Miss Boncassen's River-Party. No. 2
Lord Silverbridge made up his mind that as he could not dance with
Miss Boncassen he would not dance at all. He was not angry at being
rejected, and when he saw her stand up with Dolly Longstaff he felt
no jealousy. She had refused to dance with him not because she did
not like him, but because she did not wish to show that she liked
him. He could understand that, though he had not quite followed all
the ins and outs of her little accusations against him. She had
flattered him--without any intention of flattery on her part. She had
spoken of his intelligence and had complained that he had been too
sharp to her. Mabel Grex when most sweet to him, when most loving,
always made him feel that he was her inferior. She took no trouble
to hide her conviction of his youthfulness. This was anything but
flattering. Miss Boncassen, on the other hand, professed herself to
be almost afraid of him.
"There shall be no tomfoolery of love-making," she had said. But
what if it were not tomfoolery at all? What if it were good, genuine,
earnest love-making? He certainly was not pledged to Lady Mabel. As
regarded his father there would be a difficulty. In the first place
he had been fool enough to tell his father that he was going to make
an offer to Mabel Grex. And then his father would surely refuse
his consent to a marriage with an American stranger. In such case
there would be no unlimited income, no immediate pleasantness of
magnificent life such as he knew would be poured out upon him if he
were to marry Mabel Grex. As he thought of this, however, he told
himself that he would not sell himself for money and magnificence.
He could afford to be independent, and gratify his own taste. Just
at this moment he was of opinion that Isabel Boncassen would be the
sweeter companion of the two.
He had sauntered down to the place where they were dancing and stood
by, saying a few words to Mrs. Boncassen. "Why are you not dancing,
my Lord?" she asked.
"There are enough without me."
"I guess you young aristocrats are never over-fond of doing much with
your own arms and legs."
"I don't know about that; polo, you know, for the legs, and
lawn-tennis for the arms, is hard work enough."
"But it must always be something new-fangled; and after all it isn't
of much account. Our young men like to have quite a time at dancing."
It all came through her nose! And she looked so common! What would
the Duke say to her, or Mary, or even Gerald? The father was by no
means so objectionable. He was a tall, straight, ungainly man, who
always wore black clothes. He had dark, stiff, short hair, a long
nose, and a forehead that was both high and broad. Ezekiel Boncassen
was the very man,--from his appearance,--for a President of the
United States; and there were men who talked of him for that high
office. That he had never attended to politics was supposed to be
in his favour. He had the reputation of being the most learned man
in the States, and reputation itself often suffices to give a man
dignity of manner. He, too, spoke through his nose, but the peculiar
twang coming from a man would be supposed to be virile and incisive.
From a woman, Lord Silverbridge thought it to be unbearable. But as
to Isabel, had she been born within the confines of some lordly park
in Hertfordshire, she could not have been more completely free from
the abomination.
"I am sorry that you should not be enjoying yourself," said Mr.
Boncassen, coming to his wife's relief.
"Nothing could have been nicer. To tell the truth, I am standing idle
by way of showing my anger against your daughter, who would not dance
with me."
"I am sure she would have felt herself honoured," said Mr. Boncassen.
"Who is the gentleman with her?" asked the mother.
"A particular friend of mine--Dolly Longstaff."
"Dolly!" ejaculated Mrs. Boncassen.
"Everybody calls him so. His real name I believe to be Adolphus."
"Is he,--is he--just anybody?" asked the anxious mother.
"He is a very great deal,--as people go here. Everybody knows him.
He is asked everywhere, but he goes nowhere. The greatest compliment
paid to you here is his presence."
"Nay, my Lord, there are the Countess Montague, and the Marchioness
of Capulet, and Lord Tybalt, and--"
"They go everywhere. They are nobodies. It is a charity to even
invite them. But to have had Dolly Longstaff once is a triumph for
life."
"Laws!" said Mrs. Boncassen, looking hard at the young man who was
dancing. "What has he done?"
"He never did anything in his life."
"I suppose he's very rich."
"I don't know. I should think not. I don't know anything about his
riches, but I can assure you that having had him down here will quite
give a character to the day."
In the meantime Dolly Longstaff was in a state of great excitement.
Some part of the character assigned to him by Lord Silverbridge was
true. He very rarely did go anywhere, and yet was asked to a great
many places. He was a young man,--though not a very young man,--with
a fortune of his own and the expectation of a future fortune. Few men
living could have done less for the world than Dolly Longstaff,--and
yet he had a position of his own. Now he had taken it into his head
to fall in love with Miss Boncassen. This was an accident which
had probably never happened to him before, and which had disturbed
him much. He had known Miss Boncassen a week or two before Lord
Silverbridge had seen her, having by some chance dined out and sat
next to her. From that moment he had become changed, and had gone
hither and thither in pursuit of the American beauty. His passion
having become suspected by his companions had excited their ridicule.
