A series of violent scenes in Melmar made a fitting climax to this
little episode in the wood. Desirée demanded an interview with Mrs.
Huntley, and obtained it in that lady’s chamber, which interview was not
over when Patricia appeared, and shortly after Melmar himself, and
Oswald, who sent both the governess and her enemy away, and had a
private conference with the unfortunate invalid, who was not unwilling
to take up her daughter’s suspicions, and condemn the little Frenchwoman
as a designing girl, with schemes against the peace of the heir of
Melmar. Somehow or other, the father and son together managed to still
these suspicions, or to give them another direction; for, on the
conclusion of this conference Desirée was sent for again to Mrs.
Huntley’s room; the little governess in the meanwhile had been busy in
her own, putting her little possessions together with angry and
mortified haste, her heart swelling high with a tumult of wounded pride
and indignant feeling. Desirée obeyed with great stateliness. She found
the mother of the house lying back upon her pillow, with a flush upon
her pink cheeks, and angry tears gleaming in her weak blue eyes. Mrs.
Huntley tried to be dignified, too, and to tell Desirée that she was
perfectly satisfied, and there was not the slightest imputation upon
her, the governess; but finding this not answer at all, and that the
governess still stood in offended state, like a little queen before her,
Mrs. Huntley took to her natural weapons--broke down, cried, and
bemoaned herself over the trouble she had with her family, and the
vexation which Patricia gave her. “And now, when I had just hoped to see
Joanna improving, then comes this disturbance in the house, and my poor
nerves are shattered to pieces, and my head like to burst, and you are
going away!” sobbed Mrs. Huntley. Desirée was moved to compassion; she
went up to the invalid, and arranged her cushions for her, and trusted
all this annoyance would not make her ill. Mrs. Huntley seized the
opportunity; she went on bewailing herself, which was a natural and
congenial amusement, and she made Desirée various half-sincere
compliments, with a skill which no one could have suspected her of
possessing. The conclusion was, that the little Frenchwoman yielded, and
gave up her determination to leave Melmar; instead of that she came and
sat by Mrs. Huntley all day, reading to her, while Patricia was shut
out; and a storm raged below over that exasperated and unhappy little
girl. The next day there was calm weather. Patricia was confined to her
room with a headache. Joanna was energetically affectionate to her
governess, and Mrs. Huntley came down stairs on purpose to make Desirée
feel comfortable. Poor little Desirée, who was so young, and in reality
so simple-hearted, forgot all her resentment. Her heart was touched by
the kindness which they all seemed so anxious to show her--impulses of
affectionate response rose within herself--she read to Mrs. Huntley, she
put her netting in order for her, she arranged her footstool as the
invalid declared no one had ever been able to do it before; and Desirée
blushed and went shyly away to her embroidery, when Oswald came to sit
by his mother’s little table. Oswald was very animated, and anxious to
please everybody; he found a new story which nobody had seen, and read
it aloud to them while the ladies worked. The day was quite an Elysian
day after the troubles of the previous one; and Desirée, with a little
tumult in her heart, found herself more warmly established in Melmar
that evening than she had ever been hitherto; she did not quite
comprehend it, to tell the truth. All this generous desire to make her
comfortable, though the girl accepted it without question as real, and
never suspected deceit in it, was, notwithstanding, alien to the
character of the household, and puzzled her unconsciously. But Desirée
did not inquire with herself what was the cause of it. If some fairy
voice whispered a reason in her ear, she blushed and tried to forget it
again. No, his father and mother were proud of Oswald; they were
ambitious for him; they would think such a fancy the height of folly,
could it even be possible that he entertained it. No, no, no! it could
not be that.
Yet, next day, when Joanna and Desirée went out to walk, Oswald
encountered them before they had gone far, and seemed greatly pleased to
constitute himself the escort of his sister and her governess. If he
talked to Joanna sometimes, it was to Desirée that his looks, his cares,
his undertones of half-confidential conversation were addressed. He
persuaded them out of “the grounds” to the sunny country road leading to
Kirkbride, where the sun shone warmer; but where all the country might
have seen him stooping to the low stature of his sister’s governess.
