Alonzo.--What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
Your eldest acquaintance cannot be three hours.
_Tempest_.
For the beautiful Miss Cheviott, little though she had been seen in
Paris, had been seen enough to make a considerable sensation, especially
as rumour, in this case with somewhat more foundation than usual, added
the epithet _heritiere_ to the rest of Alys's charms. Parisian papas
and mammas sighed at the perversity of the British customs, which
forbade their entering the lists on behalf of their eligible Adolphes
and Gustaves, and the representatives of the English upper ten thousand,
then in Paris, would have been very ready to make great friends with the
brother and sister. But their advances were hardly reciprocated; Alys's
inexperience failed to appreciate them, and Mr Cheviott's somewhat
"stand-off" manner was not encouraging. Ill-natured people made fun of
him for "mounting guard over his sister," more amiably inclined
observers pronounced such brotherly devotion to be really touching, but
one and all fell short of attaining to anything like intimacy with the
owner of Romary or the reputed heiress.
So some amount of curiosity, added to the interest inspired by the two
Cheviotts and the buzz of conversation in Madame de Briancourt's
boudoir, perceptibly subsided for a minute or two on their first
appearing. Alys, in her simplicity, hardly observed this, or, if she
did so, was not struck by it as anything unusual, but Mr Cheviott
noticed and was a little annoyed by it.
"I would not have called here this afternoon, if I had known we should
find Madame de Briancourt `at home' in such force," he said to an
English lady of his acquaintance after paying his respects to his
hostess.
"Ah, you have not been long enough in Paris to be quite _au fait_ of
everything," said Mrs Brabazon, good-naturedly. "There is always a
great crowd here on Thursdays. But why should you object to it? It is
all the more amusing."
"I am not fond of crowds, and, as for my sister, she is quite
unaccustomed to anything of the kind. She is hardly `out'," he added,
with a smile.
Mrs Brabazon smiled too. "I can quite believe it," she replied, "and I
can, too, prophesy very certainly that, in her present character as your
sister, she will not be `out' _long_."
She looked up at Mr Cheviott expecting to see that the inferred
compliment had pleased him. But, to her surprise, far from testifying
any gratification the expression of his face seemed rather to tell of
annoyance, and, being a good-natured woman, Mrs Brabazon felt sorry,
and began wondering what there could have been in her harmless little
speech so evidently to "rub him the wrong way." Alys, sitting at a
little distance talking to a young lady to whom Madame de Briancourt had
introduced her, happened at this moment to look round and caught sight
of her brother's face.
"Laurence is vexed at something," she thought, and, moving her chair a
little so as to bring herself within speaking distance of her brother
and Mrs Brabazon, she tried to think how she could give a turn to the
conversation which so evidently was not to Mr Cheviott's taste. The
"turn" came from another direction. A tall, thin boy of sixteen, or
thereabouts, a boy with a somewhat anxious and almost girlishly sweet
expression of face, came softly and half timidly across the room in Mrs
Brabazon's direction.
"Aunt," he said, hesitatingly, "I think it is getting rather late--that
is to say, if you are still thinking of a drive."
"I was just thinking so myself, Anselm. Just you find out, my dear boy,
if the carriage has come; it was to follow us here, you know, and I
shall be ready in a moment."
The boy turned away to do as she asked.
"That is my _other_ nephew--Anselm Brooke," she explained to Mr
Cheviott. "Basil you know?"
"Oh, yes," said Alys's brother, with evident interest. "How is he, poor
fellow? I was just going to ask you. Better, I hope?"
Mrs Brabazon shook her head, and the tears filled her eyes.
"There will be no real `better' for him, I feel sure," she said, sadly.
"Yet my brother will not believe it, or rather persists in saying he
does not. I can understand it; I remember how obstinately incredulous I
was when Colonel Brabazon's illness became hopeless. But it is sad, is
it not? You remember what a fine young fellow Basil was only last
year?"
"Yes," said Mr Cheviott, kindly. "It is very sad."
