DID YOU PROPOSE THEN?
A lover came riding by a while;
A wealthy lover was he, whose smile
Some maids would value greatly.
--More Bad Ballads.
The summer had not been a very gay one. The heat was so intense as to
throw languour on the garden and croquet-parties, which replaced the
winter balls and sleigh drives. Thunder was in the air, and growled and
muttered around; but the joyfully-hailed clouds floated away without
affording a drop of rain; or if one black flying monster poured itself
like a water-spout on the parched city, laying the flowers with its
violence, the thirsty earth licked it up, scarce leaving a trace. Summer
lightning quaked in long sheets over the horizon; the geese were lying
dead on the common from drought; and the restless night was haunted by
the tramp of straying horses on the wooden side-walks.
"Round trips" were advertised in all the papers, and brackish
bathing-places on the St. Lawrence were already crowded. The Saguenay and
Marguerite rivers had carried off their fishing votaries, the black fly
worked its wicked will at Tadousac, where the "property" whale of
the ---- hotel had already been seen spouting, according to the waiter,
as he attended at the matitudinal _table-d'hôte_. At any rate, seals
might be seen with the naked eye, and shot, too, by a wary seal-slayer in
a boat. Two such trophies were already in the hotel, affording unlimited
excitement to the visitors, who, indeed, were somewhat in need of
extraneous amusement, for the only resource the place could boast was
pulling a boat against the strong tide of the two rivers meeting, with
the alternative of a garment-rending scramble in the woods, a prey to the
nipping fly, and coming sometimes in undesired proximity to a wild cat.
Twice a week the Quebec boats, with Saguenay trippers, chiefly Americans,
halted at the hotel for an hour or two, and turned in their freight, who
invariably commenced dancing to the more amiable than tuneful strains of
an amateur performer in the public drawing-room.
This pleasure was partaken of quite as "sadly" as if they were our own
unfrisky compatriots; but it passed the time, and the males still further
diversified it by "smiling" at the bar.
The Rollestons, vacillating between Tadousac, the Falls, a trip in the
"Algoma," and a journey to Boston, their large party being an objection
to each and all, were finally attracted by an advertisement of a
fishing-lodge to be let or sold on Rice Lake.
This would be a _pied à terre_ for disposing of the impedimenta of the
family--governess and children--during the hot months, leaving the others
at liberty for flying excursions. The price was so ridiculous that
Colonel Rolleston bought it outright, jestingly saying to Lola that it
should be her marriage portion.
There had been a croquet party at "The Maples," but nearly every one was
gone except two or three who were remaining for dinner. Among these, with
a movement of vexation, Cecil observed Major Fane, her father's
persistent encouragement of whom began to cause her serious uneasiness.
Why, this was the second time within four days he had been asked to dine!
"Can he possibly have spoken to papa first?" thought she. "It is just the
sort of matter-of-fact thing he would do." Revolving it over, she walked
slowly towards her step-mother, who was revelling in a packet of English
letters just received, and began reading out portions to Cecil, who
listened absently at first, till a passage in one of them, from
circumstances, arrested her attention.
It was from a cousin of Mrs. Rolleston's, and chiefly related to her
only daughter, who was heiress to a considerable property. This child
had always been backward and excitable, and apparently incapable of the
fatigue of study. The letter went on to say that Evelyn was developing
a passion for music, even attempting to compose, and that the writer
desired to find a good musician to reside with them, who should be also
young and cheerful, and likely to tempt her on in other branches of
education as well.
"Mrs. Leighton is exactly describing Bluebell," said Cecil, quietly.
"Oh! and she would suit them so perfectly. I _wonder_ if it would do!
Bluebell will be crazy with delight, she has such a wish to see England;
but I doubt if her mother would part with her to such a distance."
Cecil despised herself for saying,--"If you were to put it very strongly
to Mrs. Leigh, and show her the advantages to her daughter,--for they are
rich as Croesus, and would pay anything for a fancy,--surely she would
not stand in her way."
Mrs. Rolleston was meditating, and answered, rather inconsequently,--"I
feel greatly interested in Bluebell. I think she is very conscientious
and right-minded. Mr. Vavasour never comes here now; and I am sure she
has never encouraged him since I gave her a hint on the subject."
Cecil remembered the scene in the Humber, and Bluebell's
suggestively-conscious face that evening, so did not rate so highly the
heroism of her friend. But the stragglers now drew round them, and they
went in to prepare for dinner.
Cecil had also kept Lilla Tremaine, for latterly she had shrunk from a
_têtê-à-têtê_ with Bluebell, who, sensible of their estrangement, yet
sadly acquiesced in it, as her new-born suspicions had been strengthened
by seeing Cecil receive a letter in Bertie's handwriting.
Lilla, who could not forget the _tableau vivant_ she had witnessed, was
continually persecuting her hapless victim with inuendoes and allusions,
whose anger and powerlessness to exculpate herself gave an additional
zest to the amusement. Therefore, finding this young lady was to remain
the evening, Bluebell took refuge in the school-room tea, and did not
appear at dinner.
