A FRIENDLY INTERFERENCE.
"No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
I have searched thy soul within,
And find nought but pride and scorn;
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou."
CAREW.
Men fall in love every day, yet few of them like to be caught talking or
acting sentimentally towards the object of their affections.
Charles was inwardly vexed at Frances' sudden appearance, and still more
so at the sarcastic way in which she had spoken and acted. What business
was it of hers to take either himself or Miss Neville to task? Was it
not partly his fault the wrist was sprained, and would he not have been
wanting in common politeness had he, when he accidentally discovered it,
not tried in some measure to remedy it?
It was a bad sprain, there was no doubt about that, although she made
light of it.
It ought to be looked to; but how to procure proper surgical attention
puzzled him. Somehow he did not quite like being the bearer of the
tidings to his brother's wife; he could fancy how proudly and
contemptuously she would raise her head, and look him through with her
dark flashing eyes; and how quietly--very differently from Frances--hint
her displeasure at his interference, and turn his fears and sympathy
into ridicule. He could not stand that; no, he was ready to face any
open danger, but the covert, sarcastic glance and mocking smile of his
sister-in-law was a little beyond even his courage. Yet it was necessary
she should be informed of it if Amy was to be helped, which he had made
up his mind she must be. How then was it to be managed?
Ideas and plans crowded into his brain one after another, but all more
or less impracticable; as he stood at the window, where Amy had left
him, hopelessly entangled in a web of perplexing thoughts.
There was, as I said, no restraining Anne's curiosity, she always
gratified it, or tried to do so, whatever the risk. Certainly, if
curiosity is, as we are told, a woman's failing, and men take every
opportunity of reminding them of the fact, or rather laying it at their
door, whether they will or not, Anne claimed a large portion of it. Why
women should be thought to have a larger share of curiosity than men
remains to be proved; surely if it be a sin, it is a very small one in
comparison to the long list of sins of greater magnitude not laid to
their charge, and if not to woman; then to whom do they belong?
Anne had heard voices in the gallery, and had opened her door just
sufficiently wide to allow of her obtaining a sight of those who were
talking, and notwithstanding sundry hints from Julia as to the
disgraceful way in which she was acting, she determined to see the end,
let the cost be what it might. She could not hear what was said, but
there could be no harm in just peeping and seeing what was going on.
It was with no little astonishment that she watched Charles and Amy
apparently on such intimate terms of acquaintance, when the latter had
only assured her the night before that she scarcely knew her cousin to
speak to. Subsequently, Frances' arrival on the scene, and evident anger
and scorn, astonished her still more.
That Miss Neville was a flirt had crossed her mind ever since the day
she had caught her coming home with Mr. Vavasour; but here she was
apparently hand and glove with Charles. She did not see cause for any
such display of temper as Frances had made; still, she thought it a
shame Miss Neville should take all the men to herself, when there were
lots of other girls in the house ready to be made love to, now, of
necessity, left to their own devices, and dull enough in consequence.
Anne began to think Miss Neville was not acting fairly, and certainly
not openly. Why should she have two strings to her bow, while Anne could
not conjure up one, for she counted Mr. Hall as nobody, and disdainfully
thrust the thought of him aside, as his image presented itself in full
force; even as she had gazed at him but last night, over the balusters
drenched to the skin, looking the true personification of a country
parson, but totally dissimilar to the beau ideal of Anne's imagination,
which she had snugly enshrined somewhere in a small corner of her heart.
It seemed ridiculous to imagine him falling in love, and least of all
with her, who had determined on marrying a man with fierce moustaches
and whiskers, and these Mr. Hall could never have. No, he should not
fall in love with her; she would not have it.