Nevertheless he had persevered;--and now he was absolutely dancing
with the lady out in the open air. "If this goes on, your friends
will have to look after you and put you somewhere," Mr. Lupton had
said to him in one of the intervals of the dance. Dolly had turned
round and scowled, and suggested that if Mr. Lupton would mind his
own affairs it would be as well for the world at large.
At the present crisis Dolly was very much excited. When the dance was
over, as a matter of course, he offered the lady his arm, and as a
matter of course she accepted it. "You'll take a turn; won't you?" he
said.
"It must be a very short turn," she said,--"as I am expected to make
myself busy."
"Oh, bother that."
"It bothers me; but it has to be done."
"You have set everything going now. They'll begin dancing again
without your telling them."
"I hope so."
"And I've got something I want to say."
"Dear me; what is it?"
They were now on a path close to the riverside, in which there were
many loungers. "Would you mind coming up to the temple?" he said.
"What temple?"
"Oh such a beautiful place. The Temple of the Winds, I think they
call it, or Venus;--or--or--Mrs. Arthur de Bever."
"Was she a goddess?"
"It is something built to her memory. Such a view of the river! I was
here once before and they took me up there. Everybody who comes here
goes and sees Mrs. Arthur de Bever. They ought to have told you."
"Let us go then," said Miss Boncassen. "Only it must not be long."
"Five minutes will do it all." Then he walked rather quickly up a
flight of rural steps. "Lovely spot; isn't it?"
"Yes, indeed."
"That's Maidenhead Bridge;--that's--somebody's place;--and now I've
got something to say to you."
"You're not going to murder me now you've got me up here alone?" said
Miss Boncassen, laughing.
"Murder you!" said Dolly, throwing himself into an attitude that was
intended to express devoted affection. "Oh no!"
"I am glad of that."
"Miss Boncassen!"
"Mr. Longstaff! If you sigh like that you'll burst yourself."
"I'll--what?"
"Burst yourself!" and she nodded her head at him.
Then he clapped his hands together, and turned his head away from
her towards the little temple. "I wonder whether she knows what love
is," he said, as though he were addressing himself to Mrs. Arthur de
Bever.
"No, she don't," said Miss Boncassen.
"But I do," he shouted, turning back towards her. "I do. If any man
were ever absolutely, actually, really in love, I am the man."
"Are you indeed, Mr. Longstaff? Isn't it pleasant?"
"Pleasant;--pleasant? Oh, it could be so pleasant."
"But who is the lady? Perhaps you don't mean to tell me that."
"You mean to say you don't know?"
"Haven't the least idea in life."
"Let me tell you then that it could only be one person. It never was
but one person. It never could have been but one person. It is you."
Then he put his hand well on his heart.
"Me!" said Miss Boncassen, choosing to be ungrammatical in order that
he might be more absurd.
"Of course it is you. Do you think that I should have brought you all
the way up here to tell you that I was in love with anybody else?"
"I thought I was brought to see Mrs. de Somebody, and the view."
"Not at all," said Dolly emphatically.
"Then you have deceived me."
"I will never deceive you. Only say that you will love me, and I will
be as true to you as the North Pole."
"Is that true to me?"
"You know what I mean."
"But if I don't love you?"
"Yes, you do!"
"Do I?"
"I beg your pardon," said Dolly. "I didn't mean to say that. Of
course a man shouldn't make sure of a thing."
"Not in this case, Mr. Longstaff; because really I entertain no such
feeling."
"But you can if you please. Just let me tell you who I am."
"That will do no good whatever, Mr. Longstaff."
"Let me tell you at any rate. I have a very good income of my own as
it is."
"Money can have nothing to do with it."
"But I want you to know that I can afford it. You might perhaps have
thought that I wanted your money."
"I will attribute nothing evil to you, Mr. Longstaff. Only it is
quite out of the question that I should--respond as I suppose you
wish me to; and therefore, pray, do not say anything further."
She went to the head of the little steps but he interrupted her. "You
ought to hear me," he said.
"I have heard you."
"I can give you as good a position as any man without a title in
England."
"Mr. Longstaff, I rather fancy that wherever I may be I can make a
position for myself. At any rate I shall not marry with the view of
getting one. If my husband were an English Duke I should think myself
nothing, unless I was something as Isabel Boncassen."
When she said this she did not bethink herself that Lord Silverbridge
would in the course of nature become an English Duke. But the
allusion to an English Duke told intensely on Dolly, who had
suspected that he had a noble rival. "English Dukes aren't so easily
got," he said.
"Very likely not. I might have expressed my meaning better had I said
an English Prince."
"That's quite out of the question," said Dolly. "They can't do
it,--by Act of Parliament,--except in a hugger-mugger left-handed
way, that wouldn't suit you at all."
"Mr. Longstaff,--you must forgive me--if I say--that of all the
gentlemen--I have ever met in this country or in any other--you
are the--most obtuse." This she brought out in little disjointed
sentences, not with any hesitation, but in a way to make every word
she uttered more clear to an intelligence which she did not believe
to be bright. But in this belief she did some injustice to Dolly. He
was quite alive to the disgrace of being called obtuse, and quick
enough to avenge himself at the moment.
