The gnawing envy, the heart-fretting fear,
The vain surmises, the distrustful shews,
The false reports that flying tales do bear,
She doubts, the dangers, the delays, the woes,
She feigned friends, the unassured foes,
With thousands more than any tongue can tell,
Do make a lover's life a wretched hell.
SPENSER.
The hall into which Margaret was ushered was low-ceilinged, carpeted,
and adorned with numerous glass cases filled with stuffed animals, such
as a seal, an otter, a Norway bear, and the rarer kinds of birds, that
sometimes fall into the way of sportsmen, in distant parts of this
island. Some handsome furs were stretched before a blazing wood fire,
upon which several dogs lay enjoying the warmth. The oak staircase was
wide and finely carved, and at every few steps there was a broad
landing-place, while the balustrades took the opportunity to make a halt
also, and to transform themselves into huge claws, which sustained the
scutcheon of the Singletons, with the raven's heads, and golden roses
duly emblazoned on them.
The room into which Margaret was shown, was divided into two
compartments by a screen of oak carved like filagree, with a doorway
left in the centre to admit of passing through; the one side of this
screen serving for a dressing-room; the other for a bed-room, having a
recess filled with a curious tall bed, gloomy with plumes and purple
velvet hangings.
While her maid was arranging the preliminaries of her toilet, and
Margaret was looking at all the curiosities that the room
contained,--the carved wardrobe, the curiously framed pictures, the
antique looking glass, upheld by silver cupids, who bestowed on the
mirror, the lace draperies of which they themselves seemed to stand in
some little need; her door was thrown open, and Harriet rushed into the
room, so altered, so improved, so radiant with health and beauty, that
Margaret hardly knew her again.
"Well!" exclaimed Harriet, after kissing and fondling her as she would
have done a pet child. "Well, now I have you here, after this long
while; I shall not let you go again in a hurry!"
"You are very kind, very kind, indeed," said Margaret, almost overcome
by the warmth of her reception, "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see
you again, you good little creature. But do you know you are grown
considerably taller? You will be too tall to pet soon, if you do not
take care. What are you looking at? We have some people staying in the
house, that is the reason I have made something of a toilet."
Harriet was rounded into a splendid woman. Her complexion was as soft
and clear as alabaster, and a bright carnation colour in her cheeks,
gave a dazzling brilliancy to her hazel eyes. She wore a white Cachemere
dress, edged with a red Greek pattern; her hair was banded back from her
forehead, and a slight wreath of white periwinkles, mixed with dark
green leaves, encircled her head.
"I was not looking at your dress," said Margaret, smiling, "I did not
ascribe your appearance to your toilet, I assure you."
"You little flatterer! But do you know you will cut us all out? I never
saw any one so improved, and you were quite pretty enough to do mischief
before."
"Oh, Harriet!" said Margaret, hardly knowing to what her volatile
companion referred.
"True for you," said Harriet, archly. "Well, you have not asked me all
the particulars of Lucy's marriage."
"I ought to congratulate you upon it," said Margaret, "I hope Lady
Raymond is well?"
"Lady Raymond--yes, I will let you call Lucy so, because you were not
very intimate with her, though I mean you to know each other more by
and by; but if you call me Lady Anything, when I marry a Lord, I will
not forgive you. Yes, Lucy is very well, and as happy as possible. Lord
Raymond is amazingly fond of her; the more so, perhaps, because he is
not very likely to attract any body else. There was such a party at the
breakfast! We, the bridesmaids, had pelisses of peach-coloured silk,
trimmed with swansdown, and Lucy was all in white lace, and she looked
so cold, poor girl, while we were as cosy as possible in our warm coats.
And Lord Raymond stammered dreadfully; which was very odd, for I had
been hearing him the responses for a week previous."
"Harriet, you make me laugh!"
"I mean it. Now let us come down together. You will love my Aunt
Singleton; she is such a good little mouse!"
Mrs. Singleton did win very much upon Margaret by the manner in which
she received her: there was something in her quiet and impressive
kindness which seemed to say that she felt a more than ordinary interest
for the orphan who was thrown in her way.