Why should such an uncouth being be always dangling after her, while
Miss Neville, with no trouble at all, came in for all the loaves and
fishes, and she obliged to content herself with the fragments? If all
the beaux in the house were to be monopolised in this style, it was time
Mrs. Linchmore invited others who would be able to look at Miss Neville
without immediately falling down and worshipping her, as though she were
an angel. She had no intention of losing her temper, as Frances had
done, but she did not see why she should not let Charles know she had
seen him, so out of her room she marched at once, and went up straight
to where he still stood by the window.
"What on earth have you done to offend Frances?" asked she, beating
about the bush, "she looks as surly as a bear."
"I might ask _you_ that question, seeing she had evidently been put out
before I saw her."
"I was peeping through a crack in the door, and could not help laughing
to see the rage she was in."
"She may remain in it, and welcome, for aught I care," replied Charles,
trying to appear indifferent, but at the same time showing some slight
symptom of temper.
"So may somebody else," said Anne; "but you know very well she was
mortified at seeing you hold Miss Neville's hand, and--and--I don't
think it was right of you, Charles."
He looked up as if he could have annihilated her. "I am the best judge
of my own affairs," said he, slowly, "and as for Miss Neville, it is
impossible she could do wrong."
"I do not accuse Miss Neville of doing wrong; but I think my cousin, Mr.
Charles Linchmore, is playing a double game."
Charles bit his lip, but made no reply.
"You may take refuge in a sneer," continued Anne, somewhat hotly, "and
play with Frances' feelings as much as you like, and as much as you have
done, and few will trouble their heads about it; but it's a shame to
carry on the same game with a governess, who cannot help herself, and
is obliged, nay expected, to put up with slights from everybody."
"Not from me, Anne."
"Yes, from you, who are making love to two girls at the same time."
"How dare you accuse me of so dishonourable an action?" exclaimed
Charles.
"Dare? Oh, I dare a great deal more than that," replied Anne, tossing
her head.
"Any way, you could not accuse one of much worse."
"It is the truth, nevertheless, and I cannot see that there is anything
daring about it. The daring is not in my speaking, but in your own act."
"I never made love to Frances, or if I did, her own cold pride
annihilated any partiality I might have had for her."
"Partiality!" uttered Anne, sarcastically, "Defend me from such
partiality from any man. I wonder you did not say flirtation; but even
your assurance could not summon courage to tell such a fib as that."
"A truce to this folly, Anne, or I shall get angry, and you can't
convince me I ever--" he hesitated a moment--"loved Frances. Allowing
that I did show her a little attention, I don't see she is any the worse
for it."
"You have succeeded in making her miserable, although you have not
broken her heart, and now want to play Miss Neville the same trick; but
I won't stand by and see it, I declare I won't; my woman's heart won't
let me; so, if you begin that game, we wage war to the knife. I cannot
help pitying Frances, whom I dislike, and will not, if I can help it,
have to pity Miss Neville also."
"There is no reason why you should. Miss Neville is superior to a dozen
like Frances." Anne opened her eyes at this, but wisely held her tongue.
He went on,
"I swear, Anne, I'll never give you reason to pity Miss Neville; but she
has sprained her wrist, I think very severely. That confounded brute was
the cause of it."
"Man or beast?" she asked. "'Tis difficult to know which you mean."
"My horse," replied he, determined not to be laughed into a good temper.
"She would hold him at the lake when I asked her not to; but women are
so obstinate, they will have their own way; there is no reasoning with
them. I would not have allowed her if I could have foreseen what was
going to happen, but how could I? and now the mischief is done, and she
is pretty considerably hurt."
"All her own fault, according to your account, so why should you vex
yourself about it? Men generally send us to 'Old Harry' under such
circumstances."
"But I consider it to have been partly my fault; I was a fool to allow
her to hold the horse, and a still greater one, inasmuch as now the
mischief is done, I am unable to help her."
"In what?"
Charles made no reply; he was thinking could Anne help him in his
difficulty? She might if she liked, but would she? Could he trust her?
as in evincing so much sympathy for Miss Neville would she not partly
guess at his secret liking for her--if she had not guessed it already?
