FAST AND LOOSE.
Miss Nathalie Marsh was not the only young lady who received a proposal
that memorable picnic-day. Flashing in and out among the other belles of
Speckport, and eclipsing them all as she went, the belle of the
bourgeois, par excellence, came Miss Cherrie Nettleby, quite dazzling to
look at in a pink and white plaid silk, a white lace mantle, the blue
parasol you wot of, the turban-hat, with a long white feather streaking
round it, and the colored white lace vail over her blooming brunette
face. Miss Nettleby had fawn-colored kid gloves, an embroidered kerchief
sticking out of her pocket; and, to crown all, two or three yards of
gold chain around her neck, and hanging ever so far below her waist. An
overgrown locket and a carnelian cross dangled from the chain; and no
giddy young peacock ever strutted about prouder of its tail than did the
little black-eyed belle of these glittering fetters. She had only
received the chain, and locket, and cross the night before; they had
come in a box, with a huge bouquet, under the weight of which a small
black boy staggered, with the compliments of Captain Cavendish, and
would Miss Nettleby do him the honor of accepting them? Nettleby did him
the honor, and was not able to sleep a wink all night for rapture. A
gold chain had been the desire of her heart for many and many a day;
and, at last, some good fairy had taken pity on her and sent it, with
the handsomest man in Speckport for her ambassador. Cherrie's ecstasies
are not to be described; a chain from any one would have been a
delightful gift; but from Captain Cavendish, one smile from whom Cherrie
would have given all the rest of her admirers for, delightedly. She had
hugged Ann in her transports, until that young person, breaking
indignantly from her, demanded to know if she had gone mad; and she had
dressed for the picnic, expecting to have the young Englishman devotedly
by her side the whole day long, before the aggravated and envious eyes
of all Speckport. But Cherrie had never made a greater mistake in all
her life; the blue parasol, the pink silk, the white lace mantle, and
fawn-colored kid gloves were powerless to charm--Captain Cavendish never
came near her. He had not come at all until late, and then he had driven
in in the McGregor barouche, with the heiress of that house by his side,
resplendent to look at; and he had walked about with her, and with Miss
Laura Blair, and Miss Marsh, and sundry other young ladies, a step or
two higher up the ladder of life than Miss Nettleby, but he had not once
walked with her. He had passed her two or three times, as he could not
very well help doing, since she had put herself straight in his way; and
he had nodded and smiled, and walked deliberately on. Cherrie could have
cried with chagrin; but she didn't, not wishing to redden her eyes and
swell her nose there, and she consoled herself by flirting outrageously
with everybody who would be flirted with.
As the afternoon wore on, Cherrie began to experience that fatigue which
five or six hours' dancing in a blazing July sun is apt to engender, and
informed her partner in the quadrille she was roasted to death. The
partner--who was Mr. Charles Marsh, and who had been her most devoted
all day--was leaning against a stout elderly gentleman as against a
post, fanning himself with his straw wideawake, leisurely set that
headpiece sideways on his brown locks and presented his arm.
"I thought you would come to that by-and-by, Miss Nettleby, in spite of
your love of dancing. Quadrilles are all very well in December, but I
can't say that I fancy them in the dog-days. Suppose we go down to the
shore and get a whiff of fresh air."
Miss Nettleby put her fawn-colored kid-glove inside Mr. Marsh's
coat-sleeve, and poising her azure parasol in the other hand, strolled
with him to the beach. On their way, Nathalie, standing with Captain
Locksley, young McGregor, and a number of other gentlemen and ladies,
espied them, and her color rose and her blue eyes flashed at the sight.
"Egad! I think they'll make a match of it!" laughed Locksley. "Charley
seems to be completely taken in tow by that flyaway Cherrie."
Nathalie said nothing, but her brow contracted ominously as she turned
impatiently away.
"Oh, that's nothing," said the Reverend Augustus Tod; "it's the fashion
to go with Cherrie, and Charley is ready to follow fashion's lead. The
little girl will settle down some day, I dare say, into a sensible,
hard-working fisherman's wife."
