Sol, he could not have given a greater jump. “Good heavens!” he said,
and I could see his dark eyes staring at me through the twilight. “Do
you really think that it is your sister that I care for?”
“Certainly,” said I, stoutly, with a feeling that I was nailing my
colors to the mast.
Never did a single word produce such an effect. Cousin Sol wheeled
round with a gasp of astonishment, and sprang right out of the window.
He always had curious ways of expressing his feelings, but this one
struck me as being so entirely original that I was utterly bereft of
any idea save that of wonder. I stood staring out into the gathering
darkness. Then there appeared, looking in at me from the lawn, a very
much abashed and still rather astonished face. “It’s you I care for,
Nell,” said the face, and at once vanished, while I heard the noise of
somebody running at the top of his speed down the avenue. He certainly
was a most extraordinary young man.
Things went on very much the same at Hatherley House in spite of cousin
Sol’s characteristic declaration of affection. He never sounded me as
to my sentiments in regard to him, nor did he allude to the matter
for several days. He evidently thought that he had done all which was
needed in such cases. He used to discompose me dreadfully at times,
however, by coming and planting himself opposite me, and staring at me
with a stony rigidity which was absolutely appalling.
“Don’t do that, Sol,” I said to him one day; “you give me the creeps
all over.”
“Why do I give you the creeps, Nelly?” said he. “Don’t you like me?”
“Oh yes, I like you well enough,” said I. “I like Lord Nelson, for that
matter; but I shouldn’t like his monument to come and stare at me by
the hour. It makes me feel quite all-overish.”
“What on earth put Lord Nelson into your head?” said my cousin.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Do you like me the same way you like Lord Nelson, Nell?”
“Yes,” I said, “only more.” With which small ray of encouragement poor
Sol had to be content, as Elsie and Miss Maberly came rustling into
the room and put an end to our _tête-à-tête_.
I certainly did like my cousin. I knew what a simple true nature lay
beneath his quiet exterior. The idea of having Sol Barker for a lover,
however--Sol, whose very name was synonymous with bashfulness--was too
incredible. Why couldn’t he fall in love with Grace or with Elsie? They
might have known what to do with him; they were older than I, and could
encourage him, or snub him, as they thought best. Gracie, however, was
carrying on a mild flirtation with my brother Bob, and Elsie seemed
utterly unconscious of the whole matter. I have one characteristic
recollection of my cousin which I cannot help introducing here, though
it has nothing to do with the thread of the narrative. It was on the
occasion of his first visit to Hatherley House. The wife of the Rector
called one day, and the responsibility of entertaining her rested with
Sol and myself. We got on very well at first. Sol was unusually lively
and talkative. Unfortunately a hospitable impulse came upon him; and
in spite of many warning nods and winks, he asked the visitor if he
might offer her a glass of wine. Now, as ill luck would have it, our
supply had just been finished, and though we had written to London,
a fresh consignment had not yet arrived. I listened breathlessly for
the answer, trusting she would refuse; but to my horror she accepted
with alacrity. “Never mind ringing, Nell,” said Sol, “I’ll act as
butler;” and with a confident smile he marched into the little cupboard
in which the decanters were usually kept. It was not until he was
well in that he suddenly recollected having heard us mention in the
morning that there was none in the house. His mental anguish was so
great that he spent the remainder of Mrs. Salter’s visit in the
cupboard, utterly refusing to come out until after her departure. Had
there been any possibility of the wine-press having another egress,
or leading anywhere, matters would not have been so bad; but I knew
that old Mrs. Salter was as well up in the geography of the house as
I was myself. She stayed for three-quarters of an hour waiting for
Sol’s reappearance, and then went away in high dudgeon. “My dear,”
she said, recounting the incident to her husband, and breaking into
semi-scriptural language in the violence of her indignation, “the
cupboard seemed to open and swallow him!”
* * * * *
“Jack is coming down by the two o’clock train,” said Bob one morning,
coming in to breakfast with a telegram in his hand.
I could see Sol looking at me reproachfully; but that did not prevent
me from showing my delight at the intelligence.
“We’ll have awful fun when he comes,” said Bob. “We’ll drag the
fish-pond, and have no end of a lark. Won’t it be jolly, Sol?”
Sol’s opinion of its jollity was evidently too great to be expressed in
words; for he gave an inarticulate grunt as answer.