Margaret looked at her serious but sweet countenance, and felt with the
intuitive knowledge that experience gives, that Mrs. Singleton must have
suffered much at some period of her life, and that her placidity was as
much the effect of resignation as of contentment.
Mr. Singleton looked the hearty fox-hunter. He welcomed Margaret with
honest kindness, thanked her repeatedly for taking so long a journey to
gratify a wish of Harriet's, and hoped earnestly that dinner would soon
be announced, since he was certain she must have been starved on the
road. He then crossed over to welcome a strange looking young man who
had entered the room, and was standing on the other side of the ample
fire-place.
This young man might have been of age, though a short, stumpy face,
surmounting a very large person, gave him the appearance of a little
boy under a strong magnifier. His arms were too short, and his hands,
which were singularly small, seemed to hang the wrong way. He gave a
little kick behind, when he attempted to bow, and began almost every
sentence with a short barking laugh.
"Look at that animal!" said Harriet leaning across to Margaret. "That is
Mr. Humphries--the very rich Mr. Humphries! Is he not exactly like a
seal set upright? Look at him trying to reach my aunt with his short
fins! Quite in vain, my good friend! Oh, no, Mr. Humphries, I never
shake hands, you know."
The youth, who had advanced for the purpose of exchanging this courtesy
with Harriet, barked, gave his accustomed scrape, and retired. Harriet
continued her caustic remarks to Margaret.
"Observe the very fat Mrs. Pottinger in the brocaded gown and Mrs.
Markham with a whole dish of grapes and currants upon her head; and
their well-bred daughters whispering together on that ottoman--comparing
notes about you, I have no doubt! I tell my uncle he need never expect
me to pay any attention to this sort of guests. I hardly know who shall
take me in to dinner. Colonel Markham drawls so, and Mr. Pottinger
speaks through his nose. Then Mr. Baxter is so fat, and the seal--oh! I
see Evan has caught somebody that will do to walk across the room with.
Uncle Singleton, let that black-looking man take me in to dinner. Evan,
I wish to introduce you to Miss Capel."
"Delighted," said Mr. Evan Conway bowing to Margaret.
"You will also take Miss Capel in to dinner."
"Delighted."
"And, oh! in case I don't come near you again, be careful that you make
Mr. Humphries sing in the evening."
"Delighted."
"Evan is not a fool," said Harriet, turning to Margaret, "though you
would think so by his using only one word to express everything. What is
that man's name Evan, who is propping that side of the chimney-piece
with his shoulder?"
"Gordon."
"Oh, good Heaven! A Scotchman! I retract, Margaret, I will have Colonel
Markham; though he drawls, he says very little; and anything is better
than the brogue. What is he, this Scotchman?"
"Nothing."
"Worse and worse. I detest a man without an occupation; and now I look
at him, I suspect he writes."
"Sometimes."
"What does he write in the name of goodness?"
"Travels."
"Oh! that is better than poetry, don't you think so Margaret? I am not
sure if I will not put up with him. Is he poor?"
"No."
"Rich then?"
"Nor rich."
"One of your black swans that I always find to be so much worse than
geese?"
"Perhaps."
"Introduce him to me."
"Harriet--Mr. Gordon."
"What a detestable introduction. I suppose Mr. Gordon, you are
sufficiently acquainted with Evan not to be surprised at anything he
says or does?"
Margaret did not hear Mr. Gordon's reply, for he led Harriet off to
dinner, which was announced at the moment, and she accepted the offered
arm of Mr. Evan Conway.
Margaret was struck with the appearance of the dining-room. It was a
large dark room; for although crowded with lamps, black oak is the most
difficult of all things to light up. The mantle-piece was in the form of
a Gothic arch; the ceiling crossed with carved beams of wood; and at the
end of the apartment there was an arched recess, where stood the
sideboard loaded with old plate.
"Are you fond of talking?" said Mr. Evan, as soon as they were placed at
table.
Margaret thought the question an odd one; but she said that she had
never considered the subject, and that she should hardly think herself a
good judge of her own peculiarities.
