'I HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY'
'Your manners are always under examination, and by committees
little suspected--a police in citizen's clothes--who are awarding
or denying you very high prizes when you least think of
it.'--EMERSON.
Mrs. Harcourt had had a successful afternoon. All the nicest people had
been at home, and a great many pleasant things had been said to her; her
mother had been a charming companion. Nevertheless, there was a slight
cloud on Mrs. Harcourt's face as she walked through the shrubbery that
led to her house, and the fold of care was still on her brow as she
entered her husband's study--a pleasant room on the ground-floor,
overlooking the garden. Mr. Harcourt was reading, but he put down his
magazine and greeted his wife with a smile. He was just rising from his
seat, but she prevented him by laying her hand on his shoulder.
'Don't move, Percival; you look so comfortable. I will sit by you a
minute. I hope I am not interrupting you.'
'Such an interruption is only pleasant, my dear,' was the polite answer.
'Well, have you and Audrey had a nice afternoon?'
'Mother came with me. Audrey had some ridiculous engagement with the
Blakes. Percival, I am growing seriously uneasy at this new vagary on
Audrey's part. Would you believe it?--she has been the whole afternoon
at the Gray Cottage helping those children! and Michael has been there,
too; we met them just now.'
Mr. Harcourt raised his eyebrows; he was evidently surprised at this bit
of news, though he took it with his usual philosophy.
'Never mind, Jerry,' he said kindly, after a glance at his wife's vexed
face, 'we cannot always inoculate people with our own common-sense.
Audrey was always inclined to go her own gait.'
Geraldine blushed; she always did when her husband called her Jerry. Not
that she minded it from him, but if anyone else--one of the boys, for
example--were to hear it, the dignified mistress of the house felt she
would never have got over it. In her unmarried days no one had presumed
to call her anything but Geraldine or Gage, and yet before three months
were over her husband had invented this nickname for her.
'It is no use fretting over it,' he went on in the same equable voice;
'you and Audrey are very different people, my love.'
'Yes; but, Percy dear, it is so trying of Audrey to take up the very
people that mother and I were so anxious to avoid. I declare I am quite
sorry for mother; she said, very truly, how is she to keep an intrusive
person like Mrs. Blake at a distance now Audrey has struck up this
violent friendship with her? She has even taken Michael there, for of
course he would never go of his own accord. I am so vexed about it all;
it has quite spoilt my afternoon.'
'Burnett was on the cricket-field a great part of the afternoon,'
returned Mr. Harcourt. 'I saw him talking to Charrington and Sayers.'
'Then she must have asked him to fetch her,' replied Geraldine, with an
air of decision that evidently amused her husband; 'for Michael told us
of his own accord that he had been having tea at the Cottage. It is
really very foolish and incautious of Audrey, after Edith's hint, too! I
wish you would tell her so, Percival, for she only laughs at my advice.'
'And you think she would listen to me?'--still with the same amused curl
of the lip.
'I think she ought to listen to you, dear--a man of your experience and
knowledge of the world--if you would give her a little of your mind. It
is so absurd for a grown-up person to behave like an impulsive child.
Michael is particular in some things, but he spoils Audrey dreadfully.
He and father encourage her. It is your duty, Percival, to act a
brother's part by her, and guide her for her own good.'
Geraldine was evidently in earnest, and Mr. Harcourt forbore to smile as
he answered her:
'But if she refused to be guided by me, my dear?'
'Oh, I hope better things of Audrey,' replied Geraldine, in such a
solemn voice that her husband laughed outright, though he drew down her
face to his the next minute and kissed it.
'You are a good girl to believe in your husband. I don't envy Audrey's
future spouse; he will have much to bear. Audrey is too philanthropic,
too unpractical altogether, for a smooth domestic life. We are different
people, as I said before. Come, cheer up, darling. If I find it possible
to say a word in season, you may trust me to do so. Ah! there is the
dressing-bell.'
And Mr. Harcourt rose and stretched himself, and began gathering up his
papers as a hint to his wife that the subject was concluded.
Audrey was not so unreasonable as her sister supposed; she had no
intention of placing herself in direct opposition to her family--on the
contrary, she was somewhat troubled by Geraldine's chilling reception
that afternoon. Michael had stopped the carriage and informed the two
ladies of the manner in which he and Audrey had spent their afternoon.