"And poor Anselm, it is really piteous to see his devotion to Basil. He
has always looked up to him as to a sort of superior being, and indeed
Basil has been treated as such by us all. Anselm has always been so
delicate and backward--a frail staff to lean upon, but my mind misgives
me that before long his father will have no other."
"Do the doctors think as you do?"
"They do not _say_ so, but I feel sure they think so."
"I should like to see Basil again before I leave. May I call, do you
think?"
"By all means; it would please him very much. Are you going straight
home when you leave Paris--to Meadshire, I mean, for that is `home' now
to you, I suppose."
"Yes," replied Mr Cheviott, "we go straight to Romary. You must come
and see us there some time or other, Mrs Brabazon."
"Thank you," she said, with a sigh, "I must make no plans just now. My
time belongs entirely to my brother and the boys. But talking of
Meadshire reminds me--is it anywhere near Withenden that you live?"
"Very near--within a mile or two."
"Have you ever heard of a place called Hathercourt near there?" inquired
Mrs Brabazon, with interest. "You don't happen to know anything of the
clergyman of Hathercourt, or rather of his family? West, I think, is
the name."
"Western," interrupted Alys close by. "Oh, yes, they are such pretty
girls. I am sure they are nice."
"How can you possibly judge, Alys?" said her brother, coldly. "You only
saw them once in your life, and just for a mere instant."
But Alys's eager, flushed face, and warmly-expressed admiration of the
Western sisters, had absorbed Mrs Brabazon's attention; she hardly
heard what Mr Cheviott said, or, if she did, she gave no heed to it.
"So you know them, then, Miss Cheviott?" she said, cordially, smiling at
Alys as she spoke. "Do tell me all you know about them. `Girls,' you
say--are they all girls, then--no sons?"
"Oh, yes," said Alys, "I think there are sons--indeed, I feel sure there
are. But it was the girls I noticed, one was _so_ pretty."
The eagerness died out of her voice, for the expression of her brother's
face told her that again she had managed to displease him.
"How unlucky I am to-day," she said to herself, and the change in her
manner was so complete that Mr Cheviott was afraid Mrs Brabazon would
notice it.
"It is a case of `all kinds' in the Western household," he said, with a
slight laugh. "Alys and I only saw them once in church--there seemed to
be girls and boys, of every size, down to little mites--a regular poor
parson's family."
"But what sort of people are they?" asked Mrs Brabazon. "Being such
near neighbours, you must hear something about them."
"They are not such very near neighbours of ours. Withenden is the
nearest railway station to Hathercourt, and we are only three miles from
Withenden, but Hathercourt again is four miles the other way. Of course
I take some interest in Hathercourt now, on Arthur Beverley's account.
You heard of his romantic legacy?"
"Oh! yes," said Mrs Brabazon. "He wrote all about it to Basil. But I
wish you would tell me anything you do know or have heard about these
Westerns."
"Which is very little. They are not in any sort of society."
"How could they be, if they are so very poor?"
Mr Cheviott slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"I did not say they could be," he answered, with a smile. "I was only,
at your bidding, telling the very little I know about them. They are
not in any society, not only because they are very poor, but because
people know nothing about them. The father is not a man who has
distinguished himself in any way, and I believe he married beneath him--
a poor governess, or something of that kind--so what can you expect?"
Mrs Brabazon gave a curious smile.
"Oh! indeed," she said, dryly. "So the _on dit_ of Meadshire is that
the Rector, or Vicar--which is he?--of Hathercourt married beneath him.
Thank you; I am glad to know it. Here comes Anselm, I must go! You
said these Western girls were pretty, did you not, Miss Cheviott?" she
went on, turning to Alys. "Their beauty must be of the dairy-maid
order, I suppose?"
Alys felt that her brother's eyes were fixed upon her, but she answered
sturdily nevertheless.
"On the contrary, they are particularly refined-looking girls. The
eldest one especially has the sort of look that--that--" she hesitated.
"That a princess of the blood royal might have," suggested Mrs
Brabazon, laughingly.
