“_So you pushed that little snowball from the top? And now it has
reached the bottom and become quite large? My faith! how surprising!_”
--La Rabide.
[Illustration: 9272]
T is an afternoon in December, gray and chilly and dark; neither the
season nor the hour to exhilarate the heart. I am alone in my room,
bending over my writing-table, endeavoring to relieve my depression upon
paper.
Since my appearance upon the music-hall stage I have enjoyed the society
of my Oxford friends while they remained in town; I have revelled with
Teddy; I have had my “burst”; and now the reaction has come. The solace
of my most real and intimate friend, Dick Shafthead, is denied me, for
he has apparently left London for a time; at any rate, his rooms are
shut up and he is not there. No company now but regrets and cynical
reflections. A short time ago what bright fancies were visiting me!
“Woman gives and woman takes away,” I said to myself. “But she takes
more than she gives!” I felt indeed bankrupt.
[Illustration: 0273]
Opening my journal and glancing back over rose-tinted, deluded eulogies,
I came to the interrupted entry, “To d'Haricot from d'Haricot.” Ah, that
I had profited by my own advice! “Foolish friend, beware!”--but he had
not.
I took up my pen and continued the exhortation.
“_What is woman? A false coin that passes current only with fools! Art
thou a fool, then? No longer!_”
Just then came a tap at the door, followed by the comely' face of
Aramatilda.
“A lady to see you, sir,” she said.
I started. Could it be--? Impossible!
“Who is she?” I asked, indifferently.
“She didn't give her name, sir.”
“Show her in,” I replied, closing my journal, but repeating its last
words to myself.
Again the door opened. I rose from my seat. Did Kate hope to befool me
again? No, it was not Kate who entered and said, in a tone of perfect
self-possession:
“Are you Mr. d'Haricot?”
She was rather small, she was young--not more than two-and-twenty. She
had a very fresh complexion and a pretty, round little face saved from
any dolliness by the steadiness of her blue eyes, the firmness of her
mouth, and the expression of quiet self-possession. She reminded me of
some one, though for the moment I could not think who.
“I am Mr. d'Haricot,” I replied. “And you?”
“I am Aliss Shafthead.”
“Dick's sister!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” she said, with a pleasant glimpse of smile that accentuated the
resemblance. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
She gave me a quick, clear glance as if to test my truth, and then, as
though she were satisfied, went on in the same quiet and candid voice:
“I tried to find my cousin Teddy Lumme, but, as he was out, I have
taken the liberty of calling on you, because I know you are one of
Dick's friends--and because--” She hesitated, though without any
embarrassment, and gave me the same kind of glance again--just such a
look as Dick would have given, translated into a woman's eye.
“Is anything the matter?” I asked, quickly. “Yes,” she said. “He has
left home and we don't know where he is.”
“What has happened?” I exclaimed.
“He has told you of Agnes Grey, I think?” she answered.
“He has given me his confidence.”
“Dick came home a few days ago, and became engaged to her. My father was
angry about it and now they have gone away.”
She told me this in the same quiet, straightforward way, looking
straight at me in a manner more disconcerting than any suggestion of
reproach. It was I--I, the misanthrope, the contemner of woman, who had
urged him, exhorted him to this reckless deed! And evidently she knew
what my counsel had been. I could have shot myself before her eyes if I
had thought that step would have mended matters.
“Then they have run away together!” I cried. “They have gone away,” she
repeated, quietly, “and, I suppose, together. I am afraid my father was
very hard on them both.”
“And doubtless you have learned what ridiculous advice I gave him?”
“Yes,” she replied, “Dick told me.”
“And now you abhor me.”
“I should be much obliged if you would help me to find them,” she
answered, still keeping her steady eyes upon my distracted countenance.
“I ask your pardon,” I said. “It is help you want, not my
regrets--though, I assure you, I feel them. Have you been to his
chambers?”
“Yes, I went and knocked, but I could get no answer.”
“Perhaps they--I should say he--has returned by now. I shall go at once
and see.”
“Thank you,” she replied, still quietly, but with a kinder look in her
eyes.
“And you--will you wait here?”
“Oh, I shall come, too, of course,” she said, and somehow I found this
announcement pleasing.