Even Nathalie laughed at the idea of Miss Nettleby hard-working and
sensible; and that young lady and her escort sauntered leisurely on to
the breezy seashore. The sun was dipping behind the western waves, the
sky all flushed and radiant with the scarlet and golden glory of its
decline, the blue sea itself flooded with crimson radiance. Even Mr.
Marsh was moved to admiration of its gorgeous splendor.
"Neat thing in the way of sunsets, Cherrie," he remarked, taking out a
cigar, and lighting it.
"What a nice magenta color them clouds is!" said Miss Nettleby,
admiringly; "they would make a lovely dress trimmed with black braid.
And that mauve cloud over there with the yellow edge, I should like to
have a scarf of that."
"Well," said Charley, "I can't get you the mauve cloud, but if there's a
scarf at all like it in Speckport you shall have it. By the way,
Cherrie, where did you get that chain?"
"You didn't give it to me, anyhow," replied Miss Nettleby, tossing her
turban. "I might wait a long time for anything before I got it from
you."
"I didn't know you wanted one, or I might. I wish you wouldn't take
presents from anybody but me, Cherrie."
"From anybody but you!" retorted Cherrie, with scorn. "I'd like to know
the time you gave me anything, Charley Marsh?"
"Come now, Cherrie, I don't want to be mean, but that's a little too
bad!"
"I suppose you're hinting at that coral set you sent me last week?" said
Cherrie, in a resentful tone. "But, I can tell you, there's lots of
folks, not a thousand miles off, would be glad to give me ten times as
much if I would take it."
"Don't take their gifts, Cherrie; there's a good girl; it's not
ladylike, you know; and some day you shall have whatever you want--when
I am rich and you are my wife, Cherrie."
"The idea!" giggled Cherrie, her color rising, "your wife, indeed; I
think I see myself!"
"Wouldn't you have me, Cherrie?"
He was still smoking, and still looking at the sunset--not seeing it,
however. Poor Charley Marsh, light as was his tone, was exceedingly in
earnest. Miss Nettleby stole a glance at him from under the blue
parasol, not quite certain whether he were in jest or in earnest, and
her silly little heart beating a trifle faster than was its wont.
"I suppose, Mr. Marsh," said the young lady, after a moment's
deliberation, thinking it best to stand on her dignity, "you think it a
fine thing to make fun of me; but I can tell you I ain't going to stand
it, if you are a doctor, and me only a gardener's daughter. I think you
might find something else to amuse you."
"I'll take my oath, Cherrie," said Charley, throwing his cigar over the
bank, "I never was so much in earnest in all my life."
"I don't believe it," said Miss Nettleby.
"What's the reason you don't? Haven't I been going with you long enough?
What did you suppose I meant?"
"I didn't suppose nothing at all about it. You aren't the only one that
pays attention to me."
"No; but I don't think any of the others mean anything. I intend to
marry you, Cherrie, if you'll consent."
Cherrie tossed her turban disdainfully, but in her secret heart she was
in raptures. Not that she meant to accept him just then, with Captain
Cavendish in the background; but neither had she the slightest intention
of refusing him. The handsome Englishman had given her a gold chain, to
be sure, but then he had also given her the cold shoulder all that day;
and if things did not turn out with him as she could wish, Charley Marsh
would do as a dernier resort. Cherrie liked Charley, and he could make
her a lady; and if she failed in becoming Mrs. Cavendish, it would be a
very nice thing to become Mrs. Marsh, and half the young ladies in
Speckport would be dying of envy. Cherrie thought all this in about two
seconds and a half.
"Well, Cherrie, have you nothing to say?" inquired Charley, rather
anxiously.
"Mr. Marsh," said Miss Nettleby, with dignity, remembering how the
heroine of the last novel she had read had answered in a similar case,
"I require time to pon--ponder over it. On some other occasion, when I
have seriously reflected on it, you shall have my answer."
