Babbicombe was full. The lodgings were all taken. There were still
bills in the windows of a few of the houses in the narrower streets of
the little town announcing that the apartments had a "good sea view." The
disappointed visitor, however, upon further investigation, would discover
that by standing on a chair in the attic it might be possible to obtain a
glimpse of the topmasts of the schooners in the harbour, or the furthest
circle of the distant ocean. Mr. and Mrs. Delamere, with their two
daughters, occupied lodgings facing the sea. Next door but one were our
friends, Colonel and Mrs. Bagshaw. Two Irish captains, O'Brien and
Kelly, were stopping at the Bull Hotel, in the High Street. On the side
of the hill in our row lived the two beautiful Misses Bankes with their
parents and the younger olive branches, much snubbed by those who had
"come out" into blossom. The visitors' doctor also lived in our row, and
a young landscape painter (charming, as they all are) had a room
somewhere, but I never could quite make out where it was or how he lived.
"There are your friends the Delameres," cried Glenville to Thornton, as
we all lounged down one afternoon, not long after our arrival, to the
parade, where the little discordant German band was playing. "Looking
for you, too, I think," added he.
"I am sure they are not looking at all," said Thornton.
"Why, not now," said Glenville; "their books have suddenly become
interesting, but I vow I saw Mrs. Delamere's spyglass turned full upon us
a minute ago." We all four stepped from the parade upon the rocks, and
approached the Delameres' party, who were seated on rugs and shawls
spread upon the huge dry rocks overlooking the deep, clear water which
lapped underneath with a gentle and regular plash and sucking sound. It
was a brilliant day. Not a cloud was in the sky, and the blue-green seas
lay basking in the sunshine. A brisk but gentle air had begun to crisp
the top of the water, making it sparkle and bubble; and there was just
visible a small silver cord of foam on the coast line of dark crags. A
white sail or a brown, here and there, dotted about the space of ocean,
gleamed in the light of the noon-day sun. Porpoises rolled and gamboled
in the bay, and the round heads of two or three swimmers from the bathing
cove appeared like corks upon the surface of the water. Half lost in the
hazy horizon, a dim fairy island hung between sky and ocean; while
overhead flew the milk-white birds, whose presence inland is said to
presage stormy weather.
"What was Miss Delamere reading?"
"Oh, only Hallam's _Constitutional History_."
"Great Heavens!" whispered Glenville to me, "think of that!"
"Do you like it?" asked Thornton.
"Well, I can't say I do, but I suppose I ought. My mother wanted me to
bring it."
"I think it must be very dull," said Thornton, "though I have never tried
it. I have just finished Kingsley's _Two Years Ago_. It is awfully
good. May I lend it to you?"
"Oh, I do so like a good novel when I can get it, but I am afraid I
mayn't."
"What is that, Flo?" asked her mother. "You know I do not approve of
novels, except, of course, Sir Walter's. My daughters, Mr. Thornton,
have, I hope, been brought up very differently from most young ladies. I
always encourage them to read such works as are likely to tend to the
improvement of their understanding and the cultivation of their taste. I
always choose their books for them."
"Nonsense, my dear," said Mr. Delamere, "if Mr. Thornton recommends the
book, Flo can have it. I know nothing of books, sir, and care less; but
if you say it is a good book, that is sufficient."
"Oh, quite so indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Delamere, "if Mr. Thornton
recommends the book. My daughter Florence has too much imagination, dear
child, and we have to be very careful. May I inquire the name of the
work which you recommend?"
She called everything a work.
"Oh, only _Two Years Ago_, by Kingsley," said Thornton.
"Ah!" said Mrs. Delamere, "a delightful writer. The Rev. Charles
Kingsley was a man whom I unfeignedly admire. Perhaps I might not
altogether approve of his writings for young persons, but for those whose
minds have been matured by a considerable acquaintance with our
literature it is, of course, different. He is a bold and fearless
thinker. He is not fettered and tied down by those barriers which impede
the speculations of other writers."
"Off she goes!" whispered Glenville to me, "broken her knees over the
first metaphor. She will be plunging wildly in the ditch directly, and
never fairly get out of it for about an hour and a half. Let us escape
while we can." We rose and left Mrs. Delamere explaining to Thornton how
darling Florence and dearest Beatrix were all that a fond and
intellectual mother could desire. She was anxious to be thought to be
trembling on the verge of atheism, to which position her highly-gifted
intelligence quite entitled her; while, at the same time, her strong
judgment and moral virtues enabled her to assist in supporting the
orthodox faith. The younger Miss Delamere (Beatrix) was doing one of
those curious pieces of work in which ladies delight, which appear to be
designed for no particular purpose, and which, curiously enough, are
always either a little more or less than half finished. I think she very
seldom spoke. She was positively crushed by that most superior person,
her mother. Flo was gazing abstractedly into the sea, hearing her mother
but not listening, while Thornton was seated a foot or two below her,
gazing up into her deep-blue eyes, shaded by her large hat and dark hair,
as happy and deluded as a lunatic who thinks himself monarch of the
world.
