VANE TREVOR OPENS HIS MIND
After a silence, Mr. Vane Trevor, whose thoughts were not _quite_
abandoned to Henbane and his friend William Maubray, but had begun to
flow in a more selfish channel, said—
“Miss Darkwell, I suppose, in the garden?”
“Violet’s gone for a few days to our friends, the Mainwarings, at their
new Rectory; they seem to like it extremely.”
“Oh, _do_ they? That’s delightful,” said Trevor, who looked very dismal.
“And so Miss Darkwell is there?”
Miss Perfect nodded.
“I’m—I’m very unlucky. I—I thought such a fine day, I—I might have
induced you both to—to—there’s such a pretty drive to Wilton.”
“Yes—I know—I’m sure she’d have liked it of all things.”
“Do you _really_ think so?” exclaimed the young man, inquiringly. “I
wish—I wish very much I could—I could flatter myself.”
Aunt Dinah looked up, and at him earnestly but kindly, and said nothing,
and so looked down again. There was encouragement in that look, and
Trevor waxed eloquent.
“I—I wish I could—I wish I dare—I—I think her so beautiful. I—I can’t
express all I think, and I—there’s nothing I would not do to make her
friends approve—a—a—in fact I should be so much obliged if I thought you
would wish me well, and be my friend—and—and⸺”
And Vane Trevor, for want of anything distinct to add to all this, came
to a pause.
And Miss Perfect, with a very honest surprise in her face, said:
“Am I to understand, Mr. Vane Trevor?” and she too came to a stop.
But with those magical words the floodgates of his eloquence were opened
once more.
“Yes, I do. I do indeed. I mean to—to propose for Miss Darkwell, if—if I
were sure that her friends liked the idea, and that I could think she
really liked me. I came to-day with the intention of speaking to her.”
He was now standing erect, no longer leaning against the window shutter,
and holding his walking-cane very hard in both hands, and impressing
Miss Perfect with a conviction of his being thoroughly in earnest.
“I tell you frankly, Mr. Trevor,” said Aunt Dinah, a little flushed with
a sympathetic excitement, and evidently much pleased, “I did not expect
this. I had fancied that you were not a likely person to marry, and to
say truth, I sometimes doubted whether I ought to have allowed your
visits here so frequently, at least as you have made them for the last
few weeks. Of course I can see nothing that is not desirable, in fact
highly advantageous in the proposal you make. Am I at liberty to write
to Sergeant Darkwell on the subject?”
“Oh! certainly—exactly what I should wish.”
“I’m very sure he will see it in the same light that I do. We all know
the Trevors of Revington, the position they have always held; and though
I detest the line they took in the great civil war, and think your poor
father had no business helping to introduce machinery into this part of
the world as he did, and I always said so, I yet can see the many
amiable qualities of his son, and I have no doubt that you will make a
kind and affectionate husband. I must, however, tell you candidly, that
I have never spoken of you to Violet Darkwell as a—in fact, in any other
light than that of an acquaintance, and I cannot throw any light upon
her feelings. You can ascertain them best for yourself. My belief is,
that a girl should be left quite free to accept or decline in such a
case, and I know that her father thinks exactly as I do.”
“I may write to Miss Darkwell, do you think? I suppose I had better?”
“_No_,” said Miss Perfect, with decision; “were I you I should much
prefer speaking. Depend upon it, there’s more to be _done_ by speaking.
But as you are acquainted with her father, don’t you think you might
write to him? Violet may return in three days, but will not, I think,
quite so soon; and meanwhile you will have heard from him.”
“I think so. I’ll do it, certainly; and I—I feel that you’re my friend,
Miss Perfect;” and he took her hand, and she took his very kindly.
“I’ve said my say; I _highly_ approve, and I’m quite certain her father
will also; he agrees with me on most points; he’s a very superior man.”
Vane Trevor, there and then, with Aunt Dinah’s concurrence, wrote his
letter to Mr. Sergeant Darkwell; and then he walked with Aunt Dinah in
the garden, talking incessantly of Violet, and it must be added, very
much pleased with Miss Perfect’s evident satisfaction and elation; and
he remained to dinner, a situation which two months ago would have
appeared the most ludicrous and dismal in nature, and he gabbled of his
lady love, asking questions and starting plans of all sorts.
And time flew so in this _tête-à-tête_, that they were surprised by the
entrance of the household with the Bible and Prayer-book; and Mr. Vane
Trevor, though not a particularly sober-minded youth, could not avoid
accepting the role of the absent William Maubray, and officiated, much
to the edification of the maids, in whose eyes the owner of Revington
was a very high personage indeed; and “the chapter” for that evening
delighted and overawed them, and they could hardly believe their eyes
that the great squire of Revington was pent up with them in that small
drawing-room, and kneeling and saying “amen,” and repeating the Lord’s
Prayer after Miss Perfect, “as mild and humble” as one of themselves.
When he got home to Revington, not being able to tranquillise his mind,
he vented his excitement upon the two letters which I have mentioned as
having reached the family of Kincton, at the breakfast-table.
“Read that, Clara, my dear,” said Mrs. Kincton Knox, with a funereal nod
and in a cautious under-tone.
Miss Clara read the letter, and when she came to the passage which
related that poor old Sir Richard Maubray had had a second and much
severer paralytic stroke, and was now _in articulo_, she raised her eyes
for a moment to her mother’s and both for a moment looked with a solemn
shrewdness into the other’s; Miss Clara dropped hers again to the
letter, and then stole a momentary glance at William, who looked as if
he were very ill.
As a man who receives a letter announcing that judgment is marked, and
bailiffs on his track, will hide away the awful crumpled note in his
pocket, and try to beguile his friends by a pallid smile, and a vague
and incoherent attempt to join in the conversation, so William strove to
seem quite unconcerned, and the more he tried the more conscious was he
of his failure.
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