"Singular now, what different replies people give to the same question,"
said her companion. "Most young ladies say, oh, no, Mr. Evan! Or, how
can you ask such things, Mr. Conway? Or, dear me, what makes you think
so? You may imagine how much refreshed I feel, when a young lady makes
an answer which shows something like thought and originality. Pray who
taught you to sing?"
"I believe, I taught myself," said Margaret, amused by the singularity
of her neighbour.
"Very industrious of you!" said he smiling. "It is a great exertion to
teach oneself anything. One has to undergo the double labour of master
and scholar--both hard situations. Do you like the society in this
neighbourhood?"
"I know nothing of it. I arrived to-day, just before dinner."
"But the general aspect of it--do pronounce an opinion. What a
combination of grace and intelligence in the ladies! and--and--what is
the corresponding virtue in the gentlemen?"
"I cannot tell," said Margaret.
"Oh! let us come to a decision--or, suppose we illustrate. The man
opposite, whom that amiable girl is trying to encourage, mistaking
awkwardness for shyness,--is he your beau-ideal?"
"I will not tell you," said Margaret.
"Poor Humphries!" said Mr. Evan, still looking at the couple on the
other side. "He will go home now, and swear she is his devoted admirer!
How well Miss Bremer hits off a scene of that kind in the new novel of
the H---- Family."
"I recollect it," said Margaret, smiling.
"His letter to his brother--ha! ha!--You ladies see the bye-play of
society so very keenly."
"I am not an authoress," said Margaret.
"I am aware of that. You do not look in the least like one, I can assure
you."
"What do they look like, then?"
"Green spectacles, frizzled hair, which they obstinately refuse to cover
with a cap. Large hands in black mittens--ditto feet, in villainous
thick shoes. In fact, every thing that is most odious in women, and to
crown all, when they walk abroad, or take the air, or whatever phrase
they may employ to indicate their savage peregrinations, they exhibit to
the world an old straw bonnet adorned with a broken black feather--this
costume is invariable."
"I do not believe that picture to be always correct," said Margaret
laughing.
"But it has entirely answered my purpose, it has made you laugh; and a
genuine merry laugh is not a thing to be met with every day in the
week."
"But a description is of no value if it is devoid of truth," said
Margaret.
"Truth, my dear Miss Capel, is a very excellent lady or gentleman, (I am
not quite certain of the gender) and I do not dispute its value; for you
may have often remarked that the things are valuable in proportion to
their scarcity. The most ill-favoured curiosities fetch a high price in
the market. Nobody denies that truth is scarce enough to be a curiosity,
and in most cases a very ill-favoured one. You don't agree with me, and
I'm very sorry for it--but I cannot alter my opinion."
"I was not going to oppose it," said Margaret. "I have no mania for
making converts."
"No. You were merely saying to yourself that you had come in the way of
a monstrous odd person. That you did not agree with a word he said; but
that it was not worth while to oppose the fancies of a passing
acquaintance."
Margaret laughed.
"Now, by way of returning good for evil, I will give you some excellent
advice. Never touch either curry or ice at this house. They do not
manage well the two extremes of hot and cold. The curry is stuffed with
rhubarb, and the ice with ground-glass. I found a splinter in my mouth
the other day. On the contrary, their farm yard is famous--no end of
chickens and turkies, and fresh eggs and cream; it is quite a
country-house you see. Well, it is very hard you will not believe any
thing I say."
"I was not going to contradict you," said Margaret.
"But you have no idea how transparent your countenance is. It will take
four or five years more before you will be able to conceal your
sentiments. You did not think, when first I was introduced to you, that
I was such a _causeur_. But, reflect, my dear Miss Capel, upon the
extreme difficulty of keeping up any kind of conversation with my sister
Harriet. A single word introduced edgeways, is the amount of any one's
share in a dialogue with her. She is fond of talking, and so am I; and,
of course, as a lady, I always yield her the precedence. Do not run away
with the idea that I am a satirical person. I am by no means rapid in
detecting the weak points in my neighbour's characters. Do you mean to
hunt next Tuesday?"