Anne was good-natured and truthful enough; had she not just plainly told
him he had done wrong? but that he would not allow of for a moment. It
was the natural thing to do, and would have been done by any one under
similar circumstances. How could he help being sorry? how could he help
feeling for her? Dr. Bernard must be sent for, the sprain might get
worse. Charles, like most men when their minds are set on attaining any
one object, determined on carrying his point. The more difficult the
accomplishment the more resolute was he in attaining it, and clearing
all obstacles that stood in his way.
"I'm going to Standale," said he, suddenly looking up.
"To Standale! You have just three hours to do it in; we do not dine
before eight, so I dare say you will manage it."
"Yes. Have you any commissions?"
"None, thank you. It will be too dark for you to match some wool for my
sister. I know she wants some. Men invariably choose such unseasonable
hours for their jaunts, when they know it is impossible for women to
load them with commissions."
"Do you not think it would be as well to mention to my brother's wife
that I am going to Standale? She might like Dr. Bernard to call
to-morrow and see Miss Neville, and prescribe for that injured wrist."
"Nonsense, Charles! It cannot be so bad as that; and besides, you said
it was caused entirely through her own obstinacy, so let her bear it as
best she may, as a just punishment for her sins."
Then seeing he looked serious and a little annoyed, she added, "Of
course you can do as you like about it."
"I shall be ready to start in less than ten minutes," replied he. "You
can meet me in the hall, and let me know the result of your
communication with Mrs. Linchmore."
"That is what I call cool," said Anne, as Charles vanished; "he does not
like to tell Isabella herself, so makes me the bearer of the unpleasant
news, and I dare say thinks I am blind and do not see through it. Well,
the cunning of some men beats everything. I believe the wretch is fast
falling in love with Miss Neville, if he is not so already. At all
events, it strikes me, cousin Frances stands a very good chance of being
cut out; so she had better control her temper instead of allowing it to
get the better of her as it did to-day."
Then, as if a sudden thought struck her, she turned and darted away
after Charles.
"I tell you what it is," said she, breathlessly, coming up with him, "I
do not mind doing this little act of mercy for you; but at the same time
I must first go and see Miss Neville. It would never do to have Isabella
asking me how she looked? What was the matter with her? and lots of
other questions, that I could not answer; so you must have patience and
give me half-an-hour's start."
"Half-an hour!" cried he, looking at his watch. "Why it is nearly five
o'clock now."
"I must have half-an-hour, I ought to have said an hour. Why, if it is
so late, not put off your journey to Standale until to-morrow. Is your
business there so very pressing?" asked she, slyly.
"Yes. I must go this evening," replied he, evading her look.
"Men are so obstinate, there is no reasoning with them. Is not that what
you said of Miss Neville?"
"This is quite a different thing."
"Oh! of course, quite different, when it suits your convenience; but I
am not convinced."
"Women never are," muttered Charles, turning on his heel.
In the meanwhile Fanny had carried the flower in safety to her
governess, her little mind full of wonderment as to what her cousin
Frances could have meant; why she had looked so strangely and spoken
still more so?
Children are great observers, and often think and see more clearly than
their elders give them credit for. So it was in the present instance.
Fanny felt certain her cousin did not like Miss Neville should have the
flower, that she was jealous of her, and disliked her; and the child
settled very much to her own satisfaction that it was all because her
governess was so pretty, and had such lovely hair; even more golden than
Edith's, while Frances' was as nearly approaching black as it well could
be.
Amy was a little indignant on seeing the flower, and hearing from Fanny
that "_he_ had sent it to her." She recognised the Camellia at a glance.
It was the one Robert Vavasour had gathered for her in the greenhouse;
she knew it again, because in arranging the bouquet for Mrs. Linchmore
its stem had been too short, and she had added a longer one, and secured
it by winding a piece of thread round; it was there still, while some
of the pure white leaves of the flower were becoming tinged with brown;
evidences of the length of time it had been gathered.
