REMONSTRANCE.
‘Well, old lady,’ commenced Mr Vansittart facetiously, ‘and what is it?
I hope the skipper ain’t been taking liberties with you, nor nothing of
that sort.’
‘Oh, now, John! do stop your nonsense, when you know well I’ve been
your married wife for five-and-twenty years, and no man ever dared take
a liberty with me yet.’
‘Come, come! you’re forgetting,’ replied her husband. ‘Didn’t I catch
you once in our parlour at Tabbakooloo with Charlie Monro’s head in
your lap, and you kissing his hair?’
‘Oh, go along with you, John! You know the poor lad had just lost his
mother, and come to tell me so. And that reminds me how often I’ve
thought and wished that our Grace and Charlie might come together
by-and-by, and make a match of it.’
‘_That_ will never be,’ said Mr Vansittart. ‘Charlie’s too rough for
Grace. You forget what a lady our girl has grown.’
‘Oh, no, I don’t, John; and sometimes I almost wish we’d kept her
alongside of us. But that’s not to the purpose. I don’t want her to
choose in a hurry, and I’m afraid she’s getting on a little bit too
fast with that Mr Harland.’
‘Why, what makes you think that?’
‘I was watching them together on deck this afternoon, and I saw him
take her hand. John, did you hear anything more about Mr Harland’s
family and antecedents before we left England?’
‘No, my dear, I hadn’t the opportunity.’
‘I never _quite_ liked him,’ sighed the mother; ‘he has such sly eyes.’
‘Oh, come! that’s a very foolish reason. You mustn’t judge of a man by
his eyes. His actions is all we need go by.’
‘Has he ever spoken to you about our Grace, John?’
‘No, nothing particular. But I can see he admires her. Why should you
object to it? He seems a smart fellow, and he’s a thorough gentleman.
Of course the rhino’s the trouble, but he’s very frank about that, and
we’ve got more than we know what to do with, so it would be hard if our
only child shouldn’t suit her own taste with a husband.’
‘Oh, John, don’t talk as if it was a settled thing. Don’t let it go on.
Tell Grace it’s too soon to let Mr Harland get so intimate. I don’t
know _why_, but I’ve such a feeling against it--as if it would be the
cause of some great trouble. And I _did_ so want her to take a fancy to
Charlie Monro.’
‘Ah! that’s at the bottom of it all, old lady. You’ve taken to
match-making in your old age. Now, look here, take my advice, and leave
the young people to settle the matter for themselves. You wouldn’t have
listened to _your_ mother if she had told you to chuck me overboard and
take another man.’
‘But I had known you, John, for years; and how long is it since you met
Mr Harland?’
‘Not more than six weeks or so. We know nothing about him at all. And
we don’t need as yet, wife. There’s plenty of time before us. Grace
don’t want to marry him to-morrow, I suppose?’
‘Heaven forbid!’
‘Well, I can’t understand your taking such a sudden prejudice against
the young fellow. I think you must be jealous of losing your daughter.
After all, what has he done? Held her hand! Lord! I’d be sorry to have
to marry all the girls whose hands I’ve held!’
‘It don’t look well though, John.’
‘Then tell your daughter it don’t look well, and she’ll keep out of
your way next time she does it. Now, don’t you fret about nothing. I
can’t see any objection to it, if the young people _do_ fancy each
other. Harland is a man of good birth and breeding, and will suit Grace
a deal better than Charlie Monro.’
‘Then you won’t speak to her, John?’
‘No, my dear. You can do as you like about it, but I don’t care to
put my finger between the fire and the wood. If the young man was
objectionable to me, he wouldn’t be here. I sha’n’t take any notice of
the affair until he asks my consent.’
‘And you will give it, John?’
‘Yes! I guess I shall give it, conditionally. He must see his way to
making an income, of course, before he can marry a wife. But we’re in
no hurry to part with Grace, and a very small certainty will satisfy
me. All I think of is the girl’s happiness.’
‘That’s just what I’m thinking of too,’ sighed his wife.
‘Well, mother, then we’re of one mind as usual. But I’ve promised to
join the gentleman in a game of poker, so I must leave you. Now, don’t
sit here by yourself, fretting for nothing.’
‘John, does Mr Harland play high?’ demanded Mrs Vansittart anxiously.
‘Terrible high,’ replied her husband, laughing. ‘Farthing points, and
generally loses them. I won tenpence three farthings off him last
night. Oh! he’s an inveterate gambler. You may take my word for that.’
And chuckling over his own sarcasm, he went off to the smoking-room.
Mrs Vansittart, seeing it was of no use to speak to her husband on the
subject, resolved to take the first opportunity to broach it with her
daughter. She was a simple soul, and she felt nervous at the idea of
offending Grace; but she was a fond mother, and, like the timid ewe,
could fight to defend her young. But the opportunity did not occur
for some days. Then Grace, happening to have lingered too long in the
sun, contracted a violent headache, and came to her mother’s cabin to
lie down, and be petted and made much of. And whilst Mrs Vansittart
was bathing her daughter’s forehead with _eau-de-Cologne_, and fanning
it to soothe the pain, she ventured to allude to the subject which
occupied her mind.
