candidly; "but every one was so hard
on you, and you bore it so well, and were such a good little woman,
that I quite longed to stand your friend; and we were friends,--were
we not, Mattie? And then somehow it came to me what a nice little wife
you would make; and so----" but here Mattie timidly interrupted him:
"But Grace,--I thought you liked Grace best!"
Sir Harry laughed outright at this; but he had the grace to look
ashamed of himself:
"So I did like her very much; but I was only trying you, Mattie. I was
not sure how much you liked me; but you seemed such a miserable little
Cinderella among them all that I could hardly keep it up. If they snub
you now, they will have to answer to me." And at this moment Mrs.
Sparsit entered with the tea-tray.
Dinner was nearly over at the vicarage when Mattie's step was heard in
the hall. Archie, who was the soul of punctuality, frowned a little
when the sound reached his ear.
"This is too bad of Mattie," he said, rather fretfully. "She has no
right to put us to such inconvenience. I suppose we must have the fish
up again?"
"Miss Drummond desires that you will go on with your dinner, sir,"
observed the maid, entering at that moment. "She has had a late tea,
and will not require anything more."
"Very strange!" fumed Archie; but he was a little pacified by the
message. But Grace slightly elevated her eyebrows with an expression
of surprise. Such independence was new in Mattie.
The brother and sister had adjourned to the drawing-room, and Archie
was about to ring for his coffee, before Mattie made her appearance.
Grace uttered a little exclamation when she saw her sister:
"My dear Mattie, we have no visitors coming in this evening! Why have
you put on your best gown? You extravagant child!" for Mattie had
come into the room rustling in her green silk dress, and her little
dark face glowing from the wind. "She looked almost pretty," as Grace
said afterwards; but at her sister's quizzical observation Mattie
blushed and seemed confused.
"It is no use saving it," she began. "Sir Harry is coming in by and
by. And, oh, Archie! he told me to say it, but I don't know how to do
it." And then, to Archie's intense surprise,--for she had never done
such a thing in her life,--she suddenly threw her arms round his neck.
"Oh, Archie! he says you are never to scold me again,--any of you,"
she sobbed, "because I belong to him now. And he--Sir Harry, I
mean--is so good to me; and I am so happy. And won't you wish me joy,
both of you? And what--what will mother say?" finished Mattie, as
though this were the climax of everything.
"Good heavens, Mattie!" gasped Archie; but he did not shake her off:
on the contrary, he kissed her very kindly. "Do you mean you are going
to marry Sir Harry Challoner?"
"He means to marry me," returned Mattie, smiling, in spite of her
tears; and then Grace came forward, and took her in her arms.
"I am so glad, dear Mattie," she whispered, soothingly. "Of course we
none of us expected it; and we are all very much surprised. Oh, dear!
how happy mother will be!"
"I tell you what," exclaimed Archie, in great excitement, "I will take
you down myself to Lowder Street, and see what she says. They will all
be out of their senses with joy; and, upon my word, Mattie, I never
was so pleased about anything in my life. He is a right-down good
fellow, I am sure of that; and you are not such a bad little thing
yourself, Mattie. There!"