"He said it was not quite fresh," said Fanny watching her governess, as
she thought noticing its faded beauty, "but I thought you would like it
just as well, because you are so fond of flowers."
"Who desired you to give it me?"
"That tall dark gentleman who walked home with us one day, the day you
lost your embroidery." Fanny could not get the latter out of her mind,
it was uppermost there.
It was Mr. Vavasour, then who sent it; and why?
Amy remembered his having asked for the flower she had gathered for Mrs.
Linchmore, and her refusal to give it. Had he now sent it to show her
that another, even Mrs. Linchmore, had been more willing to oblige him
than she had; as also how little value he placed on the gift? Or
probably their meeting in the greenhouse had escaped his memory, and
perhaps he merely wished to please her, seeing how fond she was of
flowers, and thought any flower, however faded, was good enough for a
governess.
As she stood by the fire her hand unconsciously wandered towards the
bars; in another moment the poor flower would have been withered, the
heat would have scorched it.
"Oh! don't burn it, Miss Neville, please don't," exclaimed Fanny. "It
isn't half dead yet; and I have had such trouble in bringing it you
safely, because cousin Frances wanted it."
"Miss Strickland?"
"Yes. She got in such a rage, you never saw anything like it; but I
would not let her have it. I was determined she should not. She knew it
was for you too, and it was that made her so angry. She told a fib as
well, for she said she saw Uncle Charles give it me, and you know it was
Mr. Vavasour."
"Did you tell her so?"
"No" replied Fanny, triumphantly, little thinking how every word was
grieving her governess. "No, I didn't; she tried very hard to make me
say, but I wouldn't; see," said she, baring her arm, "I'll show you what
she did. There! see that; only look, Miss Neville," and she pointed to
some deep blue marks, plainly the impression of four lines like fingers,
"wasn't it spiteful and naughty of her?"
Amy looked up in surprise and compassion. Was it possible Miss
Strickland, usually so calm could have so far lost her temper, as to
hurt her so severely. Spiteful? yes it was worse than spiteful, it was
wicked. If she had shown so little mercy to a child who could not have
intentionally harmed her what would be the result of the appeal she
meditated making to her womanly feelings? would she feel for her and
help? she who had shown none for a helpless child? Amy's heart sank
within her, and she began to fear she was in a sea of troubles, that
would take a wiser head than hers, and a stronger hand and heart to
extricate her from.
And all this time the little girl stood with bared arm before her
governess, waiting for and claiming her pity, while the four blue marks
seemed more plainly visible each time Amy looked at them.
Would Miss Strickland ever wound her as deeply? Words she did not care
for, they were often lightly spoken, and soon perhaps regretted or
forgotten; but acts were different things, they caused injuries, and
heart-aches to last a life-time. They might like words be regretted, but
could never be recalled, causing irreparable mischief.
Fanny's arm gave Amy a disagreeable insight into Frances' character, one
that was altogether new and unexpected. Julia Bennet had often spoken of
her, and always from the first as a proud, cold girl, wrapped up in
self, with no interest in the every day cares of life, or affection for
home ties or duties; but fond of society, and caring for little beyond
it, living in the world and only for its approval and worship; a being
neither exacting nor demanding homage, but taking it to herself as a
matter-of-course and right, yet it was evident to Amy, that though she
assumed the appearance of a goddess, she, like many a Homeric deity, was
affected with a mortal's worse passion--revenge, and Amy shivered
slightly as she thought of the coming interview, fearing an explanation
might be more difficult than she had imagined, and that instead of a few
quiet words, it might be a stormy warfare.
"You must have your arm bathed, Fanny," she said, putting the sleeve
down in its place again, and hiding from sight the ugly marks. "I am
sadly afraid you must have been very naughty for Miss Strickland to have
punished you so severely. Why was she angry with you? What did you do to
annoy her?"