"Oh, no!"
"Why not? Harriet would give you an infallible mount; I believe that is
their phrase. For my own part, I never was on a horse in my life."
"Oh! am I to believe that?"
"Why not? It is out of my line. Depend upon it, there is something in
the atmosphere of a stable that impairs a man's brains, supposing he
sets out in life with any; and the few I may possess are the only means
of earning salt to my porridge. I have, therefore, always rather
shunned four-footed animals. But that reason does not apply to you."
"Not exactly that reason; but it is equally out of my line. I mean
hunting, for I am very fond of riding. It is very becoming to Harriet;
but in me, it would be only an imitation, and a very awkward one."
"You do seem to be one of those whom the winds of Heaven should not
visit too roughly," said Mr. Evan. "What, rising already? Harriet is in
a great hurry to dissolve the house to-night. Will you sit next me
to-morrow?"
Margaret was the last person to give a favourable answer to so bold a
request. She gathered together her gloves and her handkerchief in
silence, and followed the ladies into the drawing-room.
"Well, what do you think of Evan?" asked Harriet eagerly, as soon as she
could reach Margaret.
"I think him very clever, but I could not get rid of the impression
that he was laughing at me."
Harriet fell on an ottoman in a burst of merriment.
"Dear, little innocent; laughing at you, depend on it men never laugh at
any thing so pretty. Miss Lydia Pottinger, don't you think my friend
here the prettiest woman in Somersetshire."
The young lady thus appealed to, would much rather have been burned than
have allowed such a truth. She was not generous enough even to think
Margaret pretty, much less to say so; therefore, after a little cough,
which Harriet watched with much amusement, she exclaimed with great
naiveté:
"Oh! talking of beauty, dear Miss Conway, you can't think the number of
pretty women we saw at Boulogne. Hetty and I remarked that really every
other woman was good looking."
"Really!" said Harriet directing towards her the proud stare that
Margaret had sometimes noticed at Chirke Weston, when any one in
company displeased her. "I say, Margaret, the creature supposes I do not
see her poor evasion; I know it would have choked her to admit your
beauty, but I wished her choked!" and Harriet stood with her foot on the
fender, and her hand on the mantel-piece, looking whole volumes of scorn
that Miss Lydia had not been willing to undergo strangulation at her
desire.
"Look, ma mie," she continued, "do you like these candlesticks of gold
filigree? These people are going to stay all to-morrow and part of the
next day. Fancy! that is the way we visit in this part of the country.
Did you see how I man[oe]uvred Miss Markham into the chair next Mr.
Humphries? Pretended that I should be wanted to carve the fowls, a thing
I never did, and never shall do, and gave her my place; so, never say
that I neglect the interests of my aunt's guests."
"Did you like Mr. Gordon?"
"After all the trouble I took to get him; no. He was very conceited; so
I merely told him to hold his tongue, and amused myself by watching you
and Evan."
"Do you not think," said Margaret timidly, "had you not better talk a
little to some of the young ladies?"
"I--why no--I think not," said Harriet, throwing her haughty glance
around, "I am not a very popular character among them. Do you try the
Markhams, and if you find them bearable, I'll see about it."
So Margaret did as she was desired, and the usual nothings were
exchanged between her and the young ladies.
Harriet remained standing in the same attitude looking at their
proceedings in the glass, and of course got the credit of spending the
time in contemplating her own face. Nothing could be more independent
than her proceeding. She prepared herself a cup of coffee, placed it on
the chimney-piece, and drank it at intervals; still keeping her eyes
fixed on the glass. Then she came sauntering up to Miss Markham who was
talking to Margaret.
"Well, Miss Markham," she said, "how did you like Mr. Humphries?"
"Oh! very much," said Miss Markham, drawing her gold chain through her
fingers, "he improves upon acquaintance."
"He had need," returned Harriet shortly, and she turned away and
loitered about the room until the gentlemen appeared.