'We have both been having tea at the Gray Cottage,' he said cheerfully.
'I hope you have spent as pleasant an afternoon, Gage. That
youngster--Kester they call him--is a bright, intelligent lad, and
Mollie is a nice child.'
'Oh, indeed!' was Geraldine's reply; 'I am afraid we are late, Michael,
and must drive on;' and then she nodded to Audrey: but there was no
pleasant smile on her face.
'Gage is put out with us both,' observed Audrey, as they turned in at
Woodcote. 'I shall be in for another lecture, Michael.'
Audrey had no wish to be a bugbear to her family. For several reasons
she thought it politic to avoid the Gray Cottage for a day or two:
Mollie must not depend on her too much. When her mother and Geraldine
had called, and Mrs. Blake was on visiting terms with them, things would
be on a pleasanter footing. She was somewhat surprised, when Sunday
came, to find Mr. Blake was the sole representative of his family in the
school chapel. She had looked for the widow and her children in the
morning, and again in the afternoon, and as she exchanged greetings with
Cyril in the courtyard after service she could not refrain from
questioning him on the subject.
'I hope Mrs. Blake has not another headache?' she asked rather abruptly
as he came up to her, looking very handsome and distinguished in his
cap and gown--and again Audrey remembered her unlucky speech about the
Greek god.
Cyril seemed a little embarrassed.
'Oh no, she is quite well, only a little tired; she has rather knocked
herself up. Kester had a touch of his old pain, so I told him not to
come.'
'And Mollie?' But Cyril did not appear to hear the question.
'Will you excuse me?' he observed the next moment, rather hurriedly; 'I
think Mrs. Charrington is waiting for me--she asked me to go to the
school-house to tea.'
And as he left her, Audrey found herself obliged to join her sister and
Mrs. Harcourt.
'Have you many people coming to you to-morrow afternoon?' asked
Geraldine, as they walked on together.
'Only the Luptons and Fortescues and Mr. Owen and Herr Schaffmann--oh,
and--I forgot, father asked Mr. Blake.'
Audrey spoke a little absently. They were passing the Gray Cottage--a
blind was just then raised in one of the lower rooms, and a small pale
face peeped eagerly out at the passers-by. Audrey smiled and waved her
hand in a friendly manner, and a bright answering smile lighted up the
girlish face.
'What an untidy-looking child!' remarked Geraldine carelessly; 'is that
your _protegee_?' and then she continued, in a reproving tone: 'It is
really disgraceful that none of the family were in chapel. Edith was
right when she spoke of Mrs. Blake's mismanagement of her children; that
poor girl had a most neglected look.'
Audrey did not answer; she thought it wiser to allow her sister's remark
to pass unchallenged; she had a shrewd suspicion why Mollie was not in
chapel--the shabby, outgrown frock had probably kept her at home.
'Poor little thing!' she thought, with a fresh access of pity, for
Mollie had certainly looked very forlorn. And then she turned her
attention with some difficulty to what Geraldine was saying.
Dr. Ross was famed for his hospitality, and both he and his wife loved
to gather the young people of Rutherford about them.
On Monday afternoons during the summer there was always tennis on the
Woodcote lawn; one or two of the families from the Hill houses, and
perhaps a bachelor master or two, made up a couple of sets. The elder
ladies liked to watch the game or to stroll about the beautiful
grounds. Mrs. Ross was an excellent hostess; she loved to prepare little
surprises for her guests--iced drinks or strawberries and cream.
Geraldine generally presided at her mother's tea-table; Audrey would be
among the players. Tennis-parties and garden-parties of all kinds were
common enough in Rutherford, but those at Woodcote certainly carried off
the palm.
Mr. Harcourt had always been considered one of the best players, but on
the Monday in question he found himself ranged against no mean
antagonist, and he was obliged to own that young Blake played superbly.
'You would have won every game this afternoon if you had had a better
partner,' observed Audrey, as she and Cyril walked across the lawn. She
had been playing with him the greater part of the afternoon, and had
been much struck with his quiet and finished style. 'My brother-in-law
has always been considered our champion player, but you certainly excel
him.'
