... All hearts in love use their own tongues:
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent.
_Much Ado about Nothing_.
Captain Chancellor was standing by the window when Mrs Dalrymple
entered the room. As the sound of the door opening caught his ear, he
turned sharply round with a look of eager expectancy on his fair,
handsome face, which did not escape the notice of Eugenia's
self-constituted guardian, and notwithstanding his habitual good
breeding and self-possession, he did not altogether succeed in
concealing the disappointment which was caused him by the sight of his
old friend's substantial proportions in the place of the girlish figure
he had been watching for. He was eager to see Eugenia again.
Unimpulsive though he was by nature, little as he had dreamt but three
short hours before of ever again seeing her, of holding her in his arms
and calling her his own, he was now almost passionately anxious for her
presence. Away from her, he had found it difficult to realise, to
justify to himself, this rash, unpremeditated deed he had done--a deed
at variance with all his preconceived ideas, all the intentions of his
life. But beside her, in the light of her sweet eyes, in the sense of
her loveliness, of her delicate grace--above all, of her clinging trust
in and entire devotion to himself, he felt that all his scruples and
misgivings would vanish into air. He would feel satisfied then of what
he tried to believe he felt satisfied of now, that being what he was, a
man and not a statue, a "gentleman" who (in his own sense) held honour
high, and would scorn to take advantage of a woman's weakness, he could
not have acted otherwise. Fortified thus, he could brave all,--his
friends' probable "chaff" on his weakness, "to think of Chancellor's
throwing himself away after all for a pair of bright eyes;" his sister's
certain disapproval, Roma's possible contempt. These, and more
practical disagreeables, in the shape of poverty, comparatively
speaking, at least; the loss of the personal luxuries which even with
his limited means had, as a bachelor, been within his easy reach; the
general, indescribable descent from the position of a much-made-of young
officer without encumbrances, to that of a struggling captain in a line
regiment with a delicate wife and too probable family--all these
appalling visions already fully recognised, Beauchamp had forthwith set
to work to make up his mind to. But he was thirsting for his reward.
He was in a very good humour with himself. For the first time in his
life he had acted purely on an impulse, and this impulse he imagined to
be a much nobler one than it really was. He did not exactly call his
conduct by fine names to himself, but in his heart he longed to hear
Eugenia do so. He loved her tenderly, he said now to himself that he
certainly did so, yet not hitherto so vehemently that he could not have
put his love on one side in acknowledgment of weightier considerations.
He had been shocked by the change in her appearance, and to some extent
took blame to himself in the matter, yet, even while doing so, a slight,
a very slight tinge of contempt for her weakness and transparency,
mingled itself with his concern and self-reproach. She was not
certainly of the stuff of a "Clara Vere de Vere;" there was an amount of
undisciplined, unsophisticated effusiveness about her, hardly in
accordance with his notion of "thorough-breeding," yet such as she was
she was infinitely sweet; he was only longing to have her beside him to
tell her so, to clasp her in his arms again, and kiss the colour into
her soft white cheeks.
So it was really very disappointing, instead of Eugenia, to be brought
face to face with Mary Dalrymple. He made the best of it, however--in a
general way he was very clever at doing so. He came forward with his
usual gently pleasant smile, his hand outstretched in greeting,
murmuring something about being so pleased, so very pleased to see Mrs
Dalrymple again. She hardly appeared to take in the sense of his words.
"How do you do, Captain Chancellor?" she said as she shook hands.
Afterwards he fancied there had been a very slight hesitation in her
manner before doing so, but at the time his complete unsuspiciousness
prevented his imagining the possibility of such a thing. "It is quite
an unexpected pleasure to meet you here."
"Yes," he answered cautiously, uncertain to what extent Eugenia might
have taken Mary into her confidence, and feeling his way before
committing himself; "yes, I thought my turning up would be a surprise
you."
"I thought you were still at Winsley," said Mrs Dalrymple, also feeling
her way.