As we drove together towards the Temple, I learned a few more
particulars of Dick's escapade. When he told his father his intention
of marrying Miss Grey, the indignation of the baronet evidently knew
no bounds, for even his daughter admitted that he had been less than
courteous to poor Agnes, and what he had said to Dick was discreetly
left to my imagination. This all happened yesterday; Agnes had retired,
weeping, to her bedroom, and Dick, swearing, towards the stables. The
orders he gave the coachman were only discovered afterwards; but his
plans were well laid, for it was not till the culprits were missing at
dinner that any one discovered they had only waited till darkness fell
and then driven straight to the station. No message was left, no clew
to their whereabouts. You can picture the state of mind the family were
thrown into.
Morning came, but no letter with it, and by the middle of the day
Miss Shafthead could stand the suspense no longer, so, in the same
business-like fashion as Dick, without a word to her parents, she had
started in pursuit. The aunt she proposed to spend the night with was
not as yet informed that she was to have a visitor; business first, and
till that was accomplished my fair companion was simply letting fate
take charge of her. “With fate's permission, I shall assist,” I said to
myself.
As we drew near to the Temple, she fell silent, and I felt sure that,
despite her air of _sang-froid_, her sisterly heart was beating faster.
“Do you think they--I mean he--will have returned?” she said to me,
suddenly, as we walked across the quiet court.
“Sooner or later he is sure to be in--if he is in London. May I ask you
to say nothing as we ascend the stairs, and to permit me to make the
inquiries?”
She gave her consent in a glance, and we tramped up the old wooden
staircase till we stopped in silence before Dick's door. These chambers
of the Temple are unprovided with any bells or other means of calling
the inmates' attention beyond the simple method of knocking. If the
heavy outer door of oak be closed, and he away from home, or disinclined
to receive you, you may knock all afternoon without getting any
satisfaction; and it was the latter alternative I feared. At this
juncture I could imagine circumstances under which my friend might
prefer to remain undisturbed.
For a moment I listened, and I was sure I could hear a movement inside.
Then I knocked loudly. No answer. I knocked again, but still no answer.
“Stay where you are and make no sound,” I whispered to my companion.
“Like the badger, he must be drawn.”
[Illustration: 0279]
I fumbled at the letter-slit in the door as though I were the postman
endeavoring to introduce a packet, and dropped my pocket-book on the
floor outside. This I knew to be the habit of these officials when a
newspaper proved too bulky. Then, quietly picking up the pocket-book,
I descended the stairs with as much noise as possible, till I thought
I was out of hearing, when I turned and ran lightly up again. Just as
I was quietly approaching the top of the flight I saw the door open and
the astonished Dick confront his sister. I stopped.
“Daisy!” he exclaimed, in a tone which seemed to be made up of several
emotions.
“Dick!” she replied, her self-control just failing to keep her voice
quite steady.
“Was it you who knocked?” he asked, more suspiciously than kindly.
“No, Dick; it was I who look that liberty,” I answered, continuing my
ascent.
He turned with a start, for he had not seen me.
“You?” he said, sharply. “It was a dodge, then, to--”
“To induce you to break from cover. Yes, my friend, to such extremities
have you driven us.”
“In what capacity have you come?” he asked, with ominous coolness.
“As friends,” I replied. “Friends who have come to place ourselves at
your service; haven't we, Miss Shafthead?”
“Yes,” said she, “we are friends. Don't you believe me, Dick?”
“Who sent you?” he asked.
“I came myself.”
“Does my father know?”
“No.”
Dick's manner changed.
“It's very good of you, Daisy. Unfortunately--” here he hesitated in
some embarrassment--“unfortunately, I am engaged--I mean I have some one
with me.”
At this crisis Miss Daisy rose to the occasion in a way that surprised
me, even though I had done little but admire her spirit since we met.
“Of course,” she replied, with a smile; “I was sure you would have,
Dick, and I want to see you both.”
“Come in, then,” he said.
“And I?” I asked, with a becoming air of diffidence.
“As I acted on your advice,” he answered, “you'd better see what you've
done.”
