ROBERT CARR'S REQUEST.
The time went on. The month for which Charlotte Travice had been invited
had lengthened itself into nearly three, and December had come in.
Mrs. Dan Arkell (wholly despising Mildred's acknowledged impression of
the new visitor, and treating her to a sharp lecture for entertaining
it) had made a call on Miss Travice the following morning, and offered
Mildred's services as a companion to her. But in a very short time
Mildred found she was not wanted. William was preferred. _He_ was the
young lady's companion, and nothing loth so to be; and his visits to
Mildred's house, formerly so frequent, became rare almost as those of
angels. It was Charlotte Travice now. She went out with him in the
carriage; she was his partner in the dance; and the breathings on the
flute grew into strains of love. Worse than all to Mildred--more hard to
bear--William would laugh at the satire the London lady was pleased to
tilt at her. It is true Mildred had no great pretension to beauty; not
half as much as Charlotte; but William had found it enough before. In
figure and manners Mildred was essentially a lady; and her face, with
its soft brown eyes and its sweet expression, was not an unattractive
one. It cannot be denied that a sore feeling arose in Mildred's heart,
though not yet did she guess at the full calamity looming for that heart
in the distance. She saw at present only the temporary annoyance; that
this gaudy, handsome, off-hand stranger had come to ridicule, rival, and
for the time supplant her. But she thought, then, it was but for the
time; and she somewhat ungraciously longed for the day when the young
lady should wing her flight back to London.
That expression we sometimes treat a young child to, when a second comes
to supplant it, that "its nose is put out of joint," might decidedly
have been now applied to Mildred. Charlotte Travice took her place in
all ways. In the winter evening visiting--staid, old-fashioned,
respectable visiting, which met at six o'clock and separated at
midnight--Mildred was accustomed to accompany her uncle and aunt. Mrs.
Dan Arkell's visiting days were over; Peter, buried in his books, had
never had any; and it had become quite a regular thing for Mildred to go
with Mr. and Mrs. Arkell and William. They always drove round and
called for her, leaving her at home on their return; and Mildred was
generally indebted to her aunt for her pretty evening dresses--that lady
putting forth as an excuse the plea that she should dislike to take out
anyone ill-dressed. It was all altered now. Flies--as everybody
knows--will hold but four, and there was no longer room for Mildred:
Miss Travice occupied her place. Once or twice, when the winter parties
were commencing, the fly came round as usual, and William walked; but
Mildred, exceedingly tenacious of anything like intrusion, wholly
declined this for the future, and refused the invitations, or went on
foot, well cloaked, and escorted by Peter. William remonstrated, telling
Mildred she was growing obstinate. Mildred answered that she would go
out with them again when their visitor had returned to London.
But the visitor seemed in no hurry to return. She made a faint sort of
pleading speech one day, that really she ought to go back for Christmas;
she was sure Mr. and Mrs. Arkell must be tired of her: just one of those
little pseudo moves to go, which, in politeness, cannot be accepted.
Neither was it by Mr. and Mrs. Arkell: had the young lady remained with
them a twelvemonth, in their proud and stately courtesy they would have
pressed her to stay on longer. Mrs. Arkell had once or twice spoken of
the primary object of her coming--the looking out for some desirable
situation for her; but Miss Travice appeared to have changed her mind.
She thought now she should not like to be in a country school, she said;
but would get something in London on her return.
Mildred, naturally clear-sighted, felt convinced that Miss Travice was
playing a part; that she was incessantly _labouring_ to ingratiate
herself into the good opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Arkell, and especially
into that of William. "Oh, that they could see her as she really is!"
thought Mildred; "false and false!" And Miss Travice took out her
recreation tilting lance-shafts at Mildred.
"How is it you never learned music, Miss Arkell?" she was pleased to
inquire one day, as she finished a brilliant piece, and gave herself a
whirl round on the music-stool to speak.
"I can't tell," replied Mildred; "I did not learn it."
"Neither did you learn drawing?"
"No."
"Well, that's odd, isn't it? Mr. and Mrs. Dan Arkell must have been
rather neglectful of you."
"I suppose they thought I should do as well without accomplishments as
with them," was the composed answer. "To tell you the truth, Miss
Travice, I dare say I shall."
"But everybody is accomplished now--at least, ladies are. I was
surprised, I must confess, to find William Arkell a proficient in such
things, for men rarely learn them. I wonder they did not have you taught
music, if only to play with him. He has to put up with a stranger, you
see--poor me."
Mildred's cheek burnt. "I have _listened_ to him," she said; "hitherto
he has found that sort of help enough, and liked it."
