AT THE GRANGE.
As Miss Sefton spoke the lane widened before them, and the hedgerows
gave place to a short avenue of elms, the sunlight filtering through the
thick interlaced branches, and throwing quivering shadows on the white
road below; a low white gate opened into a meadow where some cattle were
grazing, and on the right hand side was a large, straggling red house,
with picturesque stables half smothered in ivy. The hall door stood open
and a fine Scotch deerhound lay basking in the afternoon sun; he roused
himself lazily as the pony carriage stopped before the door, and as
Bessie alighted he came up to her wagging his tail slowly, and put his
long, slender nose into her hand.
"What a beautiful creature!" exclaimed Bessie, who was exceedingly fond
of all dumb animals. "Look how friendly he is, as though he were
welcoming me to The Grange."
Miss Sefton, who was patting the sleek sides of Jack and Jill, looked
round carelessly.
"Mac is a good old dog, but he is not always so amiable to strangers; he
has his likes and dislikes, as we humans have, only I must tell Richard
that he has taken to you--he is his property. Now let us go and find
mamma." And Edna locked her arm in Bessie's, and, followed closely by
the deerhound, led her into the house.
There was no servant in attendance; a strange hush and stillness seemed
to pervade the place. Bessie almost felt oppressed by it. The hall was
large and dark, with a smooth, slippery floor, and was panelled in dark
oak; oak settles and large carved antique cabinets were ranged round the
walls. The great fireplace was filled with green boughs, and a tiger
skin, with a huge grinning head and eyes, lay before it. The quiet
little country girl had never seen such a hall in her life.
"Take care; our oak floors are slippery to people who are unused to
them," observed Edna. "Mamma is in the drawing-room, I suppose." And she
opened the door and ushered her companion into a handsome room, with
three windows opening on to a lawn. A lady, who was sitting on a couch
reading, rose as she perceived the two girls, and crossed the room with
a slow, stately step.
"Mamma, I have brought Miss Lambert."
"I am very glad to see her, Edna. My dear," taking Bessie's hand, and
kissing her cheek, "you are very welcome for your father's sake."
"Thank you," returned Bessie, with unusual shyness, for Mrs. Sefton's
stateliness rather awed her. Both her words and her manner were kind;
nevertheless, Bessie found it difficult to respond; even when Mrs.
Sefton had established her in the corner of the couch, and was
questioning her with polite interest about her journey, she found
herself answering in almost monosyllabic replies, as though she were
tongue-tied.
"I cannot tell what came over me," she wrote the next day to her mother;
"I never felt so bashful and stupid in my life; and yet Mrs. Sefton was
most kind and considerate, only her graciousness seemed to crush me. She
is very handsome, far handsomer than her daughter, slightly stout, but
such a grand looking figure; Miss Sefton and I look like pygmies beside
her; but there is one thing that strikes me about her--a sort of
hardness when she is not speaking. I never saw a mouth closed so
tightly; and then there is no rest in her face. I could not help
thinking about father's story as I looked at her; it is not the face of
a happy woman. I can imagine that disappointment in her husband has
hardened her. I admire her very much; she fascinates and yet repels me,
but I do not think I could love her very much. Miss Sefton does, but
then her mother dotes on her."
Bessie was devoutly wishing herself at home during that first quarter of
an hour, but after a few minutes Mrs. Sefton's questions ceased, and she
touched a silver-mounted gong beside her, and almost as though by magic
the door was thrown noiselessly back, and the butler entered with the
tea-tray, followed by a footman in smart livery. Bessie wondered what
her mother would have thought of the delicate Worcester china that was
placed on a low table beside Mrs. Sefton, while a second table was
quickly covered with bread and butter and dainty-looking cakes. Edna had
thrown off her hat, and had coaxed Bessie to do the same; then she
proceeded to wait on her guest. A little table was placed at Bessie's
elbow, and all manner of sweet cakes forced on her. The very tea had a
different flavor from her mother's tea; it was scented, fragrant, and
mellow with rich country cream. Bessie sipped her tea, and crumbled her
rich cake, and felt as though she were in a dream. Outside the
smooth-shaven lawn stretched before the windows, there was a tennis-net
up, and some balls and rackets were lying on the grass. Some comfortable
wicker chairs were placed under a large elm at the bottom of the lawn.
"Do you play tennis?" asked Edna abruptly, as she noticed Bessie's eyes
were wandering to the garden.
"A little; I am fond of the game, but I have not played a great deal;
it takes time, and there is so much to do."
"Edna plays beautifully," observed Mrs. Sefton. "It is a fine exercise
for young people, if they are moderate and do not over-exert themselves.
We have some neighbors, the Athertons, who come in nearly every day to
practice with Edna."
"Does not your brother play with you sometimes?" asked Bessie.
"Richard? Oh, no?" And Edna's lip curled a little disdainfully. "He is
far too busy to waste his time on me--he prefers playing cricket with
the village lads at Melton. Bye the bye, mamma, I left Richard at the
station; he said he had business with Malcolmson, and would not be home
much before dinner."