"Oh dear no," he replied. "Winsley is all very well for a fortnight,
but six weeks of it would be rather too much of a good thing. I left
Winsley some time ago. I am here now with an old friend of mine. Major
Thanet, who has been very ill with rheumatic fever, and came down hero
to recruit."
"And are you returning to Winsley again soon?" inquired Mrs Dalrymple,
her suspicion increasing that they were playing at cross purposes in
some direction.
"Oh dear no," he said again. "My leave is about up--I got a little more
than my six weeks on Thanet's account. I am due at Bridgenorth next
week."
"At Bridgenorth," repeated Mrs Dalrymple. "Oh, indeed; and do you
remain here till then?"
"Upon my word I can't say," replied Captain Chancellor, with an approach
to impatience in his tone. "I certainly didn't come here to sit being
catechised by Mary Pevensey all the afternoon," he said to himself,
waxing wroth at Mrs Dalrymple's cross questions and Eugenia's
non-appearance. Then suddenly throwing caution to the winds, "To tell
you the truth," exclaimed he, "my plans at present depend greatly upon
yours."
"Upon ours--may I ask why?" inquired Eugenia's chaperone quietly, and
without testifying the surprise her visitor expected.
"Because upon yours depend those of your visitor--at least so I
suppose," answered Beauchamp, coolly. "Miss Laurence is staying with
you. If she stays here till next week, I shall stay too; if she goes I
shall probably go too."
"Where?" asked Mrs Dalrymple, looking up at him with a puzzled yet
anxious expression on her comely face.
"To Wareborough! to ask her father to consent to her engagement to me,"
he replied stoutly. "I shall either see him or write to him at once
from here."
"But--" began Mrs Dalrymple, coming to a dead stop.
"But what?"
"You can't marry two people."
"Certainly not. Has any one been telling you I intended doing so," he
replied, beginning, in spite of his vexation, to laugh.
"Yes," answered Mrs Dalrymple, naively. "At least, not exactly that.
But I was told some time ago that you were to be married to my cousin
Roma next month, and of course I believed it. Eugenia thinks so too."
"Eugenia thinks so too," repeated Captain Chancellor, his face
darkening. "How can she possibly think so? And whoever told her such
an infernal falsehood, I should like to know?" he went on angrily, for
it was unspeakably annoying to him that any shadow, however distorted,
of his late relations to Roma should thus follow him about--should dim
the brightness of the little-looked-for consolation that had offered
itself.
Mrs Dalrymple was by no means taken aback by this outburst. "It was I
that told Eugenia," she said simply.
"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Beauchamp at once, his manner softening.
"Of course you, too, were misinformed. I wonder--" he hesitated.
"You wonder by whom?" said his hostess. "There is no reason why I
should not tell you. It was Mrs Winter who mentioned it to me in a
letter, as having been announced, or at least generally believed, at the
Winsley Hunt Ball. And I had no reason to disbelieve it. To tell you
the truth, it seemed to me to explain things a little."
Captain Chancellor did not inquire to what things she alluded. He took
up the first part of her speech.
"Who is Mrs Winter, may I ask? I don't think I ever heard of her."
"She is an old friend of mine," replied Mrs Dalrymple. "Her husband is
Major in the 19th Lancers, now at Sleigham. She wrote to thank me for
having asked some of my friends near there to call on her--your sister
especially--and in this letter she mentioned Roma's just announced
engagement."
"But I am surprised you took such a piece of news at secondhand, my dear
Mrs Dalrymple," said Beauchamp. "Had it been true, Roma would have
been sure to write to tell you."
"I don't know that she would," replied Roma's cousin. "We do not write
very often, and I know she has a large circle of friends. You might as
well say it was strange of me not to write to congratulate her. I did
think of doing so, but other things put it out of my head. Eugenia
Laurence's illness for one thing--I was very anxious about her--and to
tell you the real truth, Beauchamp," she went on, with a sudden change
of tone, and addressing him as she had been accustomed to do in his
boyhood, "I did not feel very able to congratulate either you or Roma as
heartily as I should have wished to do in such circumstances,
considering all I had seen and observed during your stay at Wareborough.