I had a long cogitation on the subject of Jack in the garden that
morning. After all, I was becoming a big girl, as Bob had forcibly
reminded me. I must be circumspect in my conduct now. A real live man
had actually looked upon me with the eyes of love. It was all very well
when I was a child to have Jack following me about and kissing me; but
I must keep him at a distance now. I remembered how he presented me
with a dead fish once which he had taken out of the Hatherley Brook,
and how I treasured it up among my most precious possessions, until an
insidious odor in the house had caused the mother to send an abusive
letter to Mr. Burton, who had pronounced our drainage to be all that
could be desired. I must learn to be formal and distant. I pictured our
meeting to myself, and went through a rehearsal of it. The holly-bush
represented Jack, and I approached it solemnly, made it a stately
courtesy, and held out my hand with, “So glad to see you, Lieutenant
Hawthorne!” Elsie came out while I was doing it, but made no remark. I
heard her ask Sol at luncheon, however, whether idiocy generally ran
in families, or was simply confined to individuals; at which poor Sol
blushed furiously, and became utterly incoherent in his attempts at an
explanation.
* * * * *
Our farmyard opens upon the avenue about half-way between Hatherley
House and the lodge. Sol and I and Mr. Nicholas Cronin, the son of
a neighboring squire, went down there after lunch. This imposing
demonstration was for the purpose of quelling a mutiny which had broken
out in the hen-house. The earliest tidings of the rising had been
conveyed to the House by young Bayliss, son and heir of the henkeeper,
and my presence had been urgently requested. Let me remark in
parenthesis that fowls were my special department in domestic economy,
and that no step was ever taken in their management without my advice
and assistance. Old Bayliss hobbled out upon our arrival, and informed
us of the full extent of the disturbance. It seems that the crested
hen and the Bantam cock had developed such length of wing that they
were enabled to fly over into the park; and that the example of these
ringleaders had been so contagious, that even such steady old matrons
as the bandy-legged Cochin China had developed roving propensities,
and pushed their way into forbidden ground. A council of war was held
in the yard, and it was unanimously decided that the wings of the
recalcitrants must be clipped.
What a scamper we had! By “we” I mean Mr. Cronin and myself; while
cousin Sol hovered about in the background with the scissors, and
cheered us on. The two culprits clearly knew that they were wanted; for
they rushed under the hayricks and over the coops, until there seemed
to be at least half a dozen crested hens and Bantam cocks dodging about
in the yard. The other hens were mildly interested in the proceedings,
and contented themselves with an occasional derisive cluck, with the
exception of the favorite wife of the Bantam, who abused us roundly
from the top of the coop. The ducks were the most aggravating portion
of the community; for though they had nothing to do with the original
disturbance, they took a warm interest in the fugitives, waddling
behind them as fast as their little yellow legs would carry them, and
getting in the way of the pursuers.
“We have it!” I gasped, as the crested hen was driven into a corner.
“Catch it, Mr. Cronin! Oh, you’ve missed it! you’ve missed it! Get in
the way, Sol. Oh, dear, it’s coming to me!”
“Well done, Miss Montague!” cried Mr. Cronin, as I seized the wretched
fowl by the leg as it fluttered past me, and proceeded to tuck it under
my arm to prevent any possibility of escape. “Let me carry it for you.”
“No, no; I want you to catch the cock. There it goes! There--behind the
hayrick. You go to one side, and I’ll go to the other.”
“It’s going through the gate!” shouted Sol.
“Shoo!” cried I. “Shoo! Oh, it’s gone!” and we both made a dart into
the park in pursuit, tore round the corner into the avenue, and there I
found myself face to face with a sunburned young man in a tweed suit,
who was lounging along in the direction of the house.
There was no mistaking those laughing gray eyes, though I think if I
had never looked at him some instinct would have told me that it was
Jack. How could I be dignified with the crested hen tucked under my
arm? I tried to pull myself up; but the miserable bird seemed to think
that it had found a protector at last, for it began to cluck with
redoubled vehemence. I had to give it up in despair, and burst into a
laugh, while Jack did the same.
“How are you, Nell?” he said, holding out his hand; and then, in an
astonished voice, “Why, you’re not a bit the same as when I saw you
last!”
“Well, I hadn’t a hen under my arm then,” said I.
“Who would have thought that little Nell would have developed into a
woman?” said Jack, still lost in amazement.
“You didn’t expect me to develop into a man, did you?” said I, in high
indignation; and then, suddenly dropping all reserve, “We’re awfully
glad you’ve come, Jack. Never mind going up to the house. Come and help
us to catch that Bantam cock.”
