To have seen the company assembled in the Reverend Henry Lingon's
grounds upon that bright afternoon, it might have been imagined that for
the time being no marring shadow could possibly cross any breast; for,
gaze where you would, the eye rested upon bright pleased faces wreathed
in smiles, groups, whose aspect was of the happiest, setting off
everywhere the Watteau-like landscape. But for all that, there were
faces there wearing but a mask, and to more than one present that fete
was fraught with _ennui_ and disappointment. Toilettes arranged with
the greatest care had, in other than the instance hinted at, been
without effect; while again, where, in all simplicity, effect had not
been sought, attentions had been paid distasteful even to annoyance.
The Lexville flower-show had assembled together enough to form a little
world of hopes and fears; and, fete-day though it had been, there were
aching hearts that night, and tearful eyes moistening more than one
pillow--the pillows of those who were young and hopeful still, in spite
of their pain, though they were beginning to learn how much bitterness
there is amidst the dregs of every cup--dregs to be drained by all in
turn, earlier or later, in their little span.
But now the band was silenced for a while, and the company began to
cluster around a temporary platform erected for the occasion, where the
hero of the day was to distribute to the expectant gardeners the rewards
of their care and patience.
Not that there is much to be called heroic in giving a few premiums for
the best roses, or pansies, or stove-plants; but if the distributor be
young, handsome, disengaged, heir to a baronetcy, and rich, in many eyes
he becomes a hero indeed--a hero of romance; and bitter as were the
feelings of Charley Vining, who declared to himself that his speech was
blundering, that he had looked _gauche_ and red-faced, and that any
schoolboy could have done better, there were plenty of hearty plaudits
for him, and more than one bright young face became suffused with the
rapid beating of its owner's heart, as for a moment she thought that a
glance was directed expressly at her.
Poor deluded little thing, though! It was all a mistake; for Charley
Vining went through his business like an automaton, seeing nothing but a
simple, half-mourning muslin dress, and a pale, sweet face in a lavender
bonnet, which had appeared to him to have been haunted the whole day
long by what he had once indignantly called "a tailor's dummy"--to wit,
the exquisite and elaborately-attired form of Maximilian Bray.
But at length the distribution was at an end, and gardener, amateur, and
cottager had been dismissed. Hot, weary, and glad to get away, Charley
had hurried from the group of friends and acquaintances by whom he had
been surrounded, when at a short distance off he espied Laura Bray, and
his heart smote him for his neglect of the daughter of a family with
whom he had always been very intimate.
"Too bad, 'pon my word!" said Charley hypocritically, for at the same
moment other thoughts had flashed across his mind. However, he drew
down that mental blind which people find so convenient wherewith to
shadow the window of their hearts, and strode across the lawn towards
Laura, who was apparently listening to the conversation of a gentleman
of a more fleshy texture than is general with young men of three- or
four-and-twenty.
"At last!" muttered Laura Bray, as Charley came smiling up to where she
stood; and now beneath that smile the feeling of anger and annoyance at
what she had looked upon as his neglect melted away. True, he owed her
no allegiance; but she had set herself upon receiving his incense, and
the afternoon having passed with hardly a word, a feeling of
disappointment of the most bitter nature had troubled her: the music had
seemed dirge-like, the brilliant flowers as if strewn with ashes. At
times she was for leaving; but no, she could not do that. She had
darted angry and reproachful glances at him again and again, but without
effect, and then looked at him with eyes subdued and tearful, still in
vain: he had seemed almost to avoid her, and such pains too as she had
taken to make herself worthy of his regard! How she had bitten her lips
till the blood had nearly started from beneath the bruised skin! Rage
and disappointment had between them shared her breast. Then in a fit of
anger she had commenced quite a flirtation with Hugh Lingon, the son of
the owner of the grounds, a fat young gentleman from Cambridge, an
ardent croquetist, but rather famed in his set for the number of times
he had been "ploughed for smalls." Hugh Lingon had been delighted,
smiling so much that the great creases in his fat face almost closed his
eyes. He even went so far as to squeeze Laura's hand, and to tell her
that the cup ought to have been presented to her as the fairest flower
there; but Charley Vining had not seemed to mind the attentions in the
least--he had not even appeared troubled; and at last poor Hugh Lingon
was snubbed while uttering some platitude, and sent about his business
by the imperious beauty, to make room for Charley Vining, whose pleasant
smile chased away all Laura's care.
Of course she must make allowances for him. He had been busy and
bothered about the prize-giving, so how could he attend to her? He was
different from other men: so frank and straightforward and bold. She
had always felt that he must love her; and after what Sir Philip Vining
had hinted to papa, and papa had told mamma, and mamma had pinched her
arm and told her in a whisper, what was there to prevent her being Lady
Vining and the mistress of Blandfield Court?
"At last!" said Laura, and this time quite aloud, as Charley came up;
when, taking his arm, she bestowed upon him a most reproachful glance.
"I declare I thought your friends were to be quite neglected!"
"Neglected? O, I don't know," said Charley; and then there was a pause.
"Why, you grow quite _distrait_," said Laura pettishly. "Why, what can
you see to take your attention there?"
She followed his gaze, which was directed towards a seat across the
lawn, whereon were her companion of the day before, one of the
"children," and Max Bray leaning in an attitude over the back.
"Shall we be moving?" said Charley abstractedly.
"O yes, please do!" said Laura. "I'm dying for want of an ice, or a cup
of tea. I've been pestered for the last half-hour by that horrible fat
boy!"
"Fat boy!" said Charley wonderingly.
"Yes; you know whom I mean--Hugh Lingon. So glad to have you come and
set me free!"
Charley Vining did not say anything; but he led his companion towards
the refreshment-tent, carefully avoiding the open lawn, and taking her,
nowise unwilling, round by the shady walks where there were but few
people, her steps growing slower, and her hand more heavy in its
pressure. And still Charley Vining was quiet and thoughtful; but he led
his companion to the refreshment-tent, handed the demanded ice, and then
sauntered with her towards the lawn, still gay with fashionably-dressed
groups.
"Had we not better get in the shade?" said Laura languidly. "The
afternoon sun is quite oppressive."
"Let's cross over to Max," said Charley. "That seems a pleasant shady
seat."
Laura did not speak, but she looked sidewise in his preoccupied
countenance, and, evidently piqued at what she considered his
indifference, allowed herself to be led across the lawn.
"By the way, Miss Bray," said Charley suddenly, "you never introduced me
to your lady friend."
"Lady friend!" said Laura, as if surprised.
"Yes, the fair girl that friend Max there seems so taken with. Is it
his _fiancee_?" Laura Bray's eyes glittered as she bent forward and
looked intently in her companion's face; then a tightness seemed to come
over the muscles of her countenance, giving her a hard bitter look, as a
flash of suspicion crossed her mind. The next moment she smiled; but it
was not a pleasant smile, though it displayed two rows of the most
brilliantly-white teeth. But, apparently determined upon her course,
she increased the pace at which they were walking till they stood in
front of the seat where, with a troubled look in her eyes, sat,
listening perforce to the doubtless agreeable conversation of Mr
Maximilian Bray, the lady of the railway station, and the companion of
Laura in the brougham.
It was with a look almost of malice that, stopping short, Laura fixed
her eyes upon Charley Vining, to catch the play of his countenance as,
without altering the direction of her glance, she said aloud:
"Miss Bedford, this gentleman has requested to be introduced to you--Mr
Charles Vining." Then, with mock courtesy, and still devouring each
twitch and movement, she continued: "Mr Charles Vining--Miss Bedford,
_our new governess_!"
Volume 1, Chapter IX.