I lay awake quite half an hour that night, and I made up my mind--just
as seriously as though my feelings were likely to prove an important
influence--that I would in no way try to bias my father in his decision
about taking a bailiff. But real as was my trouble about this matter
that to me was so mighty, it was all put to flight the next morning
by an occurrence of more personal and immediate interest. Such is the
blessed elasticity of youth. The occurrence was one which not only
brought the remembrance of Captain Forrester, and my romantic dreams
for Joyce, once more vividly to my mind, but it also gave no small
promise of enjoyment to myself. It consisted in the sudden appearance
of a groom from the Manor, who delivered into my hands a note for
mother.
It was morning when he came; mother was still in the kitchen with
Deborah, and Joyce and I had not finished making our beds and dusting
our room. But I do not think there was any delay in the answering of
that door-bell. I remember how cross I was when mother would insist on
finishing all her business before she opened the note; she went into
the poultry-yard and decided what chickens and what ducks should be
killed for the week's dinners, she went into the dairy to look at the
cream, she even went up herself into the loft to get apples before
she would go and find her spectacles in the parlor. And yet any one
could have imagined that a note from the squire meant something very
important. And so, indeed, it did. It contained a formal invitation to
a grand ball to be given at the Manor-house. The card did not say a
"grand" ball, but of course we knew that it would be a grand ball. We
were fairly dazed with excitement. Actually a ball in our quiet little
village. Such a thing had not been known since I had been grown up,
and I had not even heard of its having occurred since the days when
young Mrs. Broderick had come to the Manor as a bride. Of course we
had been to dances in town once or twice--once to the Hoads', and once
to a county ball, got up at the White Hart Inn, but I think these were
really the only two occasions on which I had danced anywhere out of the
dancing academy. Joyce, being a little older, could count about three
more such exciting moments in her life. The card was passed round from
hand to hand, and then stuck up on the mantle-shelf in front of the
clock, as though there were any danger that any of the family would
be likely to forget on what day and at what hour Squire Broderick had
invited us to "dancing" at the Manor.
"I wonder what has made the squire give a ball now," said mother. "I
suppose it's the prospect of the elections. He thinks he owes it to the
county."
"Why on earth should he owe the county a ball because of the
elections?" cried I. "He is not going to stand, and I don't think he
can suppose that a ball would be likely to do the Farnham interests
much good, if that's the only man they have got to put forward on the
Conservative side."
"I don't think it's a young girl's business to talk in that flippant
way, Margaret," said the mother. Father was not present just then. "I
don't think it's becoming in young folk to talk about matters they
can't possibly understand."
I was nettled at this, but I did not dare to answer mother back.
"You never heard your father talk like that of Mr. Farnham, I'm sure,"
added mother. "He likes him a great deal better than he does Mr.
Thorne, although Mr. Thorne is a Radical."
"Well, I should think so! Mr. Thorne is a capitalist, and father
doesn't think that men who have made such large fortunes in business
ought to exist," cried I, boldly, applying a theory to an individual
as I thought I had been taught. "It is no use his being a Radical, nor
giving money to the poor, because he oughtn't to have the money. It's
dreadful to think of his having bought a beautiful old place like the
Priory with money that he has ground out of his workpeople. No, nobody
will ever like Mr. Thorne in the neighborhood."
"I know squire and he don't hold together at all," answered mother.
"Though they do say Mr. Thorne bought the property through that
handsome young spark of a nephew of the squire's. The families were
acquainted up North."
"Who told you that, mother?" asked I, quickly.
"Miss Farnham said so when she called yesterday," replied mother. "And
she said it was Mr. Thorne was going to contest the seat with her
brother, so I don't know how Mr. Hoad could have come suggesting that
young captain to your father as he did yesterday. A rich man like the
manufacturer would be sure to have much more chance."
I was silent. I was a little out of my depth. "I don't believe Mr. Hoad
knew anything at all about it," I said. "How could a man be going to
contest a seat against the candidate that his own uncle was backing?
It's ridiculous. Mr. Hoad has always got something to say."