"He is very attractive," resumed Charlotte, throwing her bright eyes
full at Mildred, a saucy expression in their depths; "don't you find him
so?"
"I think you do," was Mildred's quiet answer.
"Of course I do. Haven't I just said it? And so, I dare say, do a great
many others. Yesterday evening--by the way, you ought to have been here
yesterday evening."
"Why ought I?"
"Mrs. Arkell meant to send for you, and told William to go; I heard her.
He forgot it; and then it grew too late."
Mildred did not raise her eyes from her work. She was hemming a
shirt-frill of curiously fine cambric--Mr. Arkell, behind the taste of
his day, wore shirt-frills still. Mrs. Arkell rarely did any plain
sewing herself; what her maid-servants did not do, was consigned to
Mildred.
"Do you _like_ work?" inquired Miss Charlotte, watching her nimble
fingers, and quitting abruptly the former subject.
"Very much indeed."
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders with a spice of contempt. "I hate it; I
once tried to make a tray-cloth, but it came out a bag; and mamma never
gave me anything more."
"Who did the sewing at your house?"
"Betsey, of course. Mamma also used to do some, and groan over it like
anything. I think ladies never ought----"
What Charlotte Travice was about to say ladies ought not to do was
interrupted by the entrance of William. He had not been indoors since
the early dinner, and looked pleased to see Mildred, who had come by
invitation to spend a long afternoon.
"Which of you will go out with me?" he asked, somewhat abruptly; and his
mother came into the room as he was speaking.
"Out where?" she asked.
"My father has a little matter of business at Purford to-day, and is
sending me to transact it. It is only a message, and won't take me two
minutes to deliver; but it is a private one, and must be spoken either
by himself or me. I said I'd go if Charlotte would accompany me," he
added, in his half-laughing, half-independent manner. "I did not know
Mildred was here."
"And you come in and ask which of them will go," said Mrs. Arkell. "I
think it must be Mildred. Charlotte, my dear, you will not feel offended
if I say it is her turn? I like to be just and fair. It is you who have
had all the drives lately; Mildred has had none."
Charlotte did not answer. Mildred felt that it _was_ her turn, and
involuntarily glanced at William; but he said not a word to second his
mother's wish. The sensitive blood flew to her face, and she spoke, she
hardly knew what--something to the effect that she would not deprive
Miss Travice of the drive. William spoke then.
"But if you would like to go, Mildred? It _is_ a long time since you
went out, now I come to think of it."
_Now I come to think of it!_ Oh, how the admission of indifference
chilled her heart!
"Not this afternoon, thank you," she said, with decision. "I will go
with you another opportunity."
"Then, Charlotte, you must make haste, or we shall not be home by dark,"
he said. "Philip is bringing the carriage round."
Mildred stood at the window and watched the departure, hating herself
all the while for standing there; but there was fascination in the
sight, in the midst of its pain. Would she win the prize, this new
stranger? Mildred shivered outwardly and inwardly as the question
crossed her mind.
She saw them drive away--Charlotte in her new violet bonnet, with its
inward trimming of pretty pink ribbons, her prettier face raised to
his--William bending down and speaking animatedly--sober old Philip, who
had been in the family ten years, behind them. Purford was a little
place, about five miles off, on the road to Eckford; and they might be
back by dusk, if they chose. It was not much past three now, and the
winter afternoon was fine.
_Would_ she win him? Mildred returned to her seat, and worked on at the
cambric frill, the question running riot in her brain. A conviction
within her--a prevision, if you will--whispered that it would be a
marriage particularly distasteful to Mr. and Mrs. Arkell. _They_ did not
yet dream of it, and would have been thankful to have their eyes opened
to the danger. Mildred knew this; she saw it as clearly as though she
had read it in a book; but she was too honourable to breathe it to them.
When the frill was finished, she folded it up, and told her aunt she
would take her departure; Peter had talked of going out after banking
hours with a friend, and her mother, who was not well, would be alone.
Mrs. Arkell made but a faint resistance to this: Mildred came and went
pretty much as she liked.
Peter, however, was at home when she got there, sitting over the fire in
the dusk, in a thoughtful mood. On two afternoons in the week, Tuesdays
and Thursdays, the bank closed at four; this was Thursday, and Peter had
come straight home. Mildred took her seat at the table, against five
o'clock should strike, the signal for their young maid-servant to bring
the tea-tray in. It was quite dark outside, and the room was only
lighted by the fire.
"What are you thinking of, Peter?" Mrs. Dan presently broke the silence
by asking.
Peter took his chin from his hand where it had been resting, and his
eyes from the fire, and turned his head to his mother. "I was thinking
of a proposal Colonel Dewsbury made to me to-day," he answered;
"deliberating upon it, in fact, and I think I have decided."