"Here comes the English Moriani!" she exclaimed, as Mr. Humphries made
his appearance in the doorway. "Come, Mr. Humphries, lose no time, begin
singing directly."
He scraped with one foot, gave a very wide smile, and said he should be
happy, if she had anything he knew, and if she would take the trouble to
accompany him.
Harriet pointed to a heap of music; told him to select three or four
songs, and sent Miss Markham to play for him: while she threw herself on
a sofa near, and summoned Margaret to sit by her.
"Come here, ma mie," she said, "you have been very good and civil, and
Aunt Singleton has been smiling her approbation of you for the last half
hour. Now rest yourself. Is it not strange what a fine voice that seal
has? Look at him turning the leaves with his short fins. He will be the
death of me! But you should see him hunt; he has a capital stud, and
rides well though you would not believe it. Will you have him?"
"No thank you," said Margaret laughing.
"Then I will not interfere with Miss Markham. What is that commotion, I
wonder, among the dogs in the hall? It cannot be an arrival at this time
of night. I must go and sing that duet from the Andronico with Mr.
Humphries. You will admire it extremely."
Mr. Humphries and Harriet sang admirably, Margaret was delighted, and
drew near the piano to listen. Most of the gentlemen came round to
applaud and admire, while the young ladies contented themselves with
remarking that they had been taught in a different style, and had been
always recommended to avoid such theatrical music as the unhappy duet
now under discussion.
Meantime, while the fine voices of the singers were gliding through the
charming little movement, _O voce soave_, all unconscious of the
imputations thrown upon their efforts, Margaret was very much surprised
to see the door thrown open, and Mr. Gage walk leisurely up to Mrs.
Singleton. She concluded that he was staying in the house, and that
having dined out, he was only just returned. Nothing could be farther
from the fact.
Having paid his compliments to the lady of the house, he advanced to Mr.
Singleton, who greeted him with a start and a shout, and many other
boisterous indications of surprise and pleasure; and seizing him by the
arm, hurried him among the group round the piano; where regardless of
Harriet's occupation, he tapped her on the shoulder, and bade her
welcome an old friend of hers. Now Mr. Singleton had always taken Mr.
Gage's part, although he stood too much in awe of Harriet to contend the
point with her; but she well knew his opinion, and had no idea of making
her welcome a very warm one.
Without the slightest sign of embarrassment or surprise, without even
interrupting her part in the duet, which was now drawn to a close, she
allowed him to touch her hand, stooped her head a little, and then
directed her glance steadily over Miss Markham's shoulder to the pages
of the music book from which she was reading. Mr. Gage was not given to
betray his feelings any more than herself--perhaps he had anticipated no
kinder reception--he drew himself up, stared haughtily at the company,
arranged his moustaches, looked at his watch, told Mr. Singleton he had
not expected to arrive so soon; and then perceiving Margaret, advanced
to her, believed--was _sure_ he had the pleasure of addressing Miss
Capel; pressed her hand with remarkable earnestness, told her how
rejoiced he was to meet her again so unexpectedly; hoped that her stay
at Singleton Manor was likely to be a long one; and, in fact, tried very
hard to make an impression. It was plain he had either forgotten, or
forgiven her rejection of Hubert, and so far Margaret was pleased; for
the rest, she knew what his extreme civility meant. This lasted until
the company had done thanking and complimenting the singers; and then
Margaret expected that Harriet would have addressed a few words to Mr.
Gage, who was standing close beside her; but she perversely turned round
and addressed Mr. Humphries.
"Well," she said, "you and I, Mr. Humphries, have done something
wonderful, according to all these good people. I think we _did_ get on
very well."
"Oh! I am glad of that, Miss Conway. Was I quite right in that last
part?"
"Quite; it never went better."
"Oh! I was afraid of that E. It is such an awkward interval."
"Very. A seventh always is; and it is more difficult to hit in concerted
music than in a solo."
"Yes. Shall you hunt to-morrow?"
"I have not made up my mind; and you know even if I had, I might change
it: women are not always to be depended upon."
"Oh! I don't know. I like--I have not a bad opinion of women, do you
know, Miss Conway."