"Margaret, you really shouldn't allow yourself to pass so many opinions
on folk," repeated mother. "First Mr. Farnham, and then Mr. Thorne, and
now Mr. Hoad. It's not pretty in young women."
"Very well, mother, I won't do it again," said I, merrily. "At all
events Parliament doesn't matter much, father says so; and anyhow,
squire's going to give us a ball, and nothing can matter so much as
that."
Nothing did matter half so much to us three just then, it is true.
Mother was just as much excited as we were, and we all fell to
discussing the fashions with just as much eagerness, if not as much
knowledge, as if we had been London born and bred.
"You must look over your clothes and see you have got everything neat.
Joyce, I suppose you will wear your white embroidered 'India'?" said
the mother. And from that it was a very natural step to go and look at
the white muslin, and at the other clothes that our simple wardrobes
boasted, so that we spent every bit of that morning that was not taken
up with urgent household duties in turning over frocks and laces and
ribbons, and determining what we should wear, and what wanted washing
before we did wear it. Yes, I think I thought of my dress that day
for the first time in my life. There was no need to think of Joyce's,
because she was sure to be admired, but if there was any chance of my
looking well it could only be because of some happy thought with regard
to my costume; and so when mother suggested that she should give me her
lovely old sea-green shot silk to be made up for the occasion, my heart
leaped for joy. I was very much excited. For Joyce, because I had quite
made up my mind that it was Captain Forrester who had persuaded the
squire to give this ball; and for myself, because it was really a great
event in the life of any girl, and I was passionately fond of dancing.
I spent the afternoon washing my old lace ruffles, and pulling them out
tenderly before the fire, and all the time I was humming waltz tunes,
and wondering who would dance with me, and picturing Joyce to myself
whirling round in the arms of Captain Forrester. I thought of Joyce and
her lover so much that it was scarcely a surprise to me when, just as
the light was beginning to fade and tea-time was near, I heard a sharp
ring at the front door, and running to the back passage window with my
lace in my hand, I saw that Squire Broderick was standing in the porch,
and with him his nephew Captain Forrester. I heard Joyce fly through
the hall to the kitchen. I think she must have seen the two gentlemen
pass down the road, and then she ran back again into the parlor, and
Deborah went to the door.
"Mrs. Maliphant at home?" said the squire's cheery voice; and scarcely
waiting for a reply, he strode through to the front room.
I threw down my lace, turned down my sleeves, and without any more
attention to my toilet I ran down-stairs. Mother had gone to do some
little errands in the village and had not come in; Joyce stood alone
with the visitors. She had her plain dark-blue every-day gown on, but
the soft little frills at her throat and wrists were clean. I remember
thinking how fortunate it was that they were clean. She was standing in
the window with Captain Forrester, who was admiring our view over the
marsh.
"It's a most beautiful country," said he. And his eyes wandered from
the plain without that the shades of evening were slowly darkening to
the face at his side that shone so fair against the little frilled
muslin curtain which she held aside with her hand.
The squire sat at the table; he had taken up the morning paper, and I
supposed that the frown on his face was summoned there by something
that he read in the columns of this the Liberal journal. Captain
Forrester left Joyce and came towards me as soon as I entered the room.
"Miss Maliphant, I am delighted to meet you again," said he, with his
pleasant polished manner that had the art of never making one feel
that he was saying a thing merely to be agreeable. "After our little
adventure of the other day, I felt that it was impossible for me to
leave the neighborhood without trying to make our acquaintance fast."
"Oh, are you leaving the neighborhood?" said I--I am afraid a little
too anxiously.
"Well, not just yet," smiled Captain Forrester. "I think I shall stay
till over the ball."
"Nonsense, Frank," said the squire, rising and pushing the paper away
from him. "Of course you will stay over the ball." Then turning to me,
he said, merrily, "No difficulty about you young ladies coming, I hope?"
"I don't know, Mr. Broderick," answered I. "You must wait and ask
mother. It's a very grand affair for two such simple girls as Joyce and
me."
"Oh, Margaret, I think we shall be allowed to go," put in Joyce, in her
gentle, matter-of-fact voice. "You know we went to a very late ball
last Christmas in town."