Mr. Marsh stood aghast for a moment, staring at the young lady, and then
went off into a fit of uproarious laughter.
"Well," demanded Cherrie, facing round rather fiercely, "and what are
you laughing at, sir?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Cherrie," said Charley, recovering from his
paroxysm; "but really you did that so well that I----"
Charley came near going off again; but, seeing the black eyes flashing,
recovered himself.
"Come, Cherrie, never mind Laura-Matilda speeches, but tell me, like a
sensible little girl, that you like me, and by-and-by will be my wife."
"I'll do nothing of the sort!" cried Miss Nettleby, in a state of
exasperation, "either now or at any other time, if I don't choose.
You'll just wait for your answer, or go without."
She sailed away as she spoke, leaving Charley too much taken aback, not
to say mortified, to follow her.
"Hang it!" was Mr. Marsh's exclamation, as he turned in an opposite
direction; "the idea of getting such an answer from that girl! What
would Natty say? She would think it bad enough my proposing at all, but
to get such a reply."
Yet, even in the midst of his chagrin, he laughed again at the
recollection of Miss Nettleby's speech--careless Charley, who never let
anything trouble him long.
"She'll come to it, I dare say," he reflected, as he went along, "and I
can wait. I do like her, she's such a pretty little thing, and good,
too, in the main, though rather frivolous on the surface. Well, Miss
Rose, how are you enjoying yourself?"
Miss Rose's fair, sweet face was rather a striking contrast after
Cherrie's, but Charley was not thinking of that, as he offered her his
arm. Cherrie in the distance saw the act, and felt a pang of jealousy.
"He's gone off with that pale-faced school-mistress, now," she thought,
resentfully. "I dare say she'd be glad to catch him, if she could. Oh!"
She stopped short with an exclamation half suppressed. She had come upon
Captain Cavendish leaning against a tall tree, and talking to Nathalie
Marsh. Another jealous pang pierced the frivolous heart, and--I am sorry
to tell it--she crept in close under the tree, with the blue parasol
furled, and--yes, she did--she listened. Listened for over twenty
minutes, her color coming and going, her breath bated, her hands
clenched. Then she fluttered hurriedly off, just in time to escape them,
as they walked away, plighted lovers.
There was a little clump of cedar-bushes, forming a sort of dell, up the
side of the bank. Cherrie Nettleby fell down here in the tall grass,
dashing the blue parasol down beside her, crumpling the turban, soiling
the white feather, and smearing the pink dress, tore off the gold chain,
and burst into such a passion of spiteful, jealous, and enraged tears,
as she had never before shed in her life. To think that all her hopes
should have come to this; that the gold chain was only a glittering
delusion; all his pretty speeches and lover-like attentions only hollow
cheats, and Nathalie Marsh going to be his wife! Cherrie seized the
chain in a paroxysm of fury, as she thought of it, and hurled it over
the bank.
"The hateful, lying, deceitful scamp," she passionately cried. "I hate
him, and I'll go and marry Charley Marsh, just for spite."
Charley was not hard to find. He was playing quoits with a lot of other
young Speckportians; and Miss Catty Clowrie was standing gazing
admiringly on, and ready to talk to him between whiles. Cherrie tapped
him on the arm with her parasol, and looked shyly up in his face with a
rosy blush. But the shy look and the blush were exceedingly well got up,
and Charley dropped the quoits with a delighted face.
"Cherrie! what is it? Have you made up your mind, then?"
"Yes, Charley! You didn't believe I was in earnest that time, did you? I
do like you, and I will be your wife as soon as ever you like."
Did Miss Catty Clowrie, standing unheeded by, with ears as sharp as
lances, hear this very straightforward avowal? She had flashed a keen,
quick glance from one to the other; had dropped her vail suddenly over
her face, and turned away. Neither noticed her.