‘You shouldn’t stand in the sun, my dear, when there’s an awning to sit
under. You’ll get fever if you don’t take care. Whatever made you so
careless?’
‘I don’t know, mamma. I was talking, and didn’t feel how hot it was.’
‘Who were you talking to--Mr Harland?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what were you talking of?’
‘How can I remember,’ replied Grace, colouring; ‘a dozen different
things.’
‘A dozen different things don’t matter,’ said Mrs Vansittart
oracularly. ‘It’s _one_ thing I wouldn’t let Mr Harland speak of, if I
was you, Grace, my dear.’
‘And what is that?’ asked the girl, in a low voice.
‘Marriage.’
‘Why not, mother? Why shouldn’t he speak of it as well as any other
man?’
‘Because I don’t think he’d make a good husband.’
‘What right have you to say so?’ cried Grace, starting up. ‘What has he
done to make you distrust him? Papa and he are such close friends; and
if papa had not considered Mr Harland to be good and trustworthy, would
he have asked him to accompany us to New Zealand?’
‘Ah, your papa and me don’t always think alike, my dear, although, I am
thankful to say, a difference of opinion doesn’t make us quarrel. And
men are blinder than women in such matters. They judge by the outside,
but we have our instincts.’
‘Do you want to set me against Mr Harland?’ exclaimed Grace, with
flashing eyes.
‘Do you like him so much, then, my dear?’
‘Yes; that is to say, of course we all like him. Who could help doing
so, when he is so agreeable and good-looking?’
‘And he has told you that he likes you?’
Grace lay down on the pillow again, and turned her face slightly away.
‘Don’t be afraid of me, my dear girl,’ continued Mrs Vansittart; ‘I
sha’n’t scold you, whatever may have happened. Is it a settled thing
between you and this gentleman?’
‘Contingent on your consent and papa’s,’ replied Grace.
‘You mean if we say _yes_,’ corrected her mother, who was rather
puzzled by the word ‘contingent.’
‘Just so, mamma. Mr Harland has asked me to marry him, and I have
consented, provided you and papa have no objections to make to it.’
Mrs Vansittart began to cry.
‘Oh, my dear! it’s terrible quick. Why couldn’t you have waited till
we got home to Tabbakooloo? There are so many nice young fellows about
there, and you’d have had a much better choice.’
‘I don’t want to choose. I’m quite satisfied with Mr Harland,’ said
Grace pettishly. ‘And why are you crying, mamma? What has he done?
Really, it’s quite alarming to see you go on in this way.’
‘Oh, Grace, my darling girl! don’t give him a final answer yet. Wait a
little longer,’ sobbed the old lady. ‘I can’t give you any reason, but
I’ve a notion it won’t turn out well.’
‘But this is nonsense,’ replied her daughter, from the heights of her
superior wisdom. ‘If you have any reasonable objection to Mr Harland,
mother, tell me what it is, and I will endeavour to fall in with your
wishes. But don’t condemn him for a chimera.’
‘A _what_, my dear?’ said Mrs Vansittart, opening her eyes. ‘I never
heard of such a thing. But he hasn’t no money. You must allow that. He
says so himself.’
‘I know he is in difficulties at present, but a year or so will clear
them all off. And the most fashionable people get into difficulties
sometimes, mamma, and have to mortgage their estates and let their
houses. You have only to hear Mr Harland talk, to know what splendid
circumstances he has been in. Besides, papa has always told me that the
want of money need never influence my choice of a husband, because he
has plenty for us all.’
‘You have made up your mind, then, to marry this Mr Harland, Grace?’
‘Yes, mamma, if papa and you give your consent.’
‘Oh, my dear child, I’d consent to anything for your happiness.
Only--will he make you happy?’
‘I think so,’ replied Grace.
There was nothing more to be said, then--at least so Mrs Vansittart
thought, as she returned, with a deep sigh, to her former occupation of
bathing Grace’s forehead with _eau-de-Cologne_.
Whilst this little scene was being enacted in the stern cabin, Vernon
Blythe was on deck, standing by the taffrail, and looking expectantly
towards the companion-ladder. It was his first watch that night from
eight to twelve. Mr Coffin had turned in, and the passengers were
amusing themselves with music in the saloon, and cards in the house
amidships. Suddenly Jack saw a pretty head, all covered with curls,
appear at the top of the ladder, and in another moment Alice Leyton
stood by his side. They were alone, but she did not hold up her face
to be kissed as they drew near each other. She seemed to have been
somewhat infected by Vernon’s low spirits the last few days, for she
had certainly been less talkative and merry than usual.
‘Well, Jack,’ she said, as they came within hailing distance, ‘I
thought it was about time I came and looked after you. They are so dull
in the saloon. Almost everybody is reading, and all the gentlemen have
deserted us for those horrid cards. And you must feel it stupid up here
too. Let us try and enliven each other.’