"I am sure all the women are much obliged to you for your good opinion,
Mr. Humphries," said Harriet, fixing her brilliant eyes upon him,
without the slightest appearance of irony in their expression; "it is a
proof of your good sense not to follow in the common track of unmeaning
abuse against our sex."
"Yes; that is what I think--there is no sense in it: and people who have
mothers--and that--"
Mr. Humphries evidently thought his sentence complete; and Harriet,
leaning over Margaret, whispered, "Mothers, _and that_:--to think that
old Chaucer's delicate idea should have found its way into such a head,
no wonder it comes out again rather garbled!"
Still Mr. Gage stood fronting Harriet, with his eyes fixed full upon
her; and still she perversely avoided meeting his glance.
"We owe you a thousand thanks, Miss Markham," she said, turning
graciously to that young lady, "for your accompaniment:--the second
movement is no sinecure to play."
"I was very happy, I am sure, to be of any use," said Miss Markham,
amiably.
"Perhaps you will be able to induce Mr. Humphries to give us 'Di
pescator ignobile.' I forget who was your singing master, Mr.
Humphries?"
"Oh! I learned when I was at Oxford of one of the choristers. I had
three lessons a week all the time I was there; and glee meetings besides
of an evening."
"All you ever did learn there, I'll engage!" whispered Harriet, as Mr.
Humphries went to the piano.
Margaret looked anxiously at Harriet, and at Mr. Gage; she seemed so
determined not to notice him, and he looked equally resolved to make her
speak.
"So it was you making all that noise," said Harriet, turning carelessly
round; "I thought the dogs had gone mad!"
"Donald recognised me, I believe," said Mr. Gage; "the noise was of his
making, not mine."
"Oh, do you hear him!" cried Harriet; "is not that good. I must tell
Uncle Singleton that when I can catch him. Did any body give you any
dinner, Mr. Gage, when you arrived?"
"Thank you--no. I underwent that ceremony on the road."
"I envy you. I like dining at an inn; don't you, Margaret?"
"I have not yet had an opportunity of congratulating you on the marriage
of your sister with _Lord Raymond_," said Mr. Gage, with emphasis.
"Thank you very much," returned Harriet; "only the affair is almost a
fortnight old, and one has nearly forgotten all about it. How long do
you think, Mr. Gordon, one may offer congratulations after a wedding?"
"I really have hardly considered the subject," said Mr. Gordon: "I
should say, perhaps, during the honeymoon a very good distinction; so
you see, Mr. Gage, you have still a fortnight left."
"I was surprised, I own," said Mr. Gage; "I had not imagined Lord
Raymond's selection would have fallen where it did."
"Lord Raymond was a wise man, Mr. Gage," said Harriet, laughing; "and
knew when he was well off."
Mr. Gage looked earnestly at her for a few moments, and then moved away.
"Hark you, ma mie," said Harriet, leaning towards Margaret, "you would
hardly believe how I long for a good laugh at this moment. I know
George so well!--Now, he has actually taken the trouble to get leave of
absence as soon as ever he heard of this marriage, and to come over here
to see how I bear the shock of Lord Raymond's marriage. He believes me a
disappointed wretch; and that the very good spirits I am in to-night are
merely forced, to conceal the anguish of a breaking heart;" and Harriet,
unable any longer to restrain her laughter, fell back in her chair, and
gave way to one burst of merriment after another.
"Did you see, Margaret, how he fixed his eyes upon me to detect, if he
could, the constraint I was putting on my feelings; how he watched for
some trace of suffering in my voice; something to betray the anguish
within; and the stress he laid on _Lord Raymond_, as if he would have
asked how I liked parting with my especial property. I would not have
missed this scene for any thing in life!"
"Oh, Harriet! do not laugh so. He is looking at you!"
"No great wonder in that, my dear, since he has come all the way from
Ireland for that especial purpose."
"Mr. Gage! I wish to show you the bracelet Lord Raymond gave me on the
morning of his marriage. Look! this is Lucy's hair. I told him not to
put any of his straw-coloured stuff along with it, to spoil the effect.