Alys smiled, and so, to her relief, did her brother. Then Mrs Brabazon
and the boy Anselm took their departure, and not long after, Madame de
Briancourt having overwhelmed them with her pretty regrets and
desolations at their leaving Paris so abruptly, the brother and sister
bade their hostess farewell, and drove off again on their round of
calls.
"Laurence Cheviott is evidently prejudiced against these Westerns. I
wonder why, for I think him a reasonable sort of man, on the whole,"
said Mrs Brabazon to herself. "Can it be possible that he has fallen
in love with this very magnificent Miss Western, whom his sister admires
so much, and that she has snubbed him? _That_ I can quite believe he
would find it hard to forgive. But, oh! no, that is quite impossible.
I remember he said he had only seen them once. I think I shall get
Basil, poor fellow, to write to Arthur Beverley; he may know something
of them. I would like to see them, and it would be a satisfaction to
Basil too."
"What possible reason can Mrs Brabazon have for wanting to know
anything about those Westerns? I am afraid she is something of a
busybody after all. Surely Arthur cannot have been writing anything
about them to Basil Brooke? Oh, no, it can't be that, for if he had
written anything of consequence, it would have been confidentially, and
he would hardly be likely to trouble Brooke about anything of _that_
kind now," thought Mr Cheviott, when he found himself in the carriage
again beside his sister, driving rapidly away from Madame de
Briancourt's.
Alys noticed his abstraction.
"What are you thinking of, Laurence?"
"Only what a very little world this is!"
"I know," exclaimed Alys, not sorry to draw the conversation round to a
point where her mind was not at rest. "You are thinking how strange it
was that we should twice in one day hear Hathercourt Rectory spoken of--
at least, not twice spoken of, but I mean mentioned, in Arthur's letter,
and again by Mrs Brabazon. Laurence, were you vexed with what I said
of the Westerns? Did it seem like contradicting you?"
"Oh, no, you could not help saying what you thought--nor could I," he
added, after a little pause.
"I did think those girls _so_ pretty, especially the eldest one, and not
only pretty, but something more--good and nice."
"I don't see how they _can_ be superior, however, considering their
disadvantages," said Mr Cheviott, musingly. "I don't agree with you in
admiring the elder one more than the other. There was something not
commonplace about that younger girl," and a curious feeling shot across
his mind as he recalled the young face with the kindly honest eyes and
half shy smile that had met his glance that Sunday morning in the porch
of the old church--a feeling almost of disloyalty in the words and tones
with which he had replied to Mrs Brabazon's inquiries--a ridiculous
feeling altogether to have in connection with a girl he had only seen
once in his life, and that for not more than five minutes. But the
vision of Mary Western's face had imprinted itself on his memory, and
refused to be effaced.
Alys fancied that the prejudice she had suspected was passing away; it
could not have been very deep after all. She determined to take a bold
step, and one that she had been meditating for some time.
"Laurence," she said, "when we go back to Romary I wish you would let me
know those girls. I can't tell you why I have taken such a fancy to
them, but I _have_. You could soon judge by seeing a little more of
them if they are nice girls, and I am _sure_ you would find they are. I
have never had many companions, and it is dull sometimes--rather dull, I
mean."
She looked up in his face appealingly. It was very grave.
"Surely," he was saying to himself, "the Fates are dead against me.
What can have put it into the child's head to want to set up a romantic
friendship with these Westerns? Can Arthur have to do with it? Can he
possibly have written anything to Alys besides what I saw?"
"You are vexed with me, Laurence," she said, deprecatingly, as he did
not speak. Then he looked at her and felt ashamed of his suspicions,
and his tone was gentle when he answered:
"No, I am not vexed with you, but a little disappointed, perhaps, at
your asking anything so foolish. Just reflect, dear, what _can_ you
know of those girls to make you wish to choose them for friends--"
"They have such nice faces."
"And what I know of the family is not to their advantage," pursued Mr
Cheviott, without noticing the interruption. "None of the Withenden
people speak cordially of them, or indeed seem to know anything about
them."