‘Do you know,’ replied Jack, ‘that it is my watch, and you are not
supposed to speak to the officer on duty, Miss Alice?’
‘Bother your watch!’ she retorted. ‘As long as I do not interfere with
your duty, the captain will not object. Mr Coffin was telling me
yesterday that there is no rule about it.’
‘So you have been trying your hand upon poor old Coffin now, have you?
What a dreadful flirt you are. You’d coquet with your own shadow,
sooner than with nothing at all.’
‘Would I?’ cried Alice. ‘Not if it had a petticoat on. That’s all you
know about it, Jack. But what’s the matter with _you_. You’ve not been
half yourself lately. Mother says she hasn’t heard you laugh since we
came aboard.’
‘Too much to think of,’ replied Jack; ‘I have no time to laugh now.’
‘Too much to think of, you old humbug!’ laughed Alice. ‘Why, on a night
like this, there is no work at all to do. That’s why I have inflicted
my company on you. I was afraid you might go to sleep at your post.’
‘There’s no fear of going to sleep where _you_ are, Alice, and as long
as we don’t get a shift of wind, I hope you will stay here, and cheer
me on my lonely watch.’
‘Well, it strikes me you want cheering, Jack. Your face is as long as
a hatchet. Is it anything that _I’ve_ done?’ inquired Alice, with a
guilty fear that he would answer in the affirmative. But he didn’t.
‘_You!_’ he exclaimed, reddening in the moonlight. ‘Oh, dear, no!
What _have_ you been doing? Anything naughty? Because, if that’s the
case, you had better make a clean breast of it at once, and receive my
absolution before you go to sleep.’
‘You’re quite sure you would give me absolution?’ she said saucily.
‘I think so. Why not? It’s better than quarrelling with you, and it
saves a lot of trouble. Only I must hear what you have been guilty of,
before I can decide the amount of absolution you require, and whether
it can be conveyed by one kiss or half-a-dozen.’
‘Jack,’ said Alice, pouting, ‘I don’t believe you love me one bit!’
She was becoming fast aware that she didn’t care for him, and yet she
would not willingly have given him up to any other woman. Dogs in the
manger are nowhere in comparison with the fair sex. They may be utterly
sick of a man’s attentions, and wish never to receive them again, but
they would endure them to the extent of martyrdom sooner than see them
transferred to a rival. Their vanity cannot brook the idea of being
forgotten.
‘What can I do or say to _make_ you believe it?’ returned Jack. ‘I
suppose you say that because I have so little time to devote to you
now. But you know that I would lie all day long at your feet, if I had
not these confounded watches to keep.’
‘But you never say anything nice when we _do_ meet,’ continued Alice.
‘I didn’t know you cared for my nice things. You have so many people
to say them to you. Captain Lovell, for instance! Isn’t he whispering
soft nothings to you all day long?’
Alice blushed furiously.
‘Jack! you’re not jealous--are you?’ she whispered.
He burst out laughing.
‘_Jealous!_ my dear child! Most _decidedly_ not! I’m only too delighted
to see my little girl so well appreciated. What sort of a fellow is
Lovell? Has he got anything in him? He looks rather an ass to me.’
‘Not at all,’ cried Alice indignantly; ‘he is very clever, and most
amusing. I never met any one who made me laugh so much. And he has
travelled all over the world, and has a wonderful memory. It is a shame
of you to call him an ass.’
‘I only said he _looked_ like one! It is all right if he isn’t,’
remarked Jack coolly.
‘You are jealous of him; that’s what it is,’ said Alice, in a temper.
Jack walked straight up to her, and took her hand.
‘My dear little woman! you are perfectly wrong. I am jealous of no man.
You have promised to be my wife, and I rest securely on that promise.
Were I to see you flirting with the whole world, I should not suspect
you of betraying me. Whilst I am engaged to you, I should consider it
most dishonourable to make love to another girl. Why should I suspect
you of possessing a lower nature than my own? So set your mind at rest
upon that score, Alice. I _trust_ you, my dear, as I hope you trust me.’
‘Good-night,’ said Alice, in a stifled voice, as she turned away.
‘Mother will be expecting me to join her in the cabin.’
‘Good-night,’ echoed her lover cheerfully.
Neither of them kissed the other as they parted, though when this
ceremony had first been omitted between them, it would have puzzled
them to say--only they seemed somehow to have involuntarily dropped it.
Alice ran down the companion almost too quickly for safety, and bolting
herself into the cabin, threw herself upon the berth, and burst into a
flood of tears.
‘He is too good for me,’ she thought remorsefully, ‘a thousand times
over. He always was. He trusts me implicitly, and tells me to trust him
in the same manner. Oh, if he only knew!--if he _only knew_!’
But at this juncture she heard the cheerful bustle outside of the
gentlemen returning to the saloon to finish up the evening with singing
and flirtation, so Alice dried her eyes, and arranged her curls afresh,
and emerged to seek consolation at the hands of Captain Lovell.
END OF VOL. I.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.