"Nothing, Miss Neville. She tried to make me tell her who sent you the
flower; and because I would not she got angry, and wanted to snatch it
from me. It was cousin Frances began it all; she caught hold of me as I
was coming along quite quietly, and never thinking of her at all."
"But you must have vexed her, Fanny. It is impossible she could have
injured you so severely without."
"Well, perhaps I did, a little--only just a little. I found out," said
Fanny, looking down, "something she thought was a secret, and only known
to herself, and she could not bear to think I knew it."
"You found out a secret?"
"Yes," replied Fanny, hesitatingly; "but I must not tell you what it is,
Miss Neville. Please don't ask me."
"I will not, Fanny; but at the same time I hope it is nothing wrong that
will not bear the telling. I am sadly afraid that appearances are
against you. I fear now more than ever that you must have seriously
offended or wounded Miss Strickland. Are you sure, quite sure, Fanny,
that you cannot trust me with the secret?"
"Oh, I must not tell you, indeed I mustn't. You are wrong, too, in what
you think. I have done nothing bad, Miss Neville; do believe me, and
please don't think badly of me."
"I will try not to, Fanny."
"Oh, how I wish I had come in with Edith when she asked me, and never
waited for anyone, then I should never have seen cousin Frances," and
fairly overcome with all her little heart had been suffering during the
past hour, Fanny burst into tears.
"I have made my appearance at a most unfortunate moment," said Anne,
opening the door. "Good gracious, child! don't cry like that; you are
roaring like a mad bull, and will make a perfect fright of yourself into
the bargain. There, do stop. I promise you, you shall be forgiven
whatever your sin, and receive the kiss of forgiveness on the spot, if
you will only have done and be quiet."
"Go, Fanny," said Amy, "we will talk over this quietly by-and-by, go and
desire Mary to see to your arm."
"Thank goodness she is gone," said Anne, "now I can begin to breathe
again. If there is anything in this world I hate, it is the cry of
children and cats; I class them both together, as I don't know which is
the worst of the two, all I do know is, that when children once begin,
they never know when to leave off."
Then suddenly she caught sight of the Camellia, and took it up, while
Amy most sincerely wished she had burnt it.
"Where did you get this Camellia?" asked she.
"Fanny brought it me a few minutes ago," replied Amy, blushing slightly,
feeling she was in a manner evading the question.
But Anne was far too point blank to be put off, and had Amy but
considered for a moment, she would have remembered how hopeless it was
to check or elude Anne's curiosity. She returned to the charge at once,
without one moment's thought or hesitation.
"Who gave it her?" she asked shortly.
"I believe Mr. Vavasour did."
"Of course I expected as much. Here are you like some saintly nun, shut
up in a cloister, no one supposed to get even a glimpse of you, and yet
for all that, you receive more attention than all us poor girls put
together, who are dressing and walking, laughing and talking, and doing
I do not know what else besides to please the men. You may smile, but I
can tell you I think it no laughing matter. Upon my word, it is a great
deal too bad."
"The flower is not worth having," replied Amy, constrained to say
something. "It is faded."
"Not worth having! now I do call that ungrateful, when I dare say the
poor man has done his best to please you. I know I should be thankful
enough at having such a graceful compliment paid me; but there, I never
have the chance of showing my gratitude to anybody, seeing no one ever
pays me the compliment of even sending me a dead flower!"
"I am sure Mr. Hall would."
"Oh! the monster, don't name him, pray. Thank goodness he has not found
out my penchant for flowers, or I believe I should find him waiting
every morning at the bottom of the staircase, with a bouquet as big as
his head, composed of ivy berries and Christmas holly; he decorates his
church with them, and I have no doubt thinks them preferable to the most
lovely hot-house flowers; here, take your Camellia," and she held it out
at arm's length.
