A TIMELY INTERRUPTION.
"Time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn, some grand mistake,
Casts off its bright skin yearly, like the snake."
BYRON.
MINA had great anticipations for Christmas week. There were to be
unusually grand doings at the Grandponts', and having promised to help
Alice with the decorations, she expected to be there nearly every day
up to Christmas Eve.
Besides this, Neville would be home for the vacation, and, apart from
her anxiety to hear of all his doings, she expected that Aylesdere
would be somewhat livelier during his stay.
Horace Grandpont professed to see through the enthusiasm with which she
expressed herself on the subject, and diverted himself with teasing
her about it. "It was all sham and nonsense," he declared. "Just as if
girls ever expected any one really to believe their protestations of
devotion to their brothers," he exclaimed one evening, as he lounged in
the study, where Mina and Alice were working at their preparations.
"Oh! You are horrid," Mina cried. "What sister could help being devoted
to such a noble fellow as Neville! I would do anything in the world for
him."
"I daresay," returned young Grandpont, mischievously, "if you thought
there was anything to be wheedled out of him. I know what you're
thinking about,—next Commem. and the Oxonian dons. Now, don't blush!"
"I'm not blushing," retorted Mina, pressing her hands to her face. "Am
I, Alice?"
"I've something better to do than look," replied Alice, without raising
her eyes from her work. "I know I shouldn't object to a brother at
Oxford in view of Commem."
"Ally knows she doesn't care for brothers," Horace ran on. "Don't you,
Sis?"
"Other people's are more amusing, certainly," laughed Alice,
truthfully. "But perhaps, if I had been blessed with a larger selection
to choose from, I might have found one more to my taste. You're not a
very obliging specimen, Mr. Horace. Why don't you help me to cut out
this cardboard?"
"Because I agree with your theory, and cannot do two things at once,"
returned her brother. "'Other people's sisters' want my assistance just
now. What's good for—What is it, Mina?"
Mina shook her head; but Alice cried shame.
"The idea of descending to such vulgar sayings," she exclaimed, in a
severe tone of voice.
"Oh! You're quite out," replied Horace coolly. "I never quote proverbs
in society. I was about to remark that what is good for seasoning is
not always agreeable sweetening. Helping one's sister may be a very
beneficial exercise of patience, but otherwise it is not to be desired."
"Really, you are a pattern brother!" cried Alice, jumping up. "I was
going to give you the pleasure of fetching something for me; but I hate
unwilling service. I shall fetch it myself, now."
"You positively tempt me to quote a proverb, now," said Horace. "I know
of one which would apply so splendidly: 'Revenge sometimes has a reflex
action.' I wonder upon whom you imagine the punishment will fall most
heavily—yourself, or me?"
"I only wish Neville were here," retorted Alice.
"He doesn't seem in any hurry to come back," remarked Horace. "Term
was over last week. I imagine he finds Oxford livelier than this old
place. There are some stunning young ladies there; too; 'sweet girl
graduates,' and all that sort of thing."
Alice deigned no reply to this remark, not choosing any one to imagine
that it made the least difference to her how charming Neville Adams
found the fair Oxonians. "Why didn't Ned Burleigh come, or Mr. Willis?"
she said, as she crossed the room. "They would have worked like slaves
for me."
As soon as the door closed on Alice, her brother left his chair for a
seat on the sofa beside Mina.
"You are a sly little hypocrite, Mina," he said, bending forward and
looking up in her face. "You know it's all nonsense about caring so
much for Neville, don't you? I should be jealous if I thought you meant
it."
Mina bent her head still lower. "Jealous of Neville!" she said, with a
pretence pout. "You are not my brother."
"I should be awfully jealous if he were your cousin," said Horace. "But
you haven't any cousins you care about, have you, Miss Mina?" he added,
pretending to pinch her arm. "Except Sir Knight-Errant; and I don't
mind how fond you are of him, now that he's safe in London."
"But of course he will come home for Christmas," said Mina wickedly;
"and if you are not good, I will turn conscience-stricken, and take my
poor cousin into favour."
"I'll turn father confessor, first," cried Horace, "and give you a
dispensation to ease you of your scruples, on certain conditions. I
should like to confess you, Mina; I'd make you confess to some dreadful
sins; and you shouldn't choose your penances, either. This is the way.
Give me your hand."
"Horace, don't be so silly," cried Mina, pulling her hand away, and
blushing very prettily.
"I'm not silly. I want to show you," said Horace, again possessing
himself of her hand.
"Without the penances, then," said Mina, yielding; "because it's only
make-believe."
"Don't you wish it was real?"
"I shouldn't like you a bit if you were a horrid old priest," cried
Mina.
"You like me best as I am? 'Silence gives consent,'" he added, as Mina
only answered by a little pout. "Confession number one. Now; lay your
hand in mine, so,—" transferring it from his left palm to his right.
"What a pretty little hand it is!"
"That isn't what the priests say," objected Mina.
"But then I'm not a real priest, you see. They don't allow their
penitents to dictate to them, though. Now; confession number two. Would
you like everybody to be like me?"
Mina looked down at her little hand lying in his, and made no answer.
"Come!" said Horace, moving a little closer to her. "You must answer.
Would you?"
Mina pouted, and said, "No."
"Why not?" Horace asked, looking up coaxingly.
"Because—because—I shouldn't know which to like best," she answered,
trying to draw her hand away.
But Horace only held it more tightly. "No, no," he said, "not so easily
escaped, my lady-love."
"Oh, Horace!" cried Mina, half-frightened. "Do be serious."
"I am, Mina. No one else is my lady-love. Now, one question more."
Horace's face was very near hers, and his voice was low and soft.
Mina's heart beat, and she changed colour rapidly. There was only one
question he could possibly be going to ask. Oh if only Alice would
remain upstairs one minute longer!
But Alice was in happy unconsciousness of what was passing. At that
moment, she was descending the staircase, and before Horace could
think of a question to ask, she was at the door. The effect was like
magic. Before she had time to enter, Mina's hand was on her work, and
Horace was sitting up as properly as possible; the only tell-tales
being Mina's high colour and Horace's position by her on the sofa.
He, however, affected to be engaged in showing her a more easy method
of doing what she was about, and presently deigned to go and render a
little assistance to his sister, who at length declared that she must
disturb Mina if he persisted in withholding it any longer.
Mina was dreadfully disappointed at Alice's inopportune return. To be
Mrs. Horace Grandpont was such a desirable fate; and she could think of
no other question which he could be going to ask her than whether her
heart was his.
It must be confessed her extensive course of novel-reading had taught
her to picture a somewhat different scene for such an occasion; neither
would she have chosen gaslight in the study as the most fitting time
and place. The bowery shade of a conservatory, a moonlight walk, or a
pic-nic in the wood, would have suited her romantic taste far better.
But these were secondary considerations after all, and faded into
insignificance by the side of the question itself. She cared little, if
only the interrupted "tête-à-tête" were resumed.
But no opportunity occurred. Alice had no further occasion to leave
them, and soon afterwards they were called into the dining-room to
supper.
The walk home was Mina's only remaining hope.
The evening was fine, and the moon at the full; moreover Alice did not
propose to accompany them, as she sometimes would, and Mina's heart
fluttered with expectation. But not one hairbreadth beyond gallantry
did Horace Grandpont go. And after walking a whole mile with her under
that soft, witching light, he left her at her father's door without
having extorted the confession which she was so ready to make.
In plain point of fact, he had only been amusing himself with her, as
he had done with many other girls before, and had not the slightest
intention of binding himself by an engagement, until he should have the
good fortune to conquer the heart of an heiress.