I believe now I may have done you great injustice, and I fear poor dear
Eugenia had suffered unnecessarily through me. But I think you will
both forgive me," and she smiled up at him with all her old cordiality.
Captain Chancellor smiled too, with visible consciousness of no small
magnanimity in so doing.
"All's well that ends well," he answered lightly, "though certainly in
such matters it is best to take nothing on hearsay, and to be slow to
pronounce on apparently inconsistent, conduct," he added rather
mysteriously. "I must confess, however, that I can't understand Miss
Laurence believing this absurd report--if she had done so till she met
me again even, but after our--our conversation this morning?" he looked
inquiringly at Mrs Dalrymple.
"Yes, she believes it at the present moment," replied she. "You said
something which seemed to confirm it--about `breaking ties,' or
something of the kind."
"Did I?" he said, colouring a little, and not altogether pleased at so
much having been repeated by Eugenia to her friend. "It is a little
hard upon one to have to explain all one's expressions at all sorts of
times, you know. Of course what I said referred entirely to what my
friends may think of it--Gertrude for instance--the imprudence and all
that sort of thing. Of course till Gertrude _sees_ Eugenia, it is
natural for her to think a good deal about the outside part of it--
prospects and position, you know. There is the strong prejudice against
Wareborough and places of the kind, in the first place."
In saying this he forgot for the moment whom he was speaking to; or if
he thought of her at all, it was as Mary Pevensey, not as Mrs
Dalrymple, the wife of the Wareborough mill-owner. She looked up
quickly, but she had long ago learnt indifference to such allusions on
her own score. Eugenia's position, however, might be more open to
discomfort therefrom.
"Then I advise Gertrude to get rid of all such prejudices at once," said
the Wareborough lady, somewhat sharply.
Captain Chancellor did not reply. He might have smoothed down the
little awkwardness by some judicious hint of apology, but he was not
inclined to take the trouble; he was beginning to think he had had quite
enough of his old friend for the present. She had shown a somewhat
undesirable readiness to place herself _in loco matris_ towards Eugenia,
one of whose attractions, to his mind, lay in the fact that marriage
with her entailed upon him no Wareborough or other matron in the shape
of mother-in-law.
He got up from his chair and strolled to the window. "It looks very
like rain," he observed amiably. "May I see Miss Laurence now, Mrs
Dalrymple?"
Mrs Dalrymple looked uneasy--it was quite as bad as, or rather worse,
she thought, than, if her twelve-year-old Minnie were grown up! In that
case, at least, she could feel that the responsibility was a natural and
unavoidable one, and, if she behaved unwisely, no one would have any
right to scold her but Henry; but in the present instance--suppose Mr
Laurence took it in his head to blame her for allowing matters to go so
far without his consent? On the other hand, her soft heart was full of
compassion for Eugenia, and eagerness to see her happy. Captain
Chancellor read her hesitation.
"You need not feel any responsibility about it," he said. "To all
intents and purposes I assure you the thing is done. I have already
written to Mr Laurence," he took a letter out of his pocket and held it
up to her, "and really it is too late to stop my seeing Eugenia. My
chief reason for wishing to do so is to clear up the extraordinary
misapprehension you told me of. It is only fair to me to let me put all
that right. And it would be only cruel to her to leave things as they
are. She is not strong, and I can't bear her to suffer any more." The
genuine anxiety in the last few words carried the day.
"I didn't think of not explaining things to her," said Mrs Dalrymple,
rising irresolutely from her seat as she spoke. "_I_ could have done
that. However, I daresay it is better for you to see her yourself."
"I am quite sure it is," said Captain Chancellor. "And to confess all
my wickedness to you, had you prevented my seeing Miss Laurence here
openly, I should, I assure you, have done my best to see her some other
way. You could not have put a stop to either of us walking in the
gardens, for instance?"
He smiled as he paid it; there was a little defiance in the smile. Mrs
Dalrymple sighed gently, and shook her head.