This was a ruse on Anne's part to induce Amy to hold out her arm, so
that she might, as it were by accident, discover the sprain, having
determined in her own mind, after leaving Charles, not to let Miss
Neville know a word about his solicitude; he had appealed to Anne's good
nature, and she was willing enough to help him to get a dozen
doctors--if he wished it--to see her, but then Miss Neville must not
know anything about it; there was no reason why she should, but every
reason why she should not.
Anne would not, by the slightest word or hint, soften Miss Neville's
heart towards her cousin; people must manage their own love affairs
themselves, and if they got into scrapes, not get others into a mess as
well; besides, Anne knew well enough, or rather guessed it, that neither
Mr. or Mrs. Linchmore would exactly approve of it, while as for Charles,
she hoped Miss Neville would pay him out in the same coin as he had paid
Frances. If her cousin was foolish enough to fall in love with the
governess, it was his fault, Anne was not going to take the blame, or
have anything to do with it.
Then it was evident to Anne's quick sight that Mr. Vavasour was getting
up a flirtation too, and if Miss Neville was wise she would improve upon
that, there being no one in the world to say a word against his falling
desperately in love with her, if he liked; he was a rich man, and his
own master entirely, and ought to have a wife to help him spend his
money, whereas Charles's fortune was all built upon expectations; it
was true he had some four or five hundred a year, but that might, in
the end, starve a wife, or turn her into a household drudge.
There was not a shadow of doubt in Anne's mind which of the two ought to
be the object of Miss Neville's choice; but true love never did run
smooth, and she supposed she would choose Charles, simply on account of
the difficulties that stood in her way. She only wished, with a sigh,
she was the chosen one, instead of Miss Neville--and then--what a dance
she would lead the two!
"What is the matter with your wrist?" asked she, as Amy of necessity
stretched out the left hand for the flower.
"I have sprained it."
Anne never asked the why or wherefore,--which might have surprised Amy
had she thought at all about it; knowing, as she did, her
inquisitiveness,--but examined it at once.
"Yes, it is a bad sprain, and how swollen the fingers are! and how funny
it looks," said she laughing. "Why you might as well be afflicted with
gout. How it burns! I should be quite frightened if it was mine."
"I am not in the least so," replied Amy. "I am going to bathe it in cold
water presently. I think that will do it good."
"How can you possibly know what will do it good; you ought to have old
Dr. Bernard to see it."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Amy hastily, "there is not the slightest necessity
for any such thing. I cannot bear the idea of it; pray do not think of
it for one moment, I would rather not see him."
"Well, it is horrid, the idea of having a medical man, and knowing that
for the time being, you are bound to follow wherever he leads; I hate it
too. But old Dr. Bernard is so mild and meek, so fatherly-looking, with
his grey hair or hairs--he has only got about twenty round his shining
bald pate--so different to our young doctor at home, who comes
blustering in, cracking his okes; and then sends medicine enough to
kill the whole household. Of course Isabella knows about your arm?"
"No, not a word, and I hope she will not."
"Hope no such thing, please, as I shall tell her of it the very first
opportunity I have."
"Pray do not, Miss Bennet. It will be quite well to-morrow."
"It will not be well for days; and as for not telling Mrs. Linchmore, I
always do what I say, and if you were to talk until Doomsday you would
not reason me out of it. Only think if it were to bring on fever; you
might get seriously ill and die, imagine what a mischance, obliged to
have a funeral and all kinds of horrors; and then, how do you suppose us
poor visitors would feel. I am sure we are dull enough as it is; at
least, I am; so in compassion to our poor nerves, you _must_ see that
dear old Dr. Bernard. It is no use whatever fighting against your
destiny," and without waiting for a reply Anne went away, thinking she
had managed admirably well, seeing she had carried her point, without
in the least compromising Charles.