'I have had a great deal of practice,' returned Cyril modestly. 'I think
you are wrong about our respective powers. Mr. Harcourt plays
exceedingly well; being so much younger, I am a little more agile--that
is all.'
'Yes; and you would have beaten him this last game, but for me. I have
played worse than usual this afternoon.'
'You must not expect me to endorse that opinion, Miss Ross. I have never
seen any lady play half so well. You took that last ball splendidly. Now
we have exchanged these mutual compliments, may I ask you to show me the
lake? Kester gave a tremendous description of it when he came home
to-day. Captain Burnett put him in the punt, and he seems to have had a
grand time altogether.'
'Oh, I heard all about it at luncheon.'
'It is good of your cousin to take all this trouble,' went on Cyril in a
lower voice, as they walked down one of the terraces. 'I was quite taken
aback when he spoke to me yesterday. I thought he could not be in
earnest. You know he asked me to go up to his private room after
luncheon, and we had a long talk until it was time to go to chapel.'
'Will it be possible for your brother to come here two or three times a
week, Mr. Blake?'
'Oh yes; he can manage that short distance--at least, when he is pretty
well; and the change will be so good for him. It is quite a load off my
mind to know he will learn mathematics as well as Greek and Latin. You
have no idea, Miss Ross, how clever that boy is. If he had only my
opportunities, he would beat me hollow in no time. I tell my mother so,
but she will not believe it; but she thinks with me that it is awfully
good of your cousin to interest himself in Kester.'
'It will be a godsend to Michael,' returned Audrey. 'You see, my
cousin's health is so bad that he cannot employ himself, and he is
debarred from so much enjoyment. He helps my father a good deal with the
boys when he is here, but sometimes the noise is too much for him. It
will suit him far better to study quietly with your brother. Of course,
he meant to be kind--he is always doing good to someone or other--but
this time the kindness will benefit himself. He quite enjoyed his
morning. He told me so in a tone as though he meant it.'
'And Kester looked ever so much brighter. What comfortable quarters
Captain Burnett has! I had no idea he had a private sitting-room, and he
tells me he has rooms in town as well.'
'Yes; but we do not let him use them oftener than we can help. It is so
dull for him to be alone. My father is anxious for him to live
altogether at Woodcote--he thinks the Rutherford air suits him so much
better than that of town; but Michael cannot be persuaded to give up his
rooms. I tell him it is all his pride, and that he wishes to be
independent of us.'
'He is your father's cousin, you say?'
'Yes; and he is just like his son,' returned Audrey, wondering why Mr.
Blake looked at her so intently. 'You know, I told you that we looked
upon Michael as our own brother. Here we are at the pond--or lake, as we
prefer to call it--and there are the swans, Snowflake and Eiderdown, as
I have christened them.'
'It is a charming spot,' observed Cyril, leaning over the fence to look
at the beautiful creatures. He was quite unaware, as he lounged there,
that he added another picturesque effect to the landscape, his bright
blue coat and peaked cap making a spot of colour against Audrey's white
gown. 'So that is the island where Kester found the forget-me-nots for
Mollie? It looks as though one could carry it off bodily in one's arms,'
he continued, after a reflective pause.
'Mr. Blake, I will not permit such remarks,' returned Audrey, laughing.
'I have often paddled myself about the lake. At least, it is deep enough
to drown one. Now tell me how Mollie is.'
'Mollie is inconsolable because she has not seen you for two whole
days. She spent most of the morning at the window in the hope of seeing
you pass.'
'Nonsense!'
'Oh, it is a fact, I assure you. My mother told me so herself. Will
there be any chance of your looking in to-morrow, Miss Ross? I am going
back now, and I am sure such a message would make Mollie happy for the
remainder of the evening.'
Audrey smiled.
'I do not think I will send the message, Mr. Blake. I half thought of
calling on some friends of mine who live a little way out of Rutherford,
but if I have time----'
She paused, not quite knowing how to finish her sentence.
'Well, I will say nothing about it,' he returned quickly. 'You have been
far too good to us already. Mollie must not presume on your kindness;'
and then he took up his racket.
'Why are you leaving us so early, Mr. Blake? There is surely time for
another game?'
'Thanks; I must not stop any longer now. My mother asked me to take her
for a walk, and, as Kester can do without me this evening, I promised
that I would.'
'And you will take Mollie? There is such a pretty walk across the fields
to Everdeen Wood, if Mrs. Blake does not mind a few stiles. Mollie will
not, I am sure.'
'I think Mollie will prefer to stay with Kester,' he replied quickly. 'I
am sorry to leave so early, Miss Ross, but one does not like to
disappoint other people.'
'I begin to think you are one of the unselfish ones,' thought Audrey, as
she gave him her hand. Then aloud: 'You must come to us next Monday, Mr.
Blake, for I am sure my brother-in-law will want his revenge. Oh, there
is Booty, so of course his master is not far off. I will go and meet
him.'
Then she nodded to Cyril, and turned off into a side-path just as
Captain Burnett came in sight.
'Are they still playing, Michael?'
'No. Harcourt wants to be off; he and Gage are to dine at the
Fortescues', so they have agreed to break up earlier. Why is Blake
leaving us so soon? Your father proposed that he should be asked to
dinner.'
'I don't think he would be persuaded,' she replied, wishing that she had
not taken him so easily at his word. 'He has promised to take his mother
for a walk. He is really a very good son. Most young men care only about
their own pleasure.'
'I think I like him,' returned Michael, in his slow, considering tone.
'We had a smoke together yesterday up in my room, and I confess he
interested me. He seems to feel his responsibility so with respect to
that poor boy. He was very grateful to me for my proposed help, and said
so in a frank, manly fashion that somehow pleased me.'
'I am so glad you like him, Michael!' and Audrey's tone expressed
decided pleasure.
'Oh, we shall hit it off very well, I expect; but I daresay we shall not
see very much of each other. He goes in for cricket, and makes
tremendous scores, I hear, and the Hill houses will soon monopolise him.
He is too good-looking a fellow not to be a favourite with the
ladies--eh, Audrey?'
'I am sure I don't know,' returned Audrey, who could be a trifle dense
when she chose. 'I do not think Mr. Blake is a lady's man, if that is
what you mean. Don't you detest the genus, Michael?'
'Do I not!' was the expressive answer; and then he went on: 'I am quite
of your opinion that Blake is a nice, gentlemanly fellow; but I think
that brother of his is still more interesting. Poor little chap! he has
plenty of brains; he is as sharp as some fellows of nineteen or twenty.
Blake is clever enough, but one of these days Kester will make his mark.
He has a perfect thirst for knowledge. I drew him out this morning, for
we only made a pretence at work. You should have heard him talk.'
'That is exactly his brother's opinion,' returned Audrey; and she
repeated Cyril's words.
Michael was evidently struck by them.
'He seems very fond of him, and, for the matter of that, the poor boy is
devoted to his brother. I suppose that accident has made a link between
them. I do not know that I ever took so much interest in your _proteges_
before. By the bye, what has become of the O'Briens, Audrey?'
'I am going to see them to-morrow. I know what that inquiry means,
Michael. You think that I am always so much taken up with new people
that I forget my old friends; but you are wrong.' And then she added, a
little reproachfully: 'That you of all people should accuse me of
fickleness!'
Captain Burnett smiled a little gravely.
'You are investing my words with too large a meaning. I do not think you
in the least fickle; it is only your headlong sympathies that carry you
away.' But as Audrey looked a little mystified over this speech, he
continued: 'I would not have you neglect Mr. O'Brien for the world. I
only wish Vineyard Cottage were a mile or two nearer, and I would often
smoke a pipe in that earwiggy bower of his. I have a profound respect
for Thomas O'Brien. I love a man who lives up to his profession, and is
not above his business. A retired tradesman who tries to forget he was
ever behind the counter, and who goes through life aping the manners of
gentlefolk, is a poor sort of body in my eyes; he is neither fish, fowl,
nor good red herring. Now Mr. O'Brien is as proud of being a
corn-chandler as'--he paused for a simile--'as our drummer-boy was of
belonging to the British army.'
'Poor old man! he has seen a peck of trouble, as he calls it.'