“Right you are,” said Jack, in his old cheery way, still keeping his
eyes firmly fixed upon my countenance. “Come on!” and away the three
of us scampered across the park, with poor Sol aiding and abetting
with the scissors and the prisoner in the rear. Jack was a very
crumpled-looking visitor by the time he paid his respects to the mother
that afternoon, and my dreams of dignity and reserve were scattered to
the winds.
* * * * *
We had quite a party at Hatherley House that May. There were Bob, and
Sol, and Jack Hawthorne, and Mr. Nicholas Cronin; then there were Miss
Maberly, and Elsie, and mother, and myself. On an emergency we could
always muster half a dozen visitors from the houses round, so as to
have an audience when charades or private theatricals were attempted.
Mr. Cronin, an easy-going athletic young Oxford man, proved to be
a great acquisition, having wonderful powers of organization and
execution. Jack was not nearly as lively as he used to be, in fact we
unanimously accused him of being in love; at which he looked as silly
as young men usually do on such occasions, but did not attempt to deny
the soft impeachment.
“What shall we do to-day?” said Bob one morning. “Can anybody make a
suggestion?”
“Drag the pond,” said Mr. Cronin.
“Haven’t men enough,” said Bob; “anything else?”
“We must get up a sweepstakes for the Derby,” remarked Jack.
“O, there’s plenty of time for that. It isn’t run till the week after
next. Anything else?”
“Lawn-tennis,” said Sol, dubiously.
“Bother lawn-tennis!”
“You might make a picnic to Hatherley Abbey,” said I.
“Capital!” cried Mr. Cronin. “The very thing. What do you think, Bob?”
“First-class,” said my brother, grasping eagerly at the idea. Picnics
are very dear to those who are in the first stage of the tender
passion.
“Well, how are we to go, Nell?” asked Elsie.
“I won’t go at all,” said I; “I’d like to awfully, but I have to plant
those ferns Sol got me. You had better walk. It is only three miles,
and young Bayliss can be sent over with the basket of provisions.”
“You’ll come, Jack?” said Bob.
Here was another impediment. The Lieutenant had twisted his ankle
yesterday. He had not mentioned it to anyone at the time; but it was
beginning to pain him now.
“Couldn’t do it, really,” said Jack. “Three miles there and three back.”
“Come on. Don’t be lazy,” said Bob.
“My dear fellow,” answered the Lieutenant, “I have had walking enough
to last me the rest of my life. If you had seen how that energetic
general of ours bustled me along from Cabul to Candahar, you’d
sympathize with me.”
“Leave the veteran alone,” said Mr. Nicholas Cronin.
“Pity the war-worn soldier,” remarked Bob.
“None of your chaff,” said Jack. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he
added, brightening up. “You let me have the trap, Bob, and I’ll drive
over with Nell as soon as she has finished planting her ferns. We can
take the basket with us. You’ll come, won’t you, Nell?”
“All right,” said I. And Bob having given his assent to the
arrangement, and everybody being pleased, except Mr. Solomon Barker,
who glared with mild malignancy at the soldier, the matter was finally
settled, and the whole party proceeded to get ready, and finally
departed down the avenue.
* * * * *
It was an extraordinary thing how that ankle improved after the last
of the troop had passed round the curve of the hedge. By the time the
ferns were planted and the gig got ready Jack was as active and lively
as ever he was in his life.
“You seem to have got better very suddenly,” I remarked, as we drove
down the narrow winding country lane.
“Yes,” said Jack. “The fact is, Nell, there never was anything the
matter with me. I wanted to have a talk with you.”
“You don’t mean to say you would tell a lie in order to have a talk
with me?” I remonstrated.
“Forty,” said Jack, stoutly.
I was too lost in contemplation of the depths of guile in Jack’s nature
to make any further remark. I wondered whether Elsie would be flattered
or indignant were anyone to offer to tell so many lies in her behalf.
“We used to be good friends when we were children, Nell,” remarked my
companion.
“Yes,” said I, looking down at the rug which was thrown over my knees.
I was beginning to be quite an experienced young lady by this time,
you see, and to understand certain inflections of the masculine voice,
which are only to be acquired by practice.
“You don’t seem to care for me now as much as you did then,” said Jack.
I was still intensely absorbed in the leopard’s skin in front of me.
“Do you know, Nelly,” continued Jack, “that when I have been camping
out in the frozen passes of the Himalayas, when I have seen the hostile
array in front of me; in fact,” suddenly dropping into bathos, “all the
time I was in that beastly hole Afghanistan, I used to think of the
little girl I had left in England.”