Considering that we had been sitting over frocks all the morning, this
would have been nonsense, excepting that Joyce never could see a joke.
"I think I shall have to take Mrs. Maliphant in hand myself if she
makes any objection," said the squire, "for we certainly can't spare
you and your sister."
Joyce blushed, and Captain Forrester turned to her and was going to
say something which I think would have been complimentary, when father
entered the room. He had his rough, brown, ill-cut suit on, and his
blue handkerchief twisted twice round his neck and tied loosely in
front, and did not look at all the same kind of man as the two in
front of him. I noticed it for the first time that evening. I was not
at all ashamed of it. If I had been questioned, I should have said
that I was very proud of it, but I just noticed it, and I wondered if
Captain Forrester noticed it too. It certainly was very odd that it
never should have occurred to me before, that this lover whom I had
picked out for Joyce belonged to the very same class as the squire,
whom I thought so unsuitable to her. I suppose it was because Captain
Forrester was not a landed proprietor, and that any man who belonged to
the noble career of soldiering atoned for his birth by his profession.
"How are you, Maliphant?" said the squire, grasping him by the hand
as though there had been no such thing as any uncomfortable parting
between them. "I'm glad to see you are none the worse for this cursed
east wind. It's enough to upset many a younger and stronger man."
Father had taken the proffered hand, but not very cordially. I am not
sure that he ever shook hands very cordially with people; perhaps it
was partly owing to the stiffness in his fingers, but I believe that
he regarded it as a useless formality. I imagine this because I, too,
have always had a dislike to kissings and hand-shakings, when a simple
"good-day" seemed to me to serve the purpose well enough.
"Pooh!" said father, in answer to the squire's remark. "A man who has
his work out-doors all the year round, Squire Broderick, needs must
take little account whether the wind be in the east or the south,
except as how it'll affect his crops and his flock."
The squire took no notice of this speech. It was so very evident that
it was spoken with a view to the vexed question.
"I've brought my nephew round," said he, and Captain Forrester left
Joyce's side as he said it, and came forward with his pleasant smile
and just the proper amount of deference added to his usual charming
manner. "He wanted to see the Grange," added the squire, again with
that frown upon his brow that I could not understand, but which no
doubt proceeded, as he had affirmed, from the effect of the east wind
upon his temper.
"I'm very glad to see you, sir," said father, shortly. "I hear you
rendered my daughters some assistance the other day."
Captain Forrester smiled. "It could scarcely be called assistance,"
he said. "Your daughter"--and he looked at me to distinguish me from
Joyce--"would have been capable of driving the horse, I am sure."
"Oh, I understood the mare reared," answered father.
"Well, she is not a good horse for a lady to drive," allowed Captain
Forrester, as though the confession were wrung from him; and I wondered
how he guessed that it annoyed me to be thought incapable of managing
the mare. "But some women drive as well as any man."
The squire took up the paper again. I did not think it was good-manners
of him.
"What a splendid view you have from this house," continued Captain
Forrester. "I think it's much finer than from our place."
The squire's shoulders moved with an impatient movement. The article he
was reading must decidedly have annoyed him.
"Yes," answered Joyce; "but you should come and see it in summer or in
autumn. It's very bleak now. The spring is so late this year."
"Ay; I don't remember a snowfall in March these five years," said
father.
"But it has a beautiful effect on this plain," continued the young man,
moving away into the window again. And then turning round to Joyce, he
added, "Do you sketch, Miss Maliphant?"
"No, no," answered father for her. "We have no time for such things. We
have all of us plenty to do without any accomplishments."
"Miss Margaret can sing 'Robin Adair,'" put in the squire, "as well as
I want to hear it, accomplishments or not."
"Indeed," said Captain Forrester, with a show of interest. "I hope she
will sing it to me some day."
He said it with a certain air of patronage, which I found afterwards
came from his own excellent knowledge of music.
"Are you fond of singing?" said I, simply. I was too much of a country
girl to think of denying the charge. I was very fond of good music;
it was second nature to me, inherited, I suppose, from some forgotten
ancestor, and picking out tunes on the old piano was the only thing
that ever kept me willingly in-doors. Father delighted in my simple
singing of simple ditties, and so did the squire; I had grown used to
thinking it was a talent in me, my only one, and I was not ashamed of
owning up to it. "I'll sing it to you now if you like."