"And you call that to their disadvantage, Laurence!" exclaimed
Alys--"you who have so often said what a set of snobs the Withenden
people are. Of course it is very easy to see why the Westerns are
disliked; they won't be patronised by the county people, and they are
too refined for the Withenden set, and so they keep to themselves, and
the girls' beauty makes everybody jealous of them."
She looked up in her brother's face triumphantly, feeling that she had
the best of it, and so, too, in his heart, felt Mr Cheviott. But he
could not afford to own himself vanquished, and took refuge in being
aggrieved.
"Very well, Alys," he said, coldly, "I cannot argue with you; you will
be of age in three years, and then you can choose your own friends, but
while you are under my guardianship, I can but direct you to the best of
my judgment, however you may dislike it."
Alys's eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, Laurence, don't speak to me like that; I am so unlucky to-day. I
did not--indeed I did not mean to vex you; I should never want to go
against your wishes--_never_, not if I live to be a hundred instead of
twenty-one. Laurence, do forgive me!"
And Laurence smiled and "forgave," though wishing she were convinced as
well as submissive, for somewhere down in the secret recesses of his
consciousness, there lurked a misgiving which shrank from boldly facing
daylight as to whether his arguments had altogether succeeded in
convincing himself.
"I am very sorry to hear of Basil Brooke being so ill," he said by way
of changing the conversation.
"Is that one of Mrs Brabazon's nephews?"
"Yes, the elder; they have come to Paris to try some new doctor, but it
is no use. I thought so when he first got ill; and now what his aunt
says shows it is true. Poor fellow!"
"Have you known him long? I don't think I ever heard you speak of him
before," said Alys.
"He was more a friend of Arthur's than mine; they were in the same
regiment. But here we are at Mrs Feston's."
On the whole, Alys enjoyed these few last days in Paris much more than
the weeks which had preceded them. She was touched by her brother's
evident anxiety that she should do so. Never had she known him more
indulgent and considerate, but yet he was less cheerful than usual--at
times unmistakably anxious and uneasy. There came no more letters from
Captain Beverley, but Alys was not sorry.
"It was something in that letter of Arthur's that annoyed Laurence so
the other day," she thought to herself; "and fond as I am of Arthur, I
couldn't let him or any one come between Laurence and me."
And she was not quite sure if she felt pleased or the reverse when her
brother told her that, in all probability Captain Beverley would be
their guest almost as soon as they reached Romary.
"You haven't written to tell him when we are going home, have you,
Alys?"
Alys looked up from her letter to Miss Winstanley in surprise at the
inquiry.
"I?" she said; "oh dear, no. I leave all that to you of course. I have
not answered Arthur's letter at all; there seems to have been so much to
do this last day or two."
Her brother seemed pleased and yet not pleased.
"It is just as well. I don't think I shall tell him either. We'll take
him by surprise--drive over to see him in his bachelor quarters at the
farm-house the day after we get home, eh?"
"Oh, yes, do," exclaimed Alys, eagerly. "We'll say we have come to
luncheon! What fun it will be; for Arthur has about as much notion of
housekeeping as the man in the moon, and he will look so foolish if he
has to tell us he has nothing in the house but eggs!"
"You don't suppose he has been living on nothing but eggs all this time,
do you?"
"He may have had a chop now and then for a change," observed Alys; "but
from what he said in his letter, I don't fancy he has had to depend much
on himself. He seems to have been a great deal with his friends at the
Rectory."
There was intention in the allusion. Alys stole a look at her brother's
face to see if the effect was what she half anticipated. Yes; the
amusement had all died put of his expression, to be replaced by
annoyance and anxiety. Alys's conscience smote her for trying
experiments at the cost of her brother's equanimity.
"Poor Laurence!" she reflected. "I wish he would not worry himself so
much about other people's affairs. Arthur is quite able to take care of
himself. But evidently it _is_ about him and the Westerns that Laurence
is in such a state of mind. I really do wonder why he should care so
much."
And the next morning the Cheviotts left Paris.