"Am I?" said he. "How humble-minded you must be when you think me a
fool because I have fallen in love with such a one as yourself."
"I like you for that," she replied laughing, "and withdraw the
epithet as not being applicable. Now we are quits and can forget and
forgive;--only let there be the forgetting."
"Never!" said Dolly, with his hand again on his heart.
"Then let it be a little dream of your youth,--that you once met a
pretty American girl who was foolish enough to refuse all that you
would have given her."
"So pretty! So awfully pretty!" Thereupon she curtsied. "I have seen
all the handsome women in England going for the last ten years, and
there has not been one who has made me think that it would be worth
my while to get off my perch for her."
"And now you would desert your perch for me!"
"I have already."
"But you can get up again. Let it be all a dream. I know men like to
have had such dreams. And in order that the dream may be pleasant the
last word between us shall be kind. Such admiration from such a one
as you is an honour,--and I will reckon it among my honours. But
it can be no more than a dream." Then she gave him her hand. "It
shall be so;--shall it not?" Then she paused. "It must be so, Mr.
Longstaff."
"Must it?"
"That and no more. Now I wish to go down. Will you come with me? It
will be better. Don't you think it is going to rain?"
Dolly looked up at the clouds. "I wish it would with all my heart."
"I know you are not so ill-natured. It would spoil all."
"You have spoiled all."
"No, no. I have spoiled nothing. It will only be a little dream about
'that strange American girl, who really did make me feel queer for
half an hour.' Look at that. A great big drop--and the cloud has come
over us as black as Erebus. Do hurry down." He was leading the way.
"What shall we do for carriages to get us to the inn?"
"There's the summer-house."
"It will hold about half of us. And think what it will be to be in
there waiting till the rain shall be over! Everybody has been so
good-humoured and now they will be so cross!"
The rain was falling in big heavy drops, slow and far between, but
almost black with their size. And the heaviness of the cloud which
had gathered over them made everything black.
"Will you have my arm?" said Silverbridge, who saw Miss Boncassen
scudding along, with Dolly Longstaff following as fast as he could.
"Oh dear no. I have got to mind my dress. There;--I have gone right
into a puddle. Oh dear!" So she ran on, and Silverbridge followed
close behind her, leaving Dolly Longstaff in the distance.
It was not only Miss Boncassen who got her feet into a puddle and
splashed her stockings. Many did so who were not obliged by their
position to maintain good-humour under their misfortunes. The storm
had come on with such unexpected quickness that there had been a
general stampede to the summer-house. As Isabel had said, there was
comfortable room for not more than half of them. In a few minutes
people were crushed who never ought to be crushed. A Countess for
whom treble-piled sofas were hardly good enough was seated on the
corner of a table till some younger and less gorgeous lady could be
made to give way. And the Marchioness was declaring she was as wet
through as though she had been dragged in a river. Mrs. Boncassen was
so absolutely quelled as to have retired into the kitchen attached
to the summer-house. Mr. Boncassen, with all his country's pluck and
pride, was proving to a knot of gentlemen round him on the verandah,
that such treachery in the weather was a thing unknown in his happier
country. Miss Boncassen had to do her best to console the splashed
ladies. "Oh Mrs. Jones, is it not a pity! What can I do for you?"
"We must bear it, my dear. It often does rain, but why on this
special day should it come down out of buckets?"
"I never was so wet in all my life," said Dolly Longstaff, poking in
his head.
"There's somebody smoking," said the Countess angrily. There was a
crowd of men smoking out on the verandah. "I never knew anything so
nasty," the Countess continued, leaving it in doubt whether she spoke
of the rain, or the smoke, or the party generally.
Damp gauzes, splashed stockings, trampled muslins, and features which
have perhaps known something of rouge and certainly encountered
something of rain may be made, but can only, by supreme high
breeding, be made compatible with good-humour. To be moist, muddy,
rumpled and smeared, when by the very nature of your position it is
your duty to be clear-starched up to the pellucidity of crystal, to
be spotless as the lily, to be crisp as the ivy-leaf, and as clear
in complexion as a rose,--is it not, O gentle readers, felt to be a
disgrace? It came to pass, therefore, that many were now very cross.
Carriages were ordered under the idea that some improvement might be
made at the inn which was nearly a mile distant. Very few, however,
had their own carriages, and there was jockeying for the vehicles. In
the midst of all this Silverbridge remained as near to Miss Boncassen
as circumstances would admit. "You are not waiting for me," she said.
"Yes, I am. We might as well go up to town together."
"Leave me with father and mother. Like the captain of a ship, I must
be the last to leave the wreck."
"But I'll be the gallant sailor of the day who always at the risk of
his life sticks to the skipper to the last moment."
"Not at all;--just because there will be no gallantry. But come and
see us to-morrow and find out whether we have got through it alive."