"You were always a very self-willed little boy, Beauchamp," she
remarked, as she at last departed on her errand. Then she put her head
in again at the door with a second thought.
"You will not blame me if Eugenia does not wish to see you at once?" she
said. "She has been very much upset this morning, and perhaps it may be
better to let her rest a little, and see you this evening."--"And by
then Henry will be back," she added in her own mind, with a cowardly
sense of satisfaction that in that case her lord and master would go
shares in the possible blame.
"By all means beg Miss Laurence to do just as she likes," replied
Beauchamp, urbanely. "I can call again at any hour this evening she
likes to name, if she prefers it to seeing me now."
His misgivings, however, were of the slenderest. When he was left
alone, he strolled again to the window, and stood looking out, but
without seeing much of what was before him. He was thinking, more
deeply perhaps than he had ever thought before; and when at last he
heard the sound of the door opening softly, he started and looked round,
not without a certain anxiety. But it was as he had expected, Eugenia
herself,--and, oh, what a transfigured Eugenia! Never yet had he seen
her as he saw her now. Notwithstanding the still evident fragility of
her appearance, there was about her whole figure a brightness, a soft
radiance of happiness impossible to describe. Her brown hair seemed to
have gained new golden lights; her eyes, always sweet, looked deeper and
yet more brilliant; there was a flush of carnation in her cheeks over
which lugubrious Major Thanet would have shaken his head, which
Beauchamp at the moment thought lovelier than any rose-tint he had ever
seen.
She came forward quickly,--more quickly than he advanced to meet her.
He seemed almost startled by her beauty, and looked at her for a moment
without speaking. He could hardly understand her perfect absence of
self-consciousness, her childlike "abandon" of overwhelming joy.
"Beauchamp, oh, Beauchamp," she exclaimed, as their hands met, "she has
told me it was all a mistake, and, oh, I am so very happy!"
So she was, unutterably happy. Life for her, she felt, could hold no
more perfect moment than this, and that there could be anything
unbecoming in expressing her happiness, above all to him to whom she
owed it, who shared it, as she believed, to the full, never in the
faintest degree occurred to her. She did not think her lover cold or
less fervent in his rejoicing than herself; she trusted him too utterly
for such an idea to be possible to her, even had there been more cause
for it than there really was. For, after the first instant, Captain
Chancellor found it easy to respond to her expressions of thankfulness
and delight; found it too by no means an unpleasing experience to be
hailed by this lovely creature as the hero of her dreams, the fairy
prince whom even yet she could hardly believe had chosen her--a very
Cinderella as she seemed to herself in comparison with him--out of all
womankind to be his own. And, even if a shade more reserve, a trifle
more dignity, would have been better in accordance with his taste, his
notion of the perfectly well-bred bearing in such circumstances, after
all, was there not every excuse for such innocent shortcoming, such
sweet forgetfulness? She was so young, he reflected, had seen nothing,
or worse than nothing, of society,--for far better for a girl to be
brought up in a convent than in the mixed society of a place like
Wareborough,--it was only a marvel to see her as she was. And deeper
than these reflections lay another consciousness of excuse in his mind,
which yet, even to himself, he would have shrunk from the bad taste of
putting into words,--the consciousness that it was not every girl whose
bridegroom elect was a Beauchamp Chancellor!
"What a child it is!" he murmured to himself, as he stroked back the
sunny brown hair from the white temples, and looked smilingly down into
the liquid depths of the sweet, loving eyes. There would be a great
deal to teach her, he thought to himself; some things perhaps he must
help her to unlearn; but with such a pupil the prospect of the task
before him was not appalling. Suddenly there recurred to him the memory
of the misapprehension of his words of which Mrs Dalrymple had told
him. This must be set right at once,--his _fiancee_ must be taught to
view such things differently, to recognise the established feelings of
the world--his world--on such matters.