“Indeed!” I murmured.
“Yes,” said Jack, “I bore the memory of you in my heart, and then when
I came back you were a little girl no longer. I found you a beautiful
woman, Nelly, and I wondered whether you had forgotten the days that
were gone.”
Jack was becoming quite poetical in his enthusiasm. By this time he had
left the old bay pony entirely to its own devices, and it was indulging
in its chronic propensity of stopping and admiring the view.
“Look here, Nelly,” said Jack, with a gasp like a man who is about to
pull the string of his shower-bath, “one of the things you learn in
campaigning is to secure a good thing whenever you see it. Never delay
or hesitate, for you never know that some other fellow may not carry it
off while you are making up your mind.”
“It’s coming now,” I thought in despair, “and there’s no window for
Jack to escape by after he has made the plunge.” I had gradually got to
associate the ideas of love and jumping out of windows, ever since poor
Sol’s confession.
“Do you think, Nell,” said Jack, “that you could ever care for me
enough to share my lot forever? could you ever be my wife, Nell?”
He didn’t even jump out of the trap. He sat there beside me, looking at
me with his eager gray eyes, while the pony strolled along, cropping
the wild flowers on either side of the road. It was quite evident that
he intended having an answer. Somehow as I looked down I seemed to see
a pale, shy face looking in at me from a dark background, and to hear
Sol’s voice as he declared his love. Poor fellow! he was first in the
field at any rate.
“Could you, Nell?” asked Jack once more.
“I like you very much, Jack,” said I, looking up at him nervously;
“but”--how his face changed at that monosyllable!--“I don’t think I
like you enough for that. Besides, I’m so young, you know. I suppose
I ought to be very much complimented and that sort of thing by your
offer; but you mustn’t think of me in that light any more.”
“You refuse me, then?” said Jack, turning a little white.
“Why don’t you go and ask Elsie?” cried I in despair. “Why should you
all come to me.”
“I don’t want Elsie,” cried Jack, giving the pony a cut with his whip
which rather astonished that easy-going quadruped. “What do you mean by
’all,’ Nell?”
No answer.
“I see how it is,” said Jack, bitterly; “I’ve noticed how that cousin
of yours has been hanging round you ever since I have been here. You
are engaged to him.”
“No, I’m not,” said I.
“Thank God for that!” responded Jack, devoutly. “There is some hope
yet. Perhaps you will come to think better of it in time. Tell me,
Nelly, are you fond of that fool of a medical student?”
“He isn’t a fool,” said I, indignantly, “and I am quite as fond of him
as I shall ever be of you.”
“You might not care for him much and still be that,” said Jack,
sulkily; and neither of us spoke again until a joint bellow from Bob
and Mr. Cronin announced the presence of the rest of the company.
If the picnic was a success, it was entirely due to the exertions of
the latter gentleman. Three lovers out of four was an undue proportion,
and it took all his convivial powers to make up for the shortcomings of
the rest. Bob seemed entirely absorbed in Miss Maberley’s charms, poor
Elsie was left out in the cold, while my two admirers spent their time
in glaring alternately at me and at each other. Mr. Cronin, however,
fought gallantly against the depression, making himself agreeable to
all, and exploring ruins or drawing corks with equal vehemence and
energy.
Cousin Sol was particularly disheartened and out of spirits. He
thought, no doubt, that my solitary ride with Jack had been a
prearranged thing between us. There was more sorrow than anger in his
eyes, however, while Jack, I regret to say, was decidedly ill-tempered.
It was this fact which made me choose out my cousin as my companion
in the ramble through the woods which succeeded our lunch. Jack had
been assuming a provoking air of proprietorship lately, which I was
determined to quash once for all. I felt angry with him, too, for
appearing to consider himself ill used at my refusal, and for trying to
disparage poor Sol behind his back. I was far from loving either the
one or the other, but somehow my girlish ideas of fair play revolted
at either of them taking what I considered an unfair advantage. I felt
that if Jack had not come I should, in the fulness of time, have ended
by accepting my cousin; on the other hand, if it had not been for Sol,
I might never have refused Jack. At present I was too fond of them both
to favor either. “How in the world is it to end?” thought I. I must
do something decisive one way or the other; or perhaps the best thing
would be to wait and see what the future might bring forth.
Sol seemed mildly surprised at my having selected him as my companion,
but accepted the offer with a grateful smile. His mind seemed to have
been vastly relieved.
“So I haven’t lost you yet, Nell,” he murmured, as we branched off
among the great tree-trunks and heard the voices of the party growing
fainter in the distance.
“Nobody can lose me,” said I, “for nobody has won me yet. For goodness’
sake don’t talk about it any more. Why can’t you talk like your old
self two years ago, and not be so dreadfully sentimental?”
“You’ll know why some day, Nell,” said the student, reproachfully.
“Wait until you are in love yourself, and you will understand it.”
I gave a little incredulous sniff.
“Sit here, Nell,” said Cousin Sol, manœuvring me into a little bank
of wild strawberries and mosses, and perching himself upon a stump of
a tree beside me. “Now all I ask you to do is to answer one or two
questions, and I’ll never bother you any more.”
I sat resignedly, with my hands in my lap.
“Are you engaged to Lieutenant Hawthorne?”
“No!” said I, energetically.
“Are you fonder of him than of me?”
“No, I’m not.”
Sol’s thermometer of happiness up to a hundred in the shade at least.
“Are you fonder of me than of him, Nelly?” in a very tender voice.
“No.”
Thermometer down below zero again.
“Do you mean to say that we are exactly equal in your eyes?”
“Yes.”
“But you must choose between us some time, you know,” said Cousin Sol,
with mild reproach in his voice.
“I do wish you wouldn’t bother me so!” I cried, getting angry, as
women usually do when they are in the wrong. “You don’t care for me
much or you wouldn’t plague me. I believe the two of you will drive me
mad between you.”
Here there were symptoms of sobs on my part, and utter consternation
and defeat among the Barker faction.
“Can’t you see how it is, Sol?” said I, laughing through my tears at
his woe-begone appearance. “Suppose you were brought up with two girls
and had got to like them both very much, but had never preferred one
to the other, and never dreamed of marrying either, and then all of a
sudden you are told you must choose one, and so make the other very
unhappy, you wouldn’t find it an easy thing to do, would you?”
“I suppose not,” said the student.
“Then you can’t blame me.”
“I don’t blame you, Nelly,” he answered, attacking a great purple
toadstool with his stick. “I think you are quite right to be sure of
your own mind. It seems to me,” he continued, speaking rather gaspily,
but saying his mind like the true English gentleman that he was, “it
seems to me that Hawthorne is an excellent fellow. He has seen more of
the world than I have, and always does and says the right thing in the
right place, which certainly isn’t one of my characteristics. Then he
is well born and has good prospects. I think I should be very grateful
to you for your hesitation, Nell, and look upon it as a sign of your
good-heartedness.”
“We won’t talk about it any more,” said I, thinking in my heart what a
very much finer fellow he was than the man he was praising. “Look here,
my jacket is all stained with horrid fungi and things. We’d better go
after the rest of the party, hadn’t we? I wonder where they are by
this time?”
It didn’t take very long to find that out. At first we heard shouting
and laughter coming echoing through the long glades, and then, as we
made our way in that direction, we were astonished to meet the usually
phlegmatic Elsie careering through the wood at the very top of her
speed, her hat off, and her hair streaming in the wind. My first idea
was that some frightful catastrophe had occurred--brigands possibly,
or a mad dog--and I saw my companion’s big hand close round his stick;
but on meeting the fugitive it proved to be nothing more tragic than a
game of hide-and-seek which the indefatigable Mr. Cronin had organized.
What fun we had, crouching and running and dodging among the Hatherley
oaks! and how horrified the prim old abbot who planted them would have
been, and the long series of black-coated brethren who have muttered
their orisons beneath the welcome shade! Jack refused to play on
the excuse of his weak ankle, and lay smoking under a tree in high
dudgeon, glaring in a baleful and gloomy fashion at Mr. Solomon Barker;
while the latter gentleman entered enthusiastically into the game,
and distinguished himself by always getting caught, and never by any
possibility catching anybody else.
Poor Jack! He was certainly unfortunate that day. Even an accepted
lover would have been rather put out, I think, by an incident which
occurred during our return home. It was agreed that all of us should
walk, as the trap had been already sent off with the empty baskets,
so we started down Thorny Lane and through the fields. We were just
getting over a stile to cross old Brown’s ten-acre lot, when Mr. Cronin
pulled up, and remarked that he thought we had better get into the
road.
“Road?” said Jack. “Nonsense! We save a quarter of a mile by the field.”