"Indeed, I am sorry to hear it," returned Mrs. Sefton coldly. "Of course
it was no use my warning him against any dealings with Malcolmson;
Richard will go his own way; but I confess that this infatuation for
Malcolmson vexes me much;" and a slight frown crossed Mrs. Sefton's
white forehead.
"Was the young man with two splendid dogs that I passed in the
waiting-room your brother?" asked Bessie, in some surprise.
"Yes, that was Richard," returned Edna; and she added, a little
maliciously, "I can see you are a little surprised. I suppose you took
him for a young farmer or gamekeeper. Richard is terribly clownish in
appearance."
Bessie thought this speech was in very bad taste, but she replied
quietly:
"I cannot say I noticed your brother, but one of the dogs attracted my
attention, he had such a fine head; I should think Landseer would have
enjoyed painting him."
"Oh, that must have been Gelert; every one admires him; I know Neville
coveted him. Now we have finished tea, and I dare say you will be glad
to get rid of the dust of your journey, so I will undertake to show you
your room. Mamma was going to put you into the big spare room, but I
insisted that you would prefer a smaller one. Was I right, Miss
Lambert?"
"Perfectly right, thank you," returned Bessie, as she rose with
alacrity.
Mrs. Sefton's eyes followed her curiously as she crossed the room.
"A healthy, fresh-colored country girl," she said to herself; "quite a
little rustic; but she seems a nice, harmless little thing; though why
Edna took such a fancy to her rather puzzles me. I thought she would
take after her father, but I can see no likeness. What a handsome fellow
he was--poor Herbert!--and so gentlemanly." And here Mrs. Sefton sighed;
for to her it was always a perilous thing to recall the past. No woman
had ever been so foolish as she; she had cast away gold for dross.
While her hostess was indulging in these heavy reflections, Bessie was
uttering little staccato exclamations of delight at the sight of the
room allotted her.
"What a lovely view!" she had observed, running to the window, for not
only was the pretty shady garden to be seen, but some meadows, and a
glimpse of a fir wood in the distance; and it all looked so cool and
still, and the only objects of moving life were some white lambs feeding
by their mothers, and a pretty brown foal with its dam.
"Do you think you will like your room?" asked Edna demurely; but there
was a gleam of fun in her eyes as she put the question, for she had a
vivid remembrance of Bessie's room at home; the strips of faded carpet,
the little iron bedstead, and painted drawers; and yet it had been a
haven of rest to her that night, and she had slept very sweetly on the
little hard bed.
"It is far too grand for me," returned Bessie candidly. "I shall feel
like a fine lady for the first time in my life." And she looked round
her with admiring scrutiny, noting every detail--the wax candles and
hot-house flowers on the toilet-table, the handsome wardrobe and
cheval-glass, the writing-table with its dainty appendages, and the
cosy-looking couch; even the brass bedstead, with its blue cretonne
hangings, and frilled pillow-cases, demanded some fresh comment.
"I think it is a lovely room, and far too good for me," finished Bessie.
"All our rooms are very comfortable," was the careless response; "but
one is too used to this sort of thing to notice it. Now shall I send
Brandon to help you? She is our maid, and understands hair-dressing
perfectly. She will help you unpack and arrange your things."
"Oh, no, thank you!" returned Bessie, in such an alarmed voice that Miss
Sefton laughed; and then she continued, in rather a shamefaced manner:
"You see I am not like you, Miss Sefton. I have not been used to
luxuries and being waited on; we are plain people, and wait on
ourselves."
"Just as you like," was the indifferent answer. "Brandon is the comfort
of my life, though she is such a cross old thing. Now, Bessie--I am
going to call you Bessie, and I beg you to lay aside the stiff Miss
Sefton--you must tell me if I can lend you anything, or help you in any
way. And you are not to trouble about making yourself smart, for we have
no one coming to dinner to-day, and I shall only put on an old dress. We
are in the country now, and I don't mean to waste my fine London gowns
on Richard, who calls every material dimity, and never knows whether one
is dressed in velvet or sackcloth."
Bessie smiled, and then asked if she might use any of the flowers on her
toilet-table.
"My dear child, just look behind you," was the amused answer; and Bessie
saw a breast-knot of lovely crimson roses on the writing-table. "Those
are for your use to-night, but if you will let me know every morning
what color you want for the evening, I will tell Brandon."
As Bessie was unpacking, she heard a faint scratching at her door, and
on opening it found, to her great surprise, Mac, the deerhound, sitting
on his haunches, with a very pleading look in his beautiful brown eyes.
"You may come in if you like, old fellow," she said, wondering at
his sudden friendship for a stranger; and, sure enough, the hound walked
in and stretched himself under the writing-table, with his nose between
his paws, quietly observant of every movement.
When Bessie had finished her unpacking, she proceeded to brush out her
bright, brown hair, and arrange it in her usual simple fashion. Then she
put on the dress of cream-colored nun's veiling, which was cut square
and trimmed with her mother's lace; and when she had clasped the pearls
round her neck, and had pinned on her roses, she felt she had never been
so well dressed in her life; and, indeed, the girl's freshness and
sweet expression made her very pleasant to look upon.