"Eugenia, my dearest," he began, rather gravely, and the gravity
reflected itself in her face as instantly as a passing cloud across the
sun is mirrored in the clear water of the lake beneath, "I want to ask
you one thing. How could you distrust me, misinterpret me so, as Mrs
Dalrymple tells me you did?"
"I never for an instant distrusted you," she answered quickly. "At the
worst--at the very worst--I never doubted you. I believed you were
bound in some way,--bound by ties which in honour you could not break;
but, Beauchamp, I never blamed you, or doubted that we should not have
been separated had it been in your power to avoid it. Distrust you?
Oh, no; I knew too well. I judged you by myself."
"My darling!" he replied, kissing her again. Her sentiments were very
pretty, very romantic, and so forth, and not objectionable considering
she was a woman, but still hardly to the purpose. And, woman though she
was, she must learn to take less poetical and high-flown, more
conventional and "accepted," views of things. Yet notwithstanding his
pleasing sense of masculine superiority, he had winced a little inwardly
while she spoke. For a moment there flashed before him an impulse of
perfect honesty and candour, a temptation to tell her what small ground
she had had for this innocent faith of hers,--a sort of yearning to be
loved by her for what he was, and no more.
"But, no," he decided, "it would not do. If she once heard about Roma,
she would never forget it. It would spoil all. If she did not resent
my admiration for Roma, she would resent my having amused myself and her
at Wareborough with what I never then dreamt would end seriously with
either of us, at the very time I was counting on all coming straight
with the other. She would never believe that I really cared for her, as
most certainly I do. No, it would never do. Her head, poor dear, is
cram-full of belief in first love and only love, and all the rest of the
school-girl creed, and I am sure I don't want to disturb it, or to awake
any nonsensical jealousy."
For that the green-eyed, hydra-headed monster lies _somewhere_ sleeping
in every woman's heart, Captain Chancellor doubted as little as that
there are fish in the sea or smouldering fires in Mount Vesuvius. And
that no wife has a right to peep behind the closed door of her husband's
previous life, or to resent exclusion therefrom, was another of his
not-to-be-disputed axioms. So he only smiled and called her his
darling, and put away from him the momentary impulse to risk all by
confiding to her the true history of the events and feelings of the last
few months.
"But in another sense you distrusted me," he went on after a little
pause, speaking gravely again and with some hesitation, as if fearful of
hurting her; "how could you reconcile my--my manner to you this morning
with what you were then believing about me?"
"I didn't reconcile it," answered Eugenia, naively; "I only thought, as
I had done before, that honour and inclination were pointing different
ways;" here she stopped abruptly and blushed crimson. "It sounds
dreadfully conceited to say this," she added, "but you asked me, and I
_must_ tell you everything now, must not I? I was so bitterly sorry for
you, and, oh, so miserable myself."
It was a little hard to say anything but sweet words to this, but
Beauchamp persevered.
"But don't you see, dearest, had it been as you thought, I could not
have broken my pledge without the grossest dishonour? Perhaps you
hardly understand how these things are looked upon in the world, you are
so young and innocent, and perhaps a tiny little bit too romantic," here
he stroked her cheek fondly, "but you will learn that there are some
things men of honour _cannot_ do, not even to win such a darling as
you."
The crimson, hardly yet faded from the girl's face, deepened almost
painfully. She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke it seemed to
cost her a little effort.
"I am ignorant, very ignorant," she said gently. "But there are some
things it doesn't require years or experience to know. I trust you will
not find me ignorant in these. Don't think I thought you capable of
breaking your word--not even for me," with a little smile and an attempt
at playfulness, "but I thought--" she hesitated; "I have read that even
the noblest and best may be terribly drawn two ways sometimes--there may
come to the best of us tremendous temptations, may there not? Could the
best people ever get to be the best if they had not felt temptation more
strongly than others? And then, too, though one hardly likes to say so,
there do seem sometimes to come times when ordinary rules--not real
right and wrong of course, but our way of interpreting them--seem to
fail one; when keeping one's word in one direction would be breaking it
more unpardonably in another. Oh no, no, if I could put in words what I
felt for and thought of you this morning, you would see I did you no
dishonour."