Charley was in raptures, and might have fallen on Miss Nettleby and
embraced her there and then, only that before that maiden had quite
finished speaking, Nathalie confronted them, her face haughty, her step
ringing, her voice imperious.
"Charley, Mrs. Leroy is going home, and desires you to come immediately
and assist Mr. Blake."
"Oh, bother!" cried Charley, politely, "let her get some of the other
fellows; I can't go."
"Charley!"
"Why can't she get McGregor, or some of the rest?" said Charley,
impatiently; "don't you see I'm playing quoits, Natty?"
"I see you're doing nothing of the sort, sir, and I insist on you coming
this instant! Don't trouble yourself about Miss Nettleby, she has
legions of adorers here, who will only be too happy to attend her
home."
Miss Marsh swept away like a young queen; her violet eyes flashing, her
perfect lips curling. Charley turned to follow, saying, hurriedly, as he
went:
"I'll be back in half an hour, Cherrie, wait for me here."
"Proud, hateful thing!" exclaimed Cherrie, apostrophizing the receding
form of Miss Marsh; "she looked at me that time as if she scorned to
touch me! Wait until I am her brother's wife, we will see who will put
on mistress." From where she stood, Cherrie could see the party for
Redmon come. Charley and Val Blake wheeled Mrs. Leroy in her chair of
state over the grass, that mummy having consented to be exhumed for the
occasion, and having been the chief curiosity and attraction of the
picnic. Nathalie walked on one side, and Midge on the other, but Captain
Cavendish did not make one of the party now, for the moment they were
out of sight, that gallant officer hurriedly walked deliberately up to
her. Cherrie tossed her turban again, and curled her lip suspiciously,
not deigning to notice him by so much as a glance.
"Come, Cherrie, what's the matter?" he began, in a free and easy way;
"how have I got into disgrace?"
"Oh, it's you, Captain Cavendish, is it?" said Cherrie, loftily,
condescending to become aware of his presence, "I don't know what you
mean."
"Nonsense, Cherrie! What is the matter? Come, now, be reasonable, and
tell me what I have done."
"You haven't done anything to me," quite frigidly, though; "how could
you?"
"That's precisely what I want to know. Where is that chain I saw around
your neck a short time ago?"
"In my pocket. You had better take it back again. I don't want it."
Captain Cavendish stared. Miss Nettleby, grasping the parasol firmly,
though the sun had gone down, and the moon was rising, with a very
becoming glow in her cheeks, and bright, angry light in her eyes,
looked straight before her, and addressed empty space when she spoke.
"There is some mystery here, and I am going to get at the bottom of it,"
he said, resolutely; "Cherrie, let me go home with you, and see if we
cannot clear it up by the way."
"With me?" said Cherrie, stepping back, and looking at him disdainfully;
"why, what would Miss Marsh say to that?"
A light broke on the captain.
"Miss Marsh! Why, what have I to do with Miss Marsh?"
"A great deal, I should think, after what passed between you over there
on the beach."
"Cherrie! where were you? Not listening?"
"I was passing," said Miss Nettleby, stiffly, "and I chanced to
overhear. It wasn't my fault if you spoke out loud."
Even Captain Cavendish stood for a moment non-plussed by this turn of
affairs. He had no desire his proposal to Miss Marsh should become
public property, for many reasons; and he knew he might as well have
published it in the Speckport Spouter, as let Cherrie find it out.
Another thing he did not want--to lose Cherrie; she was a great deal too
pretty, and he fancied her a great deal too much for that.
"Cherrie, that was all an--an accident! I didn't mean anything! There
are too many people looking at us here, to talk; but, if you will go
home, I will explain by the way."
"No," said Cherrie, standing resolutely on her dignity, but trying to
keep from crying, "I can't. I promised Mr. Marsh to wait for him."
"Oh, confound Mr. Marsh! Come with me, and never mind him."
"No, Captain Cavendish; I think I'll wait. Charley thinks more of me
than you do, since he asked me to marry him this afternoon, and I am
going to do it."