Bessie was sitting at the window thinking of Hatty when Edna entered,
looking like a young princess to her dazzled eyes. The old gown proved
to be a delicate blue silk, and was trimmed in a costly fashion, and she
wore at her throat a locket with a diamond star. As she came sweeping
into the room, with her long train and fair coronet of hair, she looked
so graceful and so handsome that Bessie uttered an admiring exclamation.
"Oh, don't look at me!" observed Edna rather pettishly. "I have told
Brandon I really must discard this gown; it is getting too bad even for
quiet evenings."
"I think it lovely," returned Bessie, much surprised at this remark. "I
thought it was quite new."
"Oh, no; it is nearly a year old, quite a patriarch in gowns; and,
besides, I am getting so tired of blue. Mamma likes me best in white,
and I agree with her; but you look very nice, Bessie, more like a
crimson-tipped Daisy than ever. You remind me so of a daisy--a humble
little modest, bright-eyed thing."
"Thank you, Miss Sefton," returned Bessie, blushing at such an
unexpected compliment. "I think I must tell Hatty that."
"Hatty! Oh, you mean the little pale-faced sister with the clever
eyes. Now, what did I say to you? That I preferred Edna to Miss Sefton.
Oh, there goes the second gong, and Richard has only just come in. Mamma
will be so vexed at his unpunctuality. Why, I declare if Mac has not
taken up his quarters under your table. I suppose he approves of Miss
Daisy as much as I do."
Edna chatted after this fashion as she tripped down the oak staircase,
while Bessie followed her more slowly. They found Mrs. Sefton in a
somewhat ruffled mood. She looked handsomer than ever in her gray silk
dress; her hands were blazing with diamond rings, her dark hair was
still unmixed with gray, and hardly needed the lace cap that covered it.
"Richard has only just come in, mamma; need we wait for him?"
"It is our duty to wait for the master of the house, Edna, however much
we are inconvenienced by the delay." And Mrs. Sefton fanned herself with
a dissatisfied expression. "Your brother never thinks of our comfort, as
long as he is engrossed with his own occupations. I must apologize to
you, Miss Lambert, for our unpunctuality. I am sure, after such a
journey, you must need your dinner."
"I am not at all hungry, thank you," replied Bessie, whose appetite was
not stimulated by her hostess' aggrieved remarks. She sat literally on
thorns during the next five minutes, while Mrs. Sefton fanned herself,
and Edna walked up and down the room, humming snatches of songs, and
then breaking off into a sarcastic observation on the length of
Richard's toilet.
"I shall expect great results," she was just saying, as the door opened,
and a tall, broad-shouldered young man advanced rather awkwardly into
the room.
"I am afraid I am late again, mother," he began apologetically; but Mrs.
Sefton apparently took no notice of this remark, except by a slight
shrug of her shoulders.
"We have been waiting half an hour," broke in Edna, with a pout. "You
get worse and worse, Richard. Now, will you take in my friend, Miss
Lambert? and mamma and I will follow."
Bessie rose at once, as Mr. Sefton offered his arm, but beyond a stiff
bow he took no further notice of her. His face wore a moody expression
as they seated themselves at the table. His reception had evidently
damped him.
Bessie glanced at him. Richard Sefton was certainly not handsome; his
features were rather heavily molded; he had a reddish mustache that hid
his mouth, and closely cropped hair of the same color. His evening dress
set rather awkwardly on him, and he had looked far better in his tweed
coat and knickerbockers. Bessie was obliged to confess that Edna had
been right in her description; there was something clownish about his
appearance, and yet he looked a gentleman.
"Have you nothing to tell us, Richard?" asked Mrs. Sefton sharply, when
the silence had lasted long enough.
"Nothing that will interest you," he replied, rather gloomily; and
Bessie noticed that his voice was not unpleasant. "I have been with
Malcolmson all the afternoon." And he looked steadily at Mrs. Sefton as
he spoke.
A slight flush crossed her face, but she evidently did not trust herself
to answer.
"I know our opinions differ about him," he continued, as though forcing
himself to speak; "but for my part I think him a clear-headed,
reliable fellow. He has done my business well, and has relieved me of a
great deal of responsibility."
"I hope you will not have cause to repent your rashness, Richard," was
the severe answer; but Edna, who was watching her mother's countenance
with some anxiety, interfered in an airy fashion:
"Oh, pray don't begin to talk business, Richard, or you will make
mamma's head ache. You know she can't bear to hear Malcolmson's name
mentioned. All this is not very amusing for Miss Lambert. Can't you
find something interesting to suit a young lady?"
But if Edna hoped to pose as a peacemaker, she failed signally, for a
sullen look came to her brother's face, and, with the exception of a
slight attention to his guest's wants, and a few remarks about her
journey and the weather, Richard made no further attempt to be
agreeable.