There was a pathetic appeal in her tone as she uttered the last few
words; she had said more than she intended, carried away by her subject,
and the remembrance of the battle of feelings she herself had so
recently fought her way through. Captain Chancellor was a little
puzzled, a little annoyed, and a little surprised. It was not quite so
easy to assert his superiority as he had imagined. Instinctively he
sheltered himself by taking it for granted.
"My darling," he said again, "don't distress yourself. Don't imagine I
meant to blame you. I only meant there are things and ways of looking
at things which your innocence cannot have had experience of. But this
need trouble neither of us now--you will never be alone now, even in
thought. You will always trust me, dearest?"
"Yes," whispered Eugenia, softly, "and you will teach me all I don't
know, and teach me to be better too, more worthy of you."
Captain Chancellor was enchanted. There was a docility about this sweet
Eugenia of his, which he might have sought for long and vainly among
more sophisticated maidens. She looked more irresistibly lovely than
ever at this moment; there was a tender dewiness in her eyes which might
turn into tears were it not kissed away, so he lost no time in averting
the possible catastrophe. And Eugenia accepted his caresses and smiled
her happiness, and stifled far, far away, down in the very furthest off
corner of her heart, a little silly, absurd pain, an infinitesimal
feeling of disappointment that she had not been _quite_ perfectly
understood--stifled it so determinedly that she thought she had
forgotten its having had even a momentary existence.
It was not till she was alone again--Beauchamp having departed to post
his letter to her father--alone with her happiness, feeling almost
overwhelmed by Mrs Dalrymple's congratulations and affectionate
excitement (for Mary was too kind-hearted to obtrude the wet blanket of
her somewhat uncomfortable sense of responsibility), that there recurred
to Eugenia the remembrance of the expressions made use of by her lover,
which had helped to continue the mystification regarding his relations
with Miss Eyrecourt.
What could he have meant, she said to herself, by his allusions to ties
which must be broken, obstacles to be overcome? She knew of none; her
father, she felt satisfied, would never dream of opposing her wishes,
would do all in his power to promote her happiness.
"I will ask Beauchamp to-morrow," she thought, and then again discarded
the idea. She had a certain shrinking from alluding, however slightly,
to the misapprehension which had cost her so much. Could it be that his
friends had other views for him, and would be disappointed by his
choice? "It maybe so," she thought; "I am neither rich nor grand. I
should not wonder if his relations wish him to marry Miss Eyrecourt; or,
possibly, he is afraid that his marriage may interfere with his getting
on in his profession. _That_ he need not fear, I would never consent to
be in his way. That is not my idea of a good wife," and she smiled
confidently, as many another untried girl has smiled, at the thought of
all she could do and suffer, and make the best of, for his sake. None
of her reflections cast any shadow on her joy.
"We love each other, that is all that matters. And if there are any
difficulties in the way, which I should know of, he will tell me, and if
he does not, I can trust him."
The very next morning there came, forwarded from Wareborough to Mrs
Dalrymple, a letter from Mrs Winter, in which after the usual feminine
amount of irrelevant matter, she went on to say, "I have often wondered
how soon you found out the incorrectness of the report about Miss
Eyrecourt's engagement to Captain Chancellor. Indeed, it has been
rather on my mind to set it right with you, but the very day after I
last wrote I was called away to nurse my mother, and the last six weeks
have been entirely spent in the sick-room," etc, etc. "And besides, as
you are so nearly connected with the young lady, you are quite sure to
have heard it was only, a piece of local gossip."
Eugenia smiled when her friend showed her the letter.
"How queerly things are twisted up together," she said, but she was
happy enough now to forget all the past, save as enhancing the present.
She was perfectly satisfied with Beauchamp's explanation (he did not
feel called upon to make it a very ample one) of his inconsistent
conduct: his misgivings as to the wisdom of marrying on his limited
means, his ignorance of the real state of her feelings towards him, his
anