Prior, however, to my reaching this haven of rumour, I met little Miss
Pimpernell. She was trotting along, with a basket on her arm, according
to her usual wont when district visiting.
"Hi! Frank," she exclaimed, on seeing me. "What is the matter with you
now? Why, my dear boy, you've got a face as long as my arm, and look
the picture of misery!"
"Oh, I've just heard something that surprised me," I said. "I've been
told that Mr Mawley is going to get married."
"Well, that's news to me," she said. "I haven't heard it before. But
what if he _is_ going to be married--are you so sorry on his account, or
for the lady?" she continued, in a bantering tone--she always liked a
bit of a joke--"I never thought you took such an interest in Mr
Mawley!"
"I'm sure I don't know," I said. "It has surprised me, that's all."
"_So_ it has me, Frank," said she. "Who told you?"
"I don't know whether I ought to tell, Miss Pimpernell," I replied,
hesitatingly. "It was disclosed to me in confidence, and--"
"No matter, no matter, my clear boy," said the old lady briskly. "Then
you ought _not_ to tell me. But, at the same time, Frank, I don't
believe a word of it! If Mr Mawley had been meditating anything of the
sort, _I_ would have been his first confidante! I don't think there's a
word of truth in it, Frank, no matter who your informant was. I daresay
the rumour has got about just because he has taken a house, which he can
very well afford, having got tired of living in lodgings; and small
blame to him, say I! He's no more going to get married than _I_ am,
Frank; and I do not believe that likely, do you?"
She laughed cheerily, tapping me on the cheek with her glove.
She was always petting and caressing me; and, I believe, considered me a
sort of big baby exclusively her own property.
"But his taking a house looks suspicious," I said, willing to be more
convinced.
"Not a bit of it," said Miss Pimpernell, sturdily. "Why, if Monsieur
Parole d'Honneur took a house, would that be any reason for _his_
getting married? Ah, I know, Frank, who has put all this nonsense in
your head! It is that gossiping old Shuffler. I'll give him a lecture
when I next catch him," and she shook her fist comically in the air, to
the intense wonderment of Miss Spight, who was crossing the road.
"But, mind, I didn't tell you so, Miss Pimpernell. Don't tell him that
I repeated what he said?"
"Stuff and nonsense," she said. "Why, he'll tell everybody he meets the
news in confidence, just the same as he did you. I'll give him a good
wigging, I tell you! Mr Mawley is not going to be married in a hurry;
and if he is, not to the young person you think, Master Frank."
"I did not mention anybody, Miss Pimpernell," I said, in confusion; for,
her keen black eyes seemed to penetrate into my very heart, and search
out my secret fears.
She looked very sagacious.
"Ah! Frank, you did not _say_ anything; but your looks betrayed you.
So _that's_ the reason why the report of the curate's marriage affected
you so, is it? But you needn't blush, my dear boy! You need not blush!
_I_ will not tell tales out of school; so you may set your mind at
rest. It is not, however, as you think, Frank. Cheer up; and good-bye,
my dear boy. I must be trotting off now, or my poor blind woman will
think I'm never coming to read to her."
And off she went, leaving me much happier than old Shuffler had done.
Confound him! What did he mean, with his cock-and-a-bull story?
On reaching Lady Dasher's house, however, the house-agent's rumour was,
to my great distress, confirmed; and, that in the most authoritative
manner.
It must be true then, in spite of Miss Pimpernell's denial!
My lady was in one of her most morbid and melancholy moods, too, which
did not help to mend matters.
I praised her fuchsias on entering; but even this homage to her
favourite hobby failed to rouse her.
She had heard that Mrs Clyde had some of the most beautiful pelargonia;
and what were _her_ paltry flowers in comparison?
Alas! she was poor, and could only afford a few miserable fuchsias to
decorate her drawing-room--or rather the better to exhibit its poverty!
If her poor, dear papa had been alive, things of course would have been
very different; and she could have had petunias, or orchids, or any of
the rarest hot-house flowers she pleased; but, now, she was poor,
although proud, and could not afford them like that rich parvenue.
How, good things always seemed given to those who are above their need!
There was Mrs Clyde getting her only daughter engaged to be married
also, she heard; while no suitor came forward for _her_ two poor orphan
girls!
Such was the staple of her conversation--enlivening, at any rate.
"Oh, ma!" exclaimed Bessie Dasher at this juncture; "you should not say
so to Mr Lorton! He'll think you wish him to propose at once!" and
both she and her sister burst out laughing at the idea.
"So I would," said I, jokingly, notwithstanding that I felt as
melancholy and little inclined for raillery as their mother, whose words
seemed to clinch what old Shuffler had said. "So I would, too, if there
weren't a pair of you, and bigamy contrary to law. `How happy could I
be with either, were t'other dear charmer away.' But," I continued,
turning to Lady Dasher, with an assumption of easy indifference which I
found it hard to counterfeit under the searching glances of the two wild
Irish girls, her daughters, "is it really true what you said just now
about Mrs Clyde's daughter, Lady Dasher?"
"Yes, Mr Lorton," she replied, "to the best of my belief it is; for, I
have heard, on the most unimpeachable authority, that she is engaged to
Mr Mawley. He is always going there, you know."
"But that is no proof, ma," said Bessie Dasher, who, as I have hinted
before, was suspected of a slight tenderness towards the curate. "Mr
Mawley is always coming here, too!"
"True, my dear," said her mother; "still there are comings and comings.
You may depend he only goes there so often _for a purpose_! Indeed, I
asked Mrs Clyde whether there was not something in it only yesterday,
and she smiled and said nothing; and, if _that_ isn't proof," she
concluded, triumphantly, "I don't know _what_ is!"
Bessie remained silent, but her sister said impulsively, "I don't
believe it, ma--not what you say, but about Minnie Clyde's engagement.
Mr Mawley's going there proves nothing, as Bessie said; and, as for
Mrs Clyde, I believe she would smile in that graceful way of hers--I
hate fine people!--and say nothing if you told her that her house was on
fire! The curate is always gadding about, and Minnie is a pretty girl;
so, of course, he likes to go there and see her; but, I know, that she
does not care twopence for him."
"Ah, you may say so, my dear; but _I_ know better. She would jump to
have him. All girls like handsome young clergymen, as I know to my
cost. Ah, Mr Lorton," went on Lady Dasher, with a sad expressive shake
of her head, "marriage is a sad lottery, a sad lottery! I once thought
of marrying into the church, too, when my poor dear papa was alive.
Perhaps it would have been a happier lot for me if I had done so! He
was such a dear, nice clergyman, and looked so well in his canonicals--
such a truly evangelical minister! I could listen to his sermons for
hours without feeling the slightest fatigue!"
"Thank goodness, then, he wasn't our papa!" exclaimed the saucy
Seraphine. "I'm certain that _I_ wouldn't have been able to listen to
his sermons so long!"
"Ah, my dear," groaned her mother at her levity, "always frivolous,
Seraphine! I'm afraid you will never marry a pious, holy man, as I
would wish!"
"Not if I know it, ma!" she retorted, so heartily that both her sister
Bessie and I--in spite of my anxiety about Min--could not but join in
her catching laughter. "No," continued the pert and impetuous young
lady, "when I enter the holy estate of matrimony I shall choose a gay
soldier laddie. None of your solemn-faced parsons for me! If they were
all like our good old vicar, whom I would take to-morrow if he asked me,
it would be quite a different thing; but they are not. They are all too
steady and starch and stiff now-a-days. They look as if butter would
not melt in their mouths!"
"Ah, my dear!" said her mother, "you will not think so by-and-by.
`Beggars mustn't be choosers.' You have got nothing but your face for
your fortune, you know, although it would have been very different if my
poor dear papa had been alive!"
"What, my face, ma?" said her dutiful daughter, "I'm sure I hope not!
Really, I'm very well satisfied with it;" and, getting up and going to
the mirror, she set about altering the riband in her hair, humming the
while the old ballad--
"`My face is my fortune, kind sir,' she said,
`Kind sir,' she said, `sir,' she said;
`My face is my fortune, kind sir,' she said."
I did not like to press any more inquiries with reference to Mr
Mawley's rumoured engagement, thinking they would look too pointed,
disclosing my interest in the affair,--however much I was transported
with the feelings of mingled jealousy, doubt, and uncertainty, that were
preying on my heart; consequently, I now took my leave, all the
suspicions and fears, which Shuffler's news had given rise to, more rife
than ever:--the renewed hope that Miss Pimpernell's cheery address had
inspired me with, completely dispelled.
I'm afraid my anxiety was only too apparent; for, Seraphine Dasher
whispered to me as I went out, "I don't believe a word of it, there! It
is only one of those absurd `true stories' that ma is always getting
hold of."
But I wouldn't be comforted.
It was only likely enough. Mawley was constantly going there, as Lady
Dasher had said, and Mrs Clyde encouraged him, there could be no doubt;
there must be something in it, or these reports would never have got
about. "There is never any smoke without fire."
Besides, Min herself did not dislike the curate as I did.
I could see that plainly for myself the night of that birthday party at
her house. His insinuating address and treacherous advances had
probably succeeded at last in entrapping her affections.
False, cruel girl that she was, how could she encourage me as she had
done, to nurse delusive hopes which, as she must have known, would only
end in disappointment! What had been probably sport to her was death to
me!
And yet, I _could_ not believe it of her.
My pure angel-natured Min, with her darling madonna-like face and
honest, trustful grey eyes, to act like this?
No. It could not be. It was impossible.
Still, the very next day I saw her walking out alone with the curate.
It must be true, then, I thought; and I ground my teeth in anguish.
I determined to avoid her, never passing her house as I had been
previously accustomed to; and, only bowing coldly when I met her in the
street.
At last she spoke to me one day, as I was coming out of the vicarage.
She was just going to knock at the door; so I encountered her face to
face on the step, without a chance of escape.
She held out her hand to me.
I took it mechanically, and then let it drop; raising my hat at the same
time, without saying a word.
She addressed me with heightened colour and a wistful look in the deep,
grey eyes.
"Why are you so angry with me, Frank?" she asked in her sweet, low
voice, which had a slight tremble in it as she spoke. "What have I done
to offend you? You never stop and speak to me now, never call at our
house, and always pass me by with a cold frigid bow! Have I done
anything to offend you, Frank?" she entreated again. "If so, tell me;
and I will beg your pardon, for it must have been unintentional on my
part?"
I was foolish, and proud, and conceited. I thought that I would not
allow myself to be deceived twice.
I was bitter and rude. I made a mockery of all the friendly overtures
which she made so lovingly with all the coy bashfulness of her maiden
heart.