She looked into the morning-room on her way down: there was no one there
but Alfred Strickland having a quiet nap to while away the time before
dinner, and Mr. Hall; the latter with his legs as usual, tucked away out
of sight, a book in his hand; but fortunately for Anne his face turned
away from its pages, towards the fire; so she crept softly away without
disturbing either.
In the hall, to her astonishment, she met Charles, impatiently awaiting
her, cloaked and booted for his cold ride.
"Well, what success?" asked he.
"How ridiculous!" exclaimed Anne angrily. "There is such a thing as
being too punctual. If I am to do as you wish, I will not be hurried; I
am a woman as well as Miss Neville, and look for as much consideration.
Besides, I said half an hour, and half an hour I will have;" and
without waiting for a reply she passed on into the drawing-room, while
Charles, throwing off his great coat, followed.
But he was doomed to be terribly tried, for there sat Mrs. Linchmore,
the object of Anne's search, deep in the mysteries of a game of chess
with Mr. Vavasour.
Anne sat down and took up a book. "It will never do for me to disturb
them," said she, quietly, rather enjoying the joke of Charles'
discomfiture, now visibly expressed on his face.
A muttered exclamation of impatience, which sounded very much like an
oath, passed his lips.
Anne slightly winced at this. She thought the case getting desperate.
Why should Charles be in such a tremendous hurry?
It was not a case of life and death. She really thought, considering she
was doing him a favour, he might have a chat, and make the time pass
pleasantly and agreeably, instead of letting her see how entirely his
heart was wrapped up in another girl. Only that her word was passed,
from which Anne never deviated, she would have thrown up the office she
had undertaken, and have nothing more to do with it.
Time passed on, not as it generally does, with swift fleet wings; but
even to Anne, who did not care how it went, heavily and slowly, very
much in the same way as the game of chess was progressing. Charles
evinced his impatience by crossing his legs, uncrossing them, taking up
a book and tossing over the pages; for not one word did he read or
desire to; and finally, as the small French clock on the mantel-piece
chimed six, he threw down the book and exclaimed impatiently--
"When the devil will that game be over?" Then catching Anne's astonished
look, he laughed aloud, and said, "You do not often see me out of
temper, cousin?"
"True, but then I never recollect having seen it tried."
"Or tried so severely as it is now."
"Men have no patience, see how quietly I take it."
"You! you have no interest in the matter."
"Have I not? And pray may I ask do you suppose it is very pleasant for
me to be sitting here doing nothing. There are Alfred and Mr. Hall, both
in the morning room, alone, waiting to be talked to, and I might have
them all to myself, for the next half hour, and certainly all the time I
have been wasting on you and your affairs. Have a little more gratitude
Sir, or you may get some one else to manage for you."
"You are a good girl, Anne, but a shocking flirt."
"Oh yes! abuse me as much as you like, it will do you good, and perhaps
make you in a better temper; as I said before, men have no patience. As
long as things go smoothly and quietly they are all right; but when
things happen contrary or not exactly as they wish, they get into a
rage, and do not know how to bear it like us poor women, who are taught
it every hour of our lives."
"I never remember to have heard such a piece of moral wisdom from your
lips before Anne."
They were here, much to the intense delight of Charles, interrupted by
the voices of the chess players.
"That was a very pretty checkmate," said Robert Vavasour, "so totally
unexpected and unperceived."
"Who has beaten?" asked Anne, going towards them, as Charles went out of
the room, leaving her to do as best she could for him.
"Mr. Vavasour," replied Mrs. Linchmore, "he always does."
"Not always; you won two games of me last evening."
"Or rather you allowed me to; but I do not mind being beaten sometimes,
it is tiresome never to win."
While the chess-men were being put away, Anne considered how she should
begin her story, which, now it had come to the point, seemed more
difficult than she had imagined. At length a bright idea struck her.
"I hate chess," she said, "and cannot think what pleasure there can be
in poring over such a dull game. I would a thousand times rather play
the children's Race game; there is something exciting in that, but poor
Miss Neville is too ill to play now."
"Ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Linchmore. "Miss Neville ill?" while one of the
chess-men slipped from Robert Vavasour's fingers, and rolled over on to
the soft hearth rug, instead of into the box as he had intended.
"Yes, she has sprained her wrist," continued Anne, giving the chess-man
a gentle kick with her foot as it lay close beside her.
"Is that all? I thought at least it was the small pox, or scarlet
fever," said Mrs. Linchmore.
"Although it is neither one nor the other," said Anne, "still it is
very bad, and ought to be seen to."
"Do you speak from your own personal observation?"
"Yes. I have been sitting with her for some time, and certainly think
she looks ill and feverish; her hand is swollen an awful size. I should
be quite frightened if it were mine, and told her so. I dare say old Dr.
Bernard though would soon put it all right."
"He shall be sent for to-morrow," replied Mrs. Linchmore, "should she be
no better, but perhaps a night's rest, and a little of Mrs. Hopkin's
doctoring, may make her quite well again. Do you know how she sprained
it?"
"I never asked her," replied Anne, evading a direct reply, "all I know
is, it is very bad."
"If no better to-morrow, I will send for Dr. Bernard in the afternoon,"
said Mrs. Linchmore, quietly.
"To-morrow afternoon," repeated Mr. Vavasour quite as quietly, and
before Anne had time to shape any answer in reply, "But perhaps Miss
Neville is in a great deal of pain; a sprain is an ugly thing sometimes,
and at all times painful."
"It is quite impossible to send to-night," replied Mrs. Linchmore,
decidedly. "Mr. Linchmore will not return from Standale himself much
before ten, and I never send any of the servants so far without his
sanction. It strikes me there is a little unnecessary haste and
compassion displayed for my governess."
Robert Vavasour was silenced; but not so Anne, she came to the rescue at
once, rather nettled.
"I am sure, Isabella, I don't care a bit about it; only I thought as
Charles was going into Standale,--I suppose to ride home with your
husband at night,--he might as well call on Dr. Bernard as not; or leave
a message to say he was wanted."
As there was no good reason why he should not, Mrs. Linchmore was
obliged to acquiesce, though apparently,--and she did not care to
conceal it--with a very bad grace, and without the slightest solicitude
expressed for her governess.
"I have managed it for you," said Anne, going out into the hall, where
she found Charles striding up and down, impatiently; "such a fight as I
have had."
"Never mind about the fight, Anne. Am I to call on Dr. Bernard?"
"Yes."
The word was scarcely spoken, ere to Anne's astonishment, he had caught
her in his arms, and kissed her.
"You're a dear good girl, Anne," he said, "I swear there's nothing I
wouldn't do for you!"
"How rough you are, cousin!" exclaimed Anne, struggling from his hasty
embrace. "I'll do nothing for you, if this is the style I am to be
rewarded with. It may be all very well for you, but I don't like it."
"Here's another then," laughed Charles, "and now for Dr. Bernard, I
suppose he's the best medical man in the place?"
"Oh! for goodness sake," said Anne, aghast at the bare idea of facing
Mrs. Linchmore, if any other were called in. "Do not go to any one but
old Dr. Bernard, whatever you do; Isabella will never forgive me; she is
in a tremendous gale as it is. Do you hear, Charley?" said she, catching
his arm as he was going off.
"All right," said he, laughing at her fright, and leaving her only half
convinced as to what he intended doing. "I'll tell him to call the first
thing in the morning."
Anne held back the hall door as he passed out.
It was pouring with rain, but he was on his horse and away in a second.
"Why he must be desperately in love with that Miss Neville," said Anne,
"to go off in such torrents of rain; he'll be drenched to the skin
before he gets to the park gates. Well, I wish I could be ill, and
somebody--not that Hall--go mad for me in the same way."
And Anne sighed, and smoothed the hair Charles had slightly
disarranged.