Conversation fell on the new purchase, and their approaching departure
for Rice Lake; and, observing this did not appear to have a very
exhilarating effect on the Major, Colonel Rolleston continued,--"When
will you come down and see us, Fane? We shall get very tired of our
recluse life, and want some one to bring us the news."
The Major's face brightened, but, stealing a glance at Cecil's, which
only expressed consternation, it was speedily overcast, and he returned
an evasive answer. Looking gloomily for the relief he expected to discern
in her countenance, he received a swift glance of gratitude, which
uncomplimentary graciousness completed his discomfiture.
Soon after dinner some garrison duty summoned away Colonel Rolleston,
and the others returned to the garden, where daylight struggled with the
newly-risen moon. A soft breeze came up from the lake, reviving after
the glaring day. Cecil was _distraite_ and silent, so Lilla's vivacious
tongue attracted around her the gentlemen of the group, and, without
any effort of his, Major Fane found himself somewhat apart with Miss
Rolleston.
Though heart-whole when we first introduced him, he was now really in
love with Cecil,--that is to say, he approved of and wished to marry her.
As an eligible, many determined efforts had been made for his capture,
and the absence of any desire on her part to attract him gave first the
feeling of security which soon led to a stronger one. If not pretty, she
was graceful, especially so just now, he thought, in that unconscious,
reflective attitude.
Fane became nervous: it wasn't often he got the chance of being alone
with her, and she might immediately rejoin the others; but just then
Cecil, coming out of her reverie, looked up, and said,--"Don't you want
to smoke? Not here, but come over to the summer-house where the children
do their lessons."
This proposal from the reserved Cecil, who had lately been so
conspicuously repellent? He thought the change too good so be believed,
and, without another asking, accompanied her to the arbour; but she
insisted on the ostensible motive of their going there being carried out.
"Do you think, Cecil," said he, darting on his opportunity, "I want
anything else when I am alone with you?"
Fane had, as he thought, broken the ice; but the next instant he was
uncertain if she had heard or understood. A moonbeam showed him her
face,--it was very pale with a look of determination on it, and her eyes
were bright and steady.
"Yes," said she, after a pause, "I am glad we are alone. Major Fane, I
have known you such a long time, I want to ask a favour of you, and tell
you a secret."
The most confident lover might have found something ominous in these
words. Fane felt as if he had made a false step; but he answered,
stiffly, perhaps,--"You must have known me to very little purpose, Miss
Rolleston, if you are not assured how gladly I would help or be of use to
you in any way."
"Don't think me mad," cried the girl, impulsively; "but could you stay
away--I mean, not come here quite so often."
Fane was too much astonished to speak, and Cecil plunged desperately
on. "You have been so kind to me," she faltered, "I am afraid of its
misleading papa, and his thinking that you have wishes and intentions--"
"That I might wish to marry you, Cecil? Is that the misconception you are
afraid of?"
"Pray don't imagine _I_ think so, but _he_, might; and, oh! Major Fane,
I care most deeply for some one whom I know would not be acceptable to
papa. You, on the contrary, would be everything he could wish--don't you
see? the disappointment would make the other all the more objectionable
to him."
"I do see my unenviable position," said Fane, shortly, for it was bad
enough to be thrown over himself without being expected to be interested
in a rival. "What do you wish me to do, Miss Rolleston?"
"To forget, if you can, every word I have said," cried Cecil, in an
_accès_ of embarrassment now that she had done it, and the excitement was
over. "What _must_ you think of me!"
Fane was silent for some time, for he was struggling with mortification.
Fortunately for Cecil, he was a gentleman, or he might have revenged
himself by assuring her she had totally mistaken his intentions.
"I can't under-value the sacrifice you ask of me," said he, presently. "I
do not blame you, for you have never pretended to spare me any affection
from the lover you are so true to. I hope he is worthy of it."
A pang seized her, as the doubt whether she was not throwing away true
gold for counterfeit obtruded itself. "We are good enough for each
other," said she, simply, "but, at present, his prospects are so
discouraging, that we are not even engaged." A curious expression passed
over Fane's face. "But I have money enough for both," pursued Cecil, "and
if papa is not dazzled and attracted by more brilliant--by you, in short,
he must see there is sufficient, and, if I remain firm, eventually
consent."
Her extreme eagerness infected Fane too, and relieved the awkwardness of
her strange appeal.
"Still afraid of me!" said he, sadly. "My poor child! I fear there is
trouble before you. Will it satisfy you if I get six months' leave, and
go to England? By that time, perhaps, your complications may have
arranged themselves."
Cecil's dark eyes beamed on him with the most speaking gratitude. "You
_are_ a true friend," cried she, warmly, "but how selfish and exacting of
me to banish you!"