"That's very kind of you," said the young man, with a little smile.
And I sat down and sang the old tune through. I remember that, for the
first time in my life, I was really nervous. Captain Forrester stood by
the piano. He was very kind; I don't know that any one had ever said so
much to me about my voice before, but in spite of it all I knew for the
first time that I knew nothing. I felt angrily ashamed when Joyce, in
reply to pressing questions about her musical capacity, answered that
I had all the talent, and began telling of the village concerts that I
was wont to get up for the poor people, and of how there was one next
week, when he must go and hear me sing.
"Certainly I will," he answered, pleasantly, "and do anything I can to
help you. I have had some practice at that kind of thing."
"Why don't you say you are a regular professional at it, Frank?" put in
the squire, I fancied a little crossly. "He's always getting up village
concerts--a regular godsend at that kind of thing."
Frank laughed, and said he hoped we would employ him after such a
character, and then he asked what was our programme. Joyce told him.
I was going to sing, and Miss Hoad was going to sing--and she sang
beautifully, for she had learned in London--and then I would sing
with the blacksmith, and Miss Thorne would play with the grocer on
the cornet, and glees and comic songs would fill up the remainder.
The smile upon Captain Forrester's face clouded just a little at the
mention of Miss Thorne.
"Miss Thorne is not very proficient on the piano," said he. "Have you
already asked her to perform?"
"Do you know Miss Thorne?" asked Joyce, surprised.
"Yes," answered the captain; "she lived in the village where I was
brought up as a boy--not far from Manchester. Her father was a great
manufacturer, you know."
"Yes; we know that well enough." And I glanced uneasily at father; for
if he knew that this young fellow was a friend of the Thornes, I was
afraid it would set him against him. Luckily, he was busy talking to
the squire.
"She's a very nice girl," said Joyce, kindly, wanting to be agreeable,
although indeed we knew no more of Mary Thorne than shaking hands with
her coming out of church on a Sunday afternoon.
"Charming," acquiesced the captain; "but she's not a good musician, and
I shouldn't ask her to perform unless you're obliged to."
We said we were not obliged to; but Joyce said she wouldn't like to do
anything unkind, and she was afraid Mary Thorne wanted to be asked to
perform. And then they two retired into the window again, discussing
the concert and the view, and I soon saw proudly that they were talking
as though they had known one another for years. It generally took
a long while for any one to get through the first ice with Joyce,
but this man had an easy way with him; he was so sympathetic in his
personality--so kind and frank and natural.
"That's a most ridiculous article in the _Herald_," said the squire to
father. "I wonder Blair can put in such stuff. He's a sensible man."
"I wonder you'll admit even that, squire," answered father, with a
little laugh. The paper, I need not say, was the Liberal organ.
"Oh, well," smiled the other, "I can see the good in a man though I
don't agree with him. But I think _that_"--pointing to the print--"is
beneath contempt."
"I don't hold with it myself," answered father; "the man has got no
pluck."
"Oh no, of course--doesn't go far enough for you, Maliphant," laughed
the squire; and at that moment mother came in or I do not know what
father would have answered. She came in slowly, and stood a moment in
the door-way looking round upon us all. Joyce blushed scarlet, and came
forward out of the recess. The squire rose and hastened towards her.
"We have been invading your house while you have been away, Mrs.
Maliphant," said he. "That wasn't polite, was it? But you'll forgive
me, I know."
Mother's eyes scarcely rested on him; they travelled past him to
Captain Forrester, who stood in the window.
"My nephew, Frank Forrester," said the squire, hastily following her
look. The captain advanced and bowed to mother. He could do nothing
more, for she did not hold out her hand.
"I am very glad to see any friend of yours, squire," said she. And then
she turned away from him, and unfastened her cloak, which I took from
her and hung up in the hall.
"Joyce, lay the cloth," said she. "We'll have tea at once." I left the
room with sister.