Desirée was only sixteen; she was not wise and fortified against the
blandishments of man;--she yielded with a natural pleasure to the
natural pride and shy delight of her position. She had never seen any
one so agreeable; she had never received before that unspoken but
intoxicating homage of the young man to the young woman, which puts an
end to all secondary differences and degrees. She went forward with a
natural expansion at her heart--a natural brightening in her eyes--a
natural radiance of young life and beauty in her face. She could not
help it. It was the first tender touch of a new sunshine upon her heart.
A woman stood by herself upon the road before them, looking out, as it
seemed, for the entrance of a little by-way, which ran through the
Melmar woods, and near the house, an immemorial road which no proprietor
could shut up. Desirée observed Joanna run up to this bystander;
observed the quick, lively, middle-aged features, the pleasant
complexion and bright eyes, which turned for a moment to observe the
party; yet would have passed on without further notice but for hearing
the name of Cosmo. Cosmo! could this be his mother? Desirée had her own
reasons for desiring to see the Mistress; she went forward with her
lively French self-possession to ask if it was Mrs. Livingstone, and if
she might thank her for her son’s kindness in Edinburgh. The Mistress
looked at her keenly, and she looked at the Mistress; both the glances
were significant, and meant more than a common meeting; half a dozen
words, graceful and proper on Desirée’s part, and rather abrupt and
embarrassed on that of the Mistress, passed between them, and then they
went upon their several ways. The result of the interview, for the
little Frenchwoman, was a bright and vivid little mental photograph of
the Mistress, very clear in external features, and as entirely wrong in
its guess at character as was to be expected from the long and far
difference between the little portrait-painter and her subject. Desirée
broke through her own pleasant maze of fancy for the moment to make her
rapid notes upon the Mistress. She was more interested in her than there
seemed any reason for; certainly much more than simply as the mother of
Cosmo, whom she had seen but twice in her life, and was by no means
concerned about.
“Who is that?” asked Oswald, when the Mistress had passed.
“It is Mrs. Livingstone, of Norlaw,” said Joanna, “Cosmo’s mother;
Desirée knows; but I wonder if she’s going up to Melmar? I think I’ll
run and ask her. I don’t know why she should go to Melmar, for I’m sure
she ought to hate papa.”
“That will do; I am not particularly curious--you need not trouble
yourself to ask on my account,” said Oswald, putting out his hand to
stop Joanna, “and, pray, how does Mademoiselle Desirée know? I should
not suppose that ruddy countrywoman was much like a friend of _yours_.”
“I have never seen her before,” said Desirée.
“Ah, I might have trusted that to your own good taste,” said Oswald,
with a bow and a smile; “but you must pardon me for feeling that such a
person was not an acquaintance meet for you.”
Desirée made no answer. The look and the smile made her poor little
heart beat--she did not ask herself why he was so interested in her
friendships and acquaintances. She accepted it with downcast eyes and a
sweet, rising color; he _did_ concern himself about all the matters
belonging to her--that was enough.
“Mrs. Livingstone of Norlaw is not a common person--she is as good as we
are, if she is not as rich,” cried Joanna. “_I_ like her! I would rather
see her than a dozen fine ladies, and, Desirée, you ought to stand up
for her, too. If you think Norlaw is no’ as good as Melmar, it’s because
you’re not of this country and don’t know--that is all.”
Desirée, looking up, saw to her surprise an angry and menacing look upon
the face, which a minute ago had been bent with such gallant courtesy
towards her own, and which was now directed to Joanna.
“Norlaw may be as good as Melmar,” said the gentle Oswald, with an
emphasis which for the moment made him like Patricia; “but that is no
reason why one of that family should be a worthy acquaintance for
Mademoiselle Desirée, who is not much like you, Joanna, nor your
friends.”
Joanna loved Desirée with all her heart--but this was going too far even
for her patience; she ended the conversation abruptly by a bewildered
stare in her brother’s face, and a burst of tears.
“Desirée used to be fond of me, till you came--_she_ was my only
friend!” cried poor Joanna, whom Desirée’s kiss scarcely succeeded in
comforting. She did not know what to do, this poor little governess--it
seemed fated that Oswald’s attentions were to embroil her with all his
family--yet somehow one can not resent with very stern virtue the
injustice which shows particular favor to one’s self. Desirée still
thought it was very kind of Oswald Huntley to concern himself that she
should have proper friends.