We entered, and there, standing in the lamplight, we saw the cause of
all this mischief. She was a little, slender figure with a pretty little
oval face in which two very soft brown eyes made a mute appeal for
sympathy. There was something about her air, something about her demure
expression, something about the simplicity of her dress and the Puritan
fashion in which she wore her hair, that gave one an indescribably
quaint and old-fashioned impression, and this impression was altogether
pleasant. When she opened her lips, and in a voice that, I know not
how, heightened this effect, and with an expression of sweetness and
contrition said, simply: “Daisy, what must you think?” I forgot all my
worldly wisdom and was ready, if necessary, to egg her lover on to still
more gallant courses Daisy herself, however, capitulated more tardily.
She did not, as I hoped, rush into the charming little sinner's arms,
but only answered, kindly, indeed, yet as if holding her judgment in
reserve:
“I haven't heard what has happened yet.”
I gave a sign to Dick to be discreet in answering this inquiry, which he
however read as merely calling attention to my presence.
“Oh, let me introduce Mr. d'Haricot--Miss Grey,” he said.
So she was still Aliss Grey--and they had fled together nearly
four-and-twenty hours ago. I repeated my signal to be careful in making
admissions.
“Where have you been?” said Daisy.
“I have some cousins--some cousins of my father's--in London,” Agnes
answered. “I am staying with them.”
“And you are living here?” I said to Dick.
“Where else?” he replied, with a surprise that was undoubtedly genuine.
“The arrangement is prudence itself,” I pronounced. “You see, Miss
Shafthead, that these young people have tempered their ardor with a
discretion we had scarcely looked for. I do not know what you intend to
do, but, for myself, I kiss Miss Grey's hand and place my poor services
at her disposal!”
And I proceeded to carry out the more immediately possible part of this
resolution without further delay.
The little mademoiselle was evidently affected by my act of salutation,
while Dick exclaimed, with great cordiality:
“Good old monsieur; by Jove! you're a sportsman!”
Still his sister hung back; in fact, my impetuosity seemed to have
rather a damping effect upon her.
“What are you going to do, Dick?” she asked.
“We are going to get married.”
“What, at once?”
“Almost immediately.”
“Without father's consent?”
“After what he said to us both--to Agnes in particular--do you think I
am going to trouble about his opinion?”
“But, Dick, supposing we can get him to change his mind?”
“Who is going to change it for him? for he won't do it himself--I know
the governor well enough for that.”
“If I try to, will you wait for a little?”
“It's no use,” said Dick.
“Wait till we see, Dick!”
“Yes, we shall wait,” said Agnes. “Dick, you will wait, won't you?”
“If you insist,” replied Dick, though not very cordially.
“Then you will try?” said Agnes.
Daisy came to her side, took her hand, and kissed her at last.
“Oh yes, I'll do my very best!” she exclaimed.
There followed one of those little displays of womanly affection that
are so charming yet so tantalizing when one stands outside the embraces
and thinks of the improvement that might be effected by a transposition
of either of the actors.
“What will you say?” asked Dick, in a minute.
“I don't quite know,” replied Daisy, candidly. “I suppose I had better
say that--”
She paused, as if considering.
“Say that this is one of the matches made in heaven!” I cried. “Say that
not even a father has the right to stand between two people who love
each other as these do!”
“By gad! Daisy,” said Dick, “you ought to take the monsieur with you. I
don't believe there'd be any resisting him.”
“Let me come!” I exclaimed; “I claim the privilege. My rash counsels
helped to cause this situation; permit me to try and make the
atonement!”
Daisy looked at me, I am bound to say, rather doubtfully.
“He has a wonderful way with him,” urged Dick. “We can't do that kind of
eloquent appeal-to-the-feelings business in England, but it fetches us
if it's properly managed. You see, I don't want to fall out with the
governor. I know, Daisy, what a good sort he has been--but I am not
going to give up Agnes.”
“If you think Mr. d'Haricot would really do any good--” said Daisy.
“He can but try,” I broke in.
“Please let him,” said Agnes, softly.
Ah, I had not shown her my devotion in vain!
“All right,” said Daisy.
And so it was arranged that we were to start upon our embassy next
morning.
[Illustration: 8000]