This was something like Greek to Mrs. Dan; even Mildred was sufficiently
aroused from her thoughts to turn to him in surprise.
"The colonel wants me to go to his house in an evening, mother, and read
the classics with his eldest son."
"Peter!"
"For about three hours, he says, from six till nine. He will give me a
guinea a week."
"But only think how you slave and fag all day at that bank," said Mrs.
Dan, who in her ailing old age thought work (as did Charlotte Travice)
the greatest evil of life.
"And only think what a many additional comforts a guinea a week could
purchase for you, mother," cried Peter in his affection; "our house
would be set up in riches then."
"Peter, my dear," she gravely said, "I do not suppose I shall be here
very long; and for comforts, I have as many as I require."
"Well, put it down to my own score, if you like," said Peter, with as
much of a smile as he ever attempted; "I shall find the guinea useful."
"But if you thus dispose of your evenings, what time should you have for
your books?" resumed Mrs. Arkell.
"I'll make that; I get up early, you know; and in one sense of the word,
I shall be at my books all these three hours."
"How came Colonel Dewsbury to propose it to you?"
"I don't know. I met him as I was returning to the bank after dinner,
and he began saying he was trying to find some one who would come in
and read with Arthur. Presently he said, 'I wish you would come
yourself, Mr. Arkell.' And after a little more talk I told him I would
consider of it."
"I thought Arthur Dewsbury was to go into the army," remarked Mrs. Dan,
not yet reconciled to the thing. "Soldiers don't want to be so very
proficient in the classics."
"Not Arthur; he is intended for the church: the second son will be
brought up for the army. Mildred, what do you say--should you take it if
you were me?"
"I should," replied Mildred; "it appears to me to be a wonderfully easy
way of earning money. But it is for your own decision entirely, Peter:
do not let my opinion sway you."
"I think I had decided before I hung up my top-coat and hat on the peg
at the bank," answered Peter. "Yes, I shall take it; I can but resign it
later, you know, mother, if I find it doesn't work well."
The cathedral clock, so close to them, was chiming the quarters, and the
first stroke of five boomed out; Peter rose and stretched himself with a
relieved air. "It's always a weight off my mind when I get any knotty
point decided," quoth he, rather simply; and in truth Peter was not good
for much, apart from his Latin and Greek.
At the same moment, when that melodious college clock was striking,
William Arkell was driving in at his own gates. He might have made more
haste had he so chosen; and Mr. Arkell had charged him to be home
"before dark;" but William had not hurried himself.
He was driving in quickly now, and stopped before the house-door. Philip
left his seat and went to the horse's head, and William assisted out
Miss Travice.
"Have you enjoyed your drive, Charlotte?" he whispered, retaining her
hand in his, longer than he need have done; and there was a tenderness
in his tone that might have told a tale, had anyone been there to read
it.
"Oh! very, very much," she answered, in the soft, sweet, earnest voice
she had grown to use when alone with William. "Stolen pleasures are
always sweetest."
"Stolen pleasures?"
"_This_ was a stolen one. You know I usurped the place of your cousin
Mildred. She ought to have come."
"No such thing, Charlotte. She can go anytime."
"I felt quite sorry for her. I am apt to think those poor seamstresses
require so much air. They----"
"Those what?" cried out William--and Miss Charlotte Travice immediately
knew by the tone, that she had ventured on untenable ground. "Are you
speaking of my cousin Mildred?"
"She is so kind and good; hemming cambric frills, and stitching
wristbands! I wish I could do it. I was always the most wretched little
dunce at plain sewing, and could never be taught it. My sister on the
contrary----"
"I want to speak a word to you, Arkell."
William turned hastily, wondering who was at his elbow. At that moment
the hall-door was thrown open, and the rays of the lamp shone forth,
revealing the features of Robert Carr. Charlotte ran indoors,
vouchsafing no greeting. She had taken a dislike to Robert Carr. He was
free of speech, and the last time he and the young lady met, he had said
something in her ear for which she would be certain to hate him for his
life--"How was the angling going on? Had Bill Arkell bit yet?"
"Hallo!" exclaimed William as he recognised him. "I thought you were in
London! I heard you went up on Tuesday night!"
"And came down last night. I want you to do me a favour, Arkell."
He put his arm within William's as he spoke, and began pacing the yard.
William thought his manner unusual. There seemed a nervous restlessness
about it--if he could have fancied such a thing of Robert Carr. William
waited for him to speak.
"I have had an awful row with the governor to-day," he began at length.
"I don't intend to stand it much longer."
"What about?"