"Oh, as to that," said he, with a short laugh, "I shall not dislike it.
I should have got away long ago if I had known what I do now."
Nothing a woman detests so much as friendship from the man she cares for,
and yet she always offers it to the suitor she rejects.
"I never thought you would care really," said she softly "I hope I have
not lost my friend by putting too much confidence in him."
"I ought to thank you for your honesty," said he, with a reaction to
bitterness, and they rose and returned to the others, met by many a
significant look and shrug. Fane observed it, and determined to go. He
was in no humour to be watched and commented on as a suitor of Cecil's.
His dog-cart hadn't come, but he lit a cigar, and walked to meet it. "So
that's settled," thought he. "And now the sooner I get out of this horrid
country the better. I wish I hadn't refused a share of that moor; I
should have been just in time for it. Well, she is a nice girl--far too
good for that scamp, Du Meresq. I might have suspected what was going on
there. Poor child! what a life he will lead her if it comes off, but most
likely it won't. It _must_ be Du Meresq; for, though I was evidently
meant by the Colonel, I remember that Madame never seemed especially
pleased to see me."
How unfeeling women are! Cecil forgot her remorse at Fane's
disappointment in exultation at having so successfully removed a serious
obstacle from her path, and her eye sparkled with wicked amusement as she
noticed the marked coldness of Mrs. Rolleston's manner, due to her
supposed flirtation with the Major.
The Colonel, too, who returned shortly afterwards, glanced round and
inquired for Fane.
"Gone, I think," said Cecil, innocently; and he also threw upon her a
look of gloom and reproach. No engaged young lady could be gayer than
Cecil the rest of the evening. She became the life of the party, would
keep everybody as late as possible: and certainly more than one shared
the opinion of Mrs. Rolleston, whom her daughter mischievously tried to
confirm in it, that the arbour had been the scene of a proposal and
acceptance.
As the elder lady was slowly undressing that night, Cecil, still with the
same provoking brightness on her face, peeped in.
"Are you sleepy, mamma?"
There was something in her manner that brought Mrs. Rolleston's
annoyance to the culminating point. She thought the faithless damsel had
come to announce her engagement, and demand sympathy and congratulations.
So, with a view to arrest any aggressive gush, she said, with some
asperity,--"I am glad you have come, for I wanted to tell you, Cecil,
how bad it looked your walking off in that way with Major Fane."
"I suppose it was rather strong," said the girl coolly; "but I like him
so much. I had no idea he was so nice."
Mrs. Rolleston took refuge in the ill-assumed dignity of rising anger.
"I suppose, mamma, he is very well off? Papa often wonders that he goes
soldiering on."
"Really, Cecil, whatever your speculations may be, it was not a delicate
act, sitting apart with him for half-an-hour in a dark arbour."
"I thought he might propose,"--Mrs. Rolleston's face expressed, "Are you
mad?"--"or give me a chance somehow of saying what I wanted to. And
what's more," she continued, "I am not certain whether he meant to, or
not. To be sure, I didn't give him much time."
"Did _you_, propose, then? Cecil, if you don't wish me to disbelieve my
own senses, tell me at once what you were about in the summer-house."
"Refusing eight thousand a year," was the short reply.
A puzzled, not unpleased expression, was dawning. "I thought you said he
did not propose?"
"Well, no; honestly, he didn't. We had a little conversation, and the
upshot was, he has promised to go to England for six months."
Mrs. Rolleston was not a proud woman, and the relief was so great, that
she folded Cecil in a silent embrace.
"Perhaps, mamma," continued the girl, demurely, "you won't think it
necessary to mention this to papa. It wouldn't be fair to betray Major
Fane!"
Mrs. Rolleston was only too convinced, and replied, "that she should
consider it Cecil's secret, and say nothing about it." Whereupon the
damsel ran merrily off, humming the air, "I told them they needn't come
wooing to me." But, arrived in her own room, her evanescent high spirits
vanished, and a bitter and clear-sighted mood succeeded. "Bertie," she
thought, "your evil influence is over us all. Mamma, till now the truest
of step-mothers, is only thinking of ensuring you my fortune. I disoblige
papa, send away a true love, hate Bluebell for her too attractive soft
eyes, am harassed by doubts even of you--is it worth it? I might yet
recall Lucian Fane; he is very calm, and would not expect too much. What
folly! No, if I am to be miserable, it must be my own way, with the only
man who interests me heart and soul. I suppose, if we marry, I may reckon
on one year of happiness, though hardly any one who knew Bertie would
expect him to be constant even for that time. But by then I should have
got immense influence, for, though I am not clever and attractive like
him, I have far more will, and, in the long run, it is character more
than talent that shapes our life. If Bluebell would only go to England!"
Then she detached from the wall and began to pack up a little possession
that always travelled with her. It was only an old print of a cavalier,
and no one but Cecil had observed that a twin soul to Bertie's looked out
of its dreaming eyes.