Captain Cavendish looked at her. He knew Cherrie's regard for truth was
not the most stringent; that she would invent, and tell a fib with all
the composure in life, but she was palpably telling no falsehood this
time. He saw it in the triumphant flash of her black eyes, in the flush
of her face, and set his teeth inwardly with anger and mortification.
"How blessings brighten as they take their flight!" Never had Cherrie
Nettleby looked so beautiful; never had her eyes been so much like black
diamonds as now, when their light seemed setting to him forever. Captain
Cavendish believed her, and resolved not to lose her, in spite of all
the Charley Marshes in the world.
"So Marsh has asked you to be his wife, has he? Now, Cherrie, suppose I
asked you the same question, what would you say?"
"You asked Miss Marsh to-day, and I think that's enough."
"I did not mean it, Cherrie. I swear I did not! I am fifty times as much
in love with you as I am with her."
And Captain Cavendish was speaking truth. Humiliating as it is to say so
of one's heroine, the black-eyed grisette was a hundred times more to
his taste than the blue-eyed lady. Could they have changed places, he
would have married Cherrie off-hand, and never given one sigh to
Nathalie. It was the prospective fortune of that young lady he was in
love with.
"Cherrie, you don't believe me," he said, seeing incredulity in her
face, "but I swear I am telling the truth. Let me prove it--give up
Charley Marsh and marry me!"
"Captain!"
"I mean it! Which of us do you like best--Marsh or I?"
"You know well enough," said Cherrie, crying. "I like you ever so much
the best; but when I heard you asking Miss Natty, I--I----" here the
voice broke down in good earnest, and Cherrie's tears began to flow.
Captain Cavendish looked hurriedly about him. The last rays of the
sunset had burned themselves out, and the moon was making for herself a
track of silver sheen over the sea. The crowd were flocking homeward,
tired out, and there was no one near; but in the distance his eagle eye
saw Charley Marsh striding over the dewy evening grass. Poor Charley!
The captain drew Cherrie's arm inside his own, and walked her rapidly
away. They were out on the Redmon road before either spoke again.
"I did not mean one word of what I said to Miss Marsh. But I'll tell you
a secret, Cherrie, if you'll never mention it again."
"I won't," said Cherrie. "What is it?"
"I should like to share her fortune--that is, you and I--and if she
thinks I am in love with her, I stand a good chance. I should like to be
richer than I am, for your sake, you know; so you must not be jealous. I
don't care a straw for her, but for her money."
"And you do care for me?"
"You know I do! Are you ready to give up Charley, and marry me?"
"Oh!" said Cherrie, and it was all she replied; but it was uttered so
rapturously that it perfectly satisfied him.
"Then that is settled? Let me see--suppose we get married next week, or
the week after?"
"Oh! Captain!" cried the enraptured Cherrie.
"Then that is settled too. What a little darling you are, Cherrie! And
now I have only one request to make of you--that you will not breathe
one word of this to a living soul. Not a syllable--do you understand?"
"Why? said Cherrie, a little disappointed.
"My dear girl, it would ruin us both! We will be married privately--no
one shall know it but the clergyman and--Mr. Blake."
"Mr. Blake? Val?"
"Yes," said Captain Cavendish, gravely, "he shall be present at the
ceremony, but not another being in Speckport must find it out. If they
do, Cherrie, I will have to leave you forever. There are many reasons
for this that I cannot now explain. You will continue to live at home,
and no one but ourselves shall be the wiser. There, don't look so
disappointed; it won't last long, my darling. Let Charley still think
himself your lover; but, mind you, keep him at a respectful distance,
Cherrie."
They reached the cottage at last, but it took them a very long time.
Captain Cavendish walked back to Speckport in the moonlight, smoking,
and with an odd little smile on his handsome face.
"I'll do it, too," he said, glancing up at the moon, as if informing
that luminary in confidence. "There's a law against bigamy, I believe;
but I'll marry them both, the maid first, the mistress afterward."