"Never mind," whispered I, outside, as we fetched the pretty white
egg-shell cups that always came out when we had any company; "mother
doesn't mean to be queer. She is just a little cold now, because she
wants Captain Forrester to understand it wasn't with her leave we let
him drive us home. But she isn't really cross."
"Cross! Oh, Margaret, no--of course not," echoed Joyce. She was taking
down a plate from under a pile of cups, and said no more at the moment.
I was ashamed and half vexed. That was the worst of Joyce. Sometimes
she would reprove one when one was actually fighting her battles.
"Of course we ought not to have done it," continued she, setting the
cups in order on the tray. "I felt it at the time."
"Then, why in the world didn't you say so?" cried I.
"I didn't know how to say so; you scarcely gave me a chance,"
answered she. "Of course, I know you did it because I was so stupidly
frightened, but it makes me rather uncomfortable now."
"Oh, I thought you seemed to get on very well with Captain Forrester,
just now," said I, huffily, kneeling down to reach the cake on the
bottom shelf. "You seemed quite civil to him, and you didn't look
uncomfortable."
"Didn't I? I'm glad," answered Joyce, simply. "Of course one wants to
be civil to the squire's friends in father's house. And I do think he
is a very polite gentleman."
She took up the tray and moved on into the parlor, and I went across
into the kitchen to fetch the urn. I had never been envious of Joyce's
beauty up to the present time. Nothing had happened to make me so, and
I was fully occupied in being proud of it. But if her beauty was of
such little account to her that she had not even been pleased by this
handsome man's admiration of it--well, I thought I could have made
better use of it.
When I went into the parlor again the groups were all changed. Father
stood by the fire and the squire had risen. Father had his hands
crossed behind his back and his sarcastic expression on, and the squire
was talking loudly. Joyce was laying the cloth, and mother stood by the
window where sister had stood before; Captain Forrester was talking to
her as if he had never cared to do anything else. I could not hear what
they were saying, the squire's voice was too loud; but I could see that
mother was quite civil.
"I never liked that man Hoad," the squire was saying, and I felt
a throb of satisfaction as I heard him. "I don't believe he's
straightforward. Do anything for money, that's my feeling."
"He's a friend of mine," said father, stiffly.
"Oh, well, of course, if he's a friend of yours, well and good,"
answered Mr. Broderick, shortly. "You probably know him better than I
do. But I don't like him. I should never be able to trust him."
"Perhaps that is because you do not know him," suggested father.
"No doubt, no doubt," answered the squire.
"I hear he has turned Radical now," added he, coming to the real core
of the grievance. "He used to call himself a Liberal, but now I hear he
calls himself a Radical, and is going to put up some Radical candidate
to oppose us."
"Yes, I know," answered father, too honest to deny the charge.
"Oh, do you know who it is?" asked the squire, sharply.
"No, I don't," answered father, in the same way.
The squire paused a moment, then he said, unable to keep it in, "Are
you going to support him too?"
The color went out of father's face; I knew he was angry.
"Well, Mr. Broderick, I don't know what sort of a candidate it'll be,"
said he, in a provoking manner. "There's Radicals and Radicals."
The squire smacked his boot with his walking-stick and did not answer.
Captain Forrester came forward, for mother had gone to the table to
make the tea.
"Did I hear you say that you were a Radical, Mr. Maliphant?" asked the
young man, looking at father.
"I am not a Tory," answered father, without looking up. I thought his
tone was cruelly curt.
"Well, I am a Socialist," answered Frank Forrester, with an air that
would have been defiant had it not been too pleasant-spoken. Father
smiled. The words must have provoked that--would have provoked more if
the speaker had not been so good-tempered.
"Ah, I know what you young fellows mean by a Socialist," he murmured.
"I should say I went about as far as most men in England," said Frank,
looking at him in that open-eyed fixed way that he used towards men as
well as towards women.
"I should say that you went farther than you can see," said the Squire,
laconically.
Frank laughed, good-humoredly. "Ah, I refuse to quarrel with you,
uncle," said he, taking hold of the squire's arm in a friendly fashion.
It was said as though he would imply that he could quarrel with other
people when he liked, but his look belied his words.