"Oh! the old story--my extravagance. He was angry at my running up to
town for a day, and called it waste of money and waste of time. So
unreasonable of him, you know. Had I stayed a month, he'd not have made
half the row."
"It does seem like waste, to go so far for only a day," said William,
"unless you have business. That is a different thing."
"Well, I had business. I wanted to see a fellow there. You never heard
any one make such a row about nothing. I have the greatest mind in the
world to shake off the yoke altogether, and start for myself in life."
William could not help laughing. "_You_ start?"
"You think I couldn't? If I do, rely upon it I succeed. I'm nearly sick
of knocking about. I declare I'd rather sweep a crossing, and get ten
shillings a week and keep myself upon it, than I'd continue to have my
life bothered out by him. I shall tell him so one of these first fine
days if he doesn't let me alone. Why doesn't he!"
"I suppose the fact is you continue to provoke him," remarked William.
"What about?" was the fierce rejoinder.
"Oh! you know, Carr. What I spoke to you of, before--though it is not
any business of mine. Why don't you drop it?"
"Because I don't choose," returned Robert Carr, understanding the
allusion. "I declare, before Heaven, that there's no wrong in it, and I
don't choose to submit myself, abjectly, to the will of others. The
thing might have been dropped at first but for the opposition that was
raised. So long as fools continue that, I shall go there."
"For the girl's own sake, you should drop it. I presume you can't intend
to marry her----"
"Marry her!" scoffingly interrupted Robert Carr.
"Just so. But she is a respectable girl, and----"
"I'd knock any man down that dared to say she wasn't," said Robert,
quietly.
"But don't you know that the very fact of your continuing to go there
must tend to damage her in public opinion? Edward Hughes must be foolish
to allow it."
"Where's the wrong, or harm, of my going there?" demanded Robert,
condescending to argue the question. "I like the girl excessively; I
like talking to her. She has been as well reared as I have."
"Nonsense," returned William. "You can't separate her from her family;
from what she is. I say you ought to drop it."
"What on earth has made you so squeamish all on a sudden? The society of
that fine London lady, Miss Charlotte Travice?"
They were passing in a ray of light at the moment, thrown across the
yard from one of the carriage lamps. Philip had left the carriage and
the lamps outside, and was in the stable with the horse. Robert Carr saw
his companion's face light up at the allusion, but William replied,
without any symptom of anger--
"I will tell you what, people are beginning to talk of it from one end
of the town to the other. I don't think you have any right to bring the
scandal upon her. You bring it _needlessly_, as you yourself admit. A
girl's good name, once lost, is not easy to regain, although it may be
lost unjustly."
"I told you months ago, that there was nothing in it."
"I believe you; I believe you still. But now that the town has taken the
matter up, and is passing its opinion upon it, I say that for the young
girl's sake you should put a stop to it, and let the acquaintance
cease."
"The town may be smothered for all I care--and serve it right!" was
Robert Carr's reply. "But look here, Arkell, I didn't come to raise up
this discussion, I have no time for it; and you may just take one fact
into your note-book--that all you can say, though you talked till
doomsday, would not alter my line of conduct by a hair's breadth. I came
to ask you a favour."
"What is it?"
"Will you lend me the carriage for an hour or so to-morrow morning? It's
to go to Purford."
"To Purford! Why that's where I have just been. I dare say you may have
it. I will ask my father."
"But that is just what I don't want you to ask. I have to go there on a
little private business of my own, and I don't wish it known that I have
gone."
William hesitated. Only son, and indulged son though he was, he had
never gone the length of lending out his father's carriage without
permission; and he very much disliked the idea of doing so now. Robert
Carr did not give him much time for consideration.
"You will be rendering me a service which I shan't forget, Arkell. If
Philip will drive me over----"
"Philip! Do you want Philip with you?"
"Philip must go to bring back the carriage; I shan't return until the
afternoon. Why, he will be there and home again almost before Mr.
Arkell's up. I must go pretty early."
This, the going of Philip, appeared to simplify the matter greatly. To
allow Robert Carr or anyone else to take the carriage off for a day
without permission was one thing; for Philip to drive him to Purford
early in the morning, and be back again directly, was another. "I think
you may have it, Carr," he said; "but if my father misses the carriage
and Philip--as he is sure to do--and asks where they are----"
"Oh, you may tell him then," interrupted Robert Carr.
"Very well. Shall Philip bring the carriage to your house?"
"No need of that; I'll come here and get up. I'd better speak to Philip
myself. Don't stay out any longer in the cold, Arkell. Good night, and
thank you."
William went indoors; and Robert Carr sought Philip in the stable to
give him his instructions for the morning.