I rather like those dolphins fretted with rubies; they have an eastern
look. He would clasp it on, over my swansdown cuff, and I did not like
to take it off, though I had the pleasure of telling him he had done me
an incredible deal of mischief."
Mr. Gage stood looking attentively at the bracelet, which she had
unclasped, and given into his hand.
"Do you not think it very handsome?" she said.
"Very. It would almost have reconciled you to the match had you been
averse to it," said Mr. Gage.
"It did not reconcile me to his crushing my beautiful swansdown," said
Harriet. "Here, give it me; you cannot put it on. Margaret shall clasp
it."
"It must have been a trying day to you on the whole," said Mr. Gage,
employing himself as he spoke in fastening the bracelet on Harriet's
arm, regardless of her hint.
"Why, between you and I, it was," said Harriet, holding up her
embroidered handkerchief by two corners, and contemplating the pattern
of the point lace, as she leaned back in the chair. "First, I had to get
up early--a thing I detest in cold weather; then--let me see, what was
my next trouble? Oh! my shoes were too long; and I was obliged to steal
a pair of Lucy's:--and then, Margaret, when Lucy was nearly dressed, and
I expected her to sit down by the fire, and have some breakfast in peace
and quietness she suddenly leaned up against mamma's bureau, and burst
out crying. I was never so taken aback in my life; for she is not given
to demonstrations; and what to say to her, I knew not. I could not tell
her she was not going to be married; and that seemed to be the cause of
her grief. However, we managed with salts and essences, and scolding and
coaxing, to bring her round; and then we got on very well till after
breakfast, when we came to the parting. Now, you know, Margaret, in the
same county, it can hardly be called a parting. But then Lucy began
again; and Lord Raymond did so fuss, and so stammer, by way of consoling
her. And when they were off, and the company melted away--what do you
think I did? I got into plain clothes again as fast as possible; and sat
down to stuff your box of cake full of bon-bons, I took you for the
little girl you were when I left you. Mr. Gage, a compliment, Sir, quick
now!"
"I would not offend Miss Capel by supposing that I could compliment
her," said Mr. Gage.
"Aha! Margaret, the fun we will have at Wardenscourt! The riding and
driving; the parties and dances; the plays--the tableaux!"
And Harriet went on eagerly planning a visit with Margaret to her
sister, as soon as Lord and Lady Raymond were settled at Wardenscourt.
Mr. Gage seemed for a wonder to be completely puzzled. He remained
gazing at Harriet in the greatest uncertainty, endeavouring to reconcile
to himself the sparkling and mischievous enjoyment that her looks
expressed, with the misery she must be feeling upon the destruction of
all her ambitious hopes. Harriet, regardless of those remorseless eyes,
went on conversing gaily with Mr. Humphries and two or three other
gentlemen; while Mr. Gage sometimes concluded that she was the best
actress in the world; sometimes, that as her heart was not engaged in
the matter, she was able to bear without much pain the loss of a good
match; sometimes, that whatever her feelings might have been, she
intended to console herself with the hand of Mr. Humphries.
This idea filled him with indignation; for Mr. Humphries, without the
merit of a title, was more unprepossessing in appearance than Lord
Raymond himself; and Mr. Gage, like many men in the army, thought, that
next to good birth and the glory of serving Her Majesty, stood the
inestimable and incalculable advantage of possessing a fine person.
"Harriet is looking well, don't you think?" said Mr. Singleton, coming
up to Mr. Gage.
The fact was too incontestible to admit of a dispute, for Harriet was
looking handsomer than ever she had done in her life; and Mr. Gage said
so. Harriet was at a little distance, about to leave the room for the
night. Margaret rose to follow her.
"Ah!" said Mr. Singleton, on hearing Mr. Gage's flattering opinion of
his niece, "Well, never mind; it will all come right one day yet."
Margaret overheard the exclamation, given in the hearty tone of the old
sportsman; and Harriet's former remark seemed to ring in her ears:
"These things never do come right again, Margaret."