'There, you see,' interrupting her delightedly, 'his very language
borrows its most powerful imagery from his past belongings! Do you or I,
Audrey, in our wildest and most despairing moments, ever talk of a peck
of trouble? Depend upon it, my dear, when Thomas made that speech, he
was among his bins again; in his mind's eye he was measuring out his
oats and beans. I think I hear him repeating again what he once said to
me: "It is such a clean, wholesome business, Captain. I often dream I am
back in the shop again, with my wife laying the tea in the back-parlour.
I can feel the grain slithering between my fingers, and even the
dropping of the peas on the counter out of the overfilled bags is as
plain as possible. Mat always did his work so awkwardly."'
'I don't think he has ever got over the loss of his wife, Michael.'
'Of course not. Is he likely to do so, with Mrs. Baxter's lugubrious
countenance opposite him morning, noon, and night? I don't wonder her
husband ran away from her; it would take a deal of principle to put up
with such a trying woman.'
'Michael, I will not have you so severe on my friends! Mrs. Baxter is a
very good woman, and she takes great care of her father. We cannot all
be gifted with good spirits. Poor Priscilla Baxter is a disappointed
woman.'
Michael shrugged his shoulders, but he was spared making any reply, as
just then they encountered Geraldine and her husband. They were
evidently looking for Audrey.
'Are you going, Gage?' observed Audrey serenely. 'I was just coming up
to the house to wish you good-bye, only Michael detained me.'
'I thought you were with Mr. Blake,' returned her sister, in a puzzled
tone. 'I wish you would come up to luncheon to-morrow--I have scarcely
spoken two words to you this afternoon. Edith is coming.'
'It will be a pity to interrupt your _tete-a-tete_,' returned Audrey
pleasantly; 'Mrs. Bryce has always so much to say, and she comes so
seldom.' And, as her sister's face clouded, she continued: 'I will run
up for an hour on Wednesday, but I really cannot neglect Mr. O'Brien any
longer--he will have been looking for me day after day.'
'Oh, if you are going to Vineyard Cottage,' in a mollified tone that
Audrey perfectly understood, 'you will have tea there, of course.'
'Do you think Mrs. Baxter would let me come away without my tea?'
returned Audrey quickly.
She was inwardly somewhat annoyed at this questioning. She had meant to
go to the Gray Cottage on her way; but now she must give that up: Mollie
must watch for her a little longer. Perhaps she could go to Hillside in
the morning and keep her afternoon free. And as she came to this
conclusion, she bade her sister an affectionate good-bye. But as
Geraldine took her husband's arm in the steep shrubbery walk, she said,
in a dissatisfied tone:
'I am glad we found her with Michael; but, all the same, she and Mr.
Blake were partners all the afternoon.'
'My dear Geraldine,' returned Mr. Harcourt with assumed solemnity, 'I
think Audrey may be trusted to manage her own little affairs--she is
two-and-twenty, is she not? When you have daughters of your own, my
love, I am quite sure you will manage them excellently, and no young man
will have a chance of speaking to them; but with Audrey it is another
matter.' And then, in a tragic undertone: 'Have you forgotten, wife
mine, a certain afternoon when you did me the honour of playing with me
three whole sets, and then we cooled ourselves down by the lake, until
your father hunted us out?'
Geraldine pressed her husband's arm gently; she remembered that
afternoon well, and all Percival had said to her--they had just come to
an understanding when her father interrupted them. For one moment her
face softened at the sweet remembrance, and then she roused herself to
remonstrate.
'But, Percy dear, this is utterly different. Audrey would never dream of
falling in love with Mr. Blake. Fancy a girl in her position encouraging
the attentions of a junior master. No, indeed; I was only afraid of a
little flirtation. Of course Audrey declares she never flirts, but she
has such a way with her--she is too kind in her manner sometimes.'
'It is to be hoped that she will not break as many hearts as a certain
young person I know--eh, Jerry?' and Geraldine blushed and held her
peace.
She never liked to be reminded of the unlucky wooers who had shaken off
the dust of Woodcote so sorrowfully. As for Mr. Harcourt, he delighted
in these proofs of conquests. Geraldine had not been easy to win--she
had given her lover plenty of trouble; but she was his now, and, as he
often told himself, no man had ever been more fortunate in his choice.
For Mr. Harcourt, in spite of his delight in teasing, was very deeply in
love with his beautiful wife.