"If you will let me, I'll come in and have a chat one of these days,
Mr. Maliphant," continued he. "When uncle is not by, you know." He said
the words as though he felt sure that his request would be granted,
and yet with his confidence there was a graceful deference to the elder
man which was very fascinating. Why did father look at him as he did?
Did he feel something that I felt? And what was it that I felt? I do
not know.
"I am a busy man and haven't much time for talk, sir, but you're
welcome when you like to call," answered father, civilly, not warmly.
The squire had sat down again while his nephew and father were
exchanging these few words. He crossed one knee over the other and sat
there striking his foot with his hand--a provoking habit that he had
when he was trying to control his temper.
"There'll be a nice pair of you," said he, trying to turn the matter
off into a joke. "It's a pity, Frank, that you have no vote to help Mr.
Maliphant's candidate with."
"I don't know that any so-called Radical candidate would or could
do much in Parliament to help the questions that I have at heart,"
said Captain Forrester. "As Mr. Maliphant justly observed, there are
Radicals and Radicals, and the political Radical has very little in
common with those who consider merely social problems."
Father did look up now, and his eyes shone as I had seen them shine
when he was talking to the working-men, for though I had not often
heard him--the chief of his discourses being given in the village
club--I had once been to a large meeting in town where he had been the
chief speaker.
"One never knows where to have any of you fellows," laughed the squire,
rather uncomfortably. "You always led me to believe, Maliphant, that
you would have nothing to do with political party spirit. You always
said that no party yet invented would advance the interests of the
people in a genuine fashion, and now, as soon as a Radical candidate
appears, you talk of supporting him."
"I am not aware that I talked of supporting him," said father.
"But you won't return a Radical," continued the squire, not hearing
the remark. "The country isn't ripe for that sort of thing yet,
whatever you may think it will be. You're very influential, I know.
And if you're not with us, as I once hoped you might be, you'll be a
big weight against us. But with all your influence you won't return a
Radical. The Tories are too strong; they're much stronger than they
were last election, and then Sethurst was an old-fashioned Liberal and
a well-known man in the county besides. You won't return a Radical. I
don't believe there's a county in England would return what you would
call a Radical, and certainly not ours."
"I don't believe there is," said father, quietly.
"Then why do you want to support this candidate?"
"I don't," answered father. "I'm a man of my word, Squire Broderick.
I told you long ago I'd have nothing to do with politics, and no more
I will. If I am to be of any use, I must do it in another way--I must
work from another level. The county may return what it likes for all I
shall trouble about it."
"Well, 'pon my soul," began the squire, but at that moment mother's
voice came from the tea-table. She saw that a hot argument was
imminent, and she never could abide an argument. I think that father,
too, must have been disinclined for one, for when she said, "Father,
your tea is poured out," he took the hint at once. The squire looked
disappointed for a moment, but I think he was so glad that father's
influence was not going to take political shape against his candidate
that he forgave all else.
Mother was just making Captain Forrester welcome beside her as the
newest guest, when Deborah opened the door and ushered in Mr. Hoad.
I had quite forgotten that father had invited him. He stood a moment
as it were appraising the company. His eyes rested for less than an
instant on Squire Broderick, on Captain Forrester, and then shifted
immediately to mother.
"Oh, I am afraid that I intrude, Mrs. Maliphant," said he.
"Not at all, not at all, Hoad," declared father. "Come in; we expected
you."
Mother rose and offered him her hand. Then Captain Forrester, who had
been looking at him, came forward and offered his too in his most
genial manner. It was not till long afterwards that I found out that he
made a special point of always being most genial to those people whom
he considered ever so little beneath him.
"Oh, how are you, Hoad?" said he. "I thought I recognized you, but I
wasn't quite sure. I didn't expect to meet you here."
"No; nor I you!" exclaimed Hoad, gliding with ready adaptability into
the position offered him--a quality which I think was perhaps his chief
characteristic. "Delighted to see you."
Forrester gave up his place next mother, and sat down beside Joyce.
The squire just nodded to Mr. Hoad, and then the conversation became
general till the squire and his nephew left, very shortly afterwards.