The Squire said he would join us. I expect his wife rather bored the old
gentleman. We all sauntered up to the little crush of people who were
listening (or not listening) to the discordant sounds of the German band.
Here we found the whole tribe of Bankes' and the two Irish captains, one
standing in front of each beautiful Miss Bankes; and a little further
removed from this party were Colonel and Mrs. and Miss Bagshaw, with the
doctor's son. Above the cliff, on a slope of grass, lay the young
artist, smoking his pipe and enjoying the scenery.
"I hope you intend to honour the Assembly Wooms with your pwesence this
evening," drawled Captain Kelly to the elder Miss Bankes--the dark one
with the single curl hanging down her back. Her sister wore two light
ones, and it puzzled us very much to account for the difference in
number, and even in colour, for the complexions were the same. Was
Glenville justified in surmising that the art of the contrivance was to
prove that the curls were natural and indigenous, for if false, he said,
surely they would be expected to wear two or one each.
"My sister and I certainly intend going this evening," replied the young
lady, "but really I hear they are very dull affairs."
"They will be so no longer," said he.
"Well, I suppose we must do something in this dreadful little place to
keep up our spirits."
"Yes, I must own it is very dull here, and I certainly should not have
come had not a little bird told me at Mrs. Cameron's dance who was coming
here," said the Captain, with a languishing air.
"I am sure I said nothing about it," said Miss Bankes, poutingly.
"Beauty attracts like a magnet, Miss Bankes, and you must not be angry
with a poor fellow for what can't be helped."
"Very well, now you are come, you must be very good, and keep us all
amused."
"I will endeavour to do my best," said the gallant soldier.
"Bagshaw, come here!" shouted Mrs. Bagshaw right athwart the parade,
startling several of the performers in the band, and drawing all eyes
towards her. "Bagshaw, behave yourself like a gentleman. Don't leave
me, sir; I should be ashamed to let the people see me following that
woman. It's disgraceful, mean, and disgusting."
Bagshaw came back, looking ridiculous. He hated to look ridiculous, as
who does not? He approached his wife, and said in a low, but angry tone,
"You are making a fool of yourself; the people will think you are mad;
and they are not far wrong, as I have known to my cost this twenty
years."
Porkington, wife, and drag had just passed up the parade.
"I saw you, I tell you I saw you," she went on excitedly. "You were
sneaking away from my side--you know you were. Don't laugh at me, Mr.
Bagshaw, for I won't have it. I don't care who hears me," she cried in a
louder voice, "all the world shall hear how I am treated."
"Look at Miss Bagshaw," said the artist to me. "What a good girl she is!
I am so sorry for her!" Pity is kin to love, thought I, as I watched the
beautiful girl move swiftly up to her father and mother, and in a moment
all three moved quietly away.
"Who's the old girl?" asked Captain O'Brien of Captain Kelly.
"The celebwated Mrs. Bagshaw, wife of Colonel Bagshaw. She was a gweat
singer or something not very long ago. Very wich, Tom; chance for you,
you know; only daughter, rather a pwetty girl, not much style, father-in-
law and mother-in-law not desiwable, devil of a wow, wampageous, both of
them!"
"How much?" "Say twenty thou." "Can't be done at the pwice." "Don't
know that--lunatic asylums--go abroad--that sort of thing---young lady
chawming!" "Ah!"
"What do you say to a row in the old four oar?" said Harry Barton. "With
all my heart," said I. "Let us make up a party. The Delameres will go,
the two young ladies and Thornton. Don't let's have the mother, she jaws
so confoundedly. Go and ask Mrs. Bagshaw and her daughter to make things
proper."
"All right! Thornton shall steer; you three; I stroke; Glenville two;
Hawkstone bow, to look out ahead and see all safe." And off he went to
ask Mrs. Bagshaw, who was now all smiles and sunshine, and managed very
cleverly to secure the two Misses Delamere and Thornton without the
mamma. And so we all went down to the harbour, where we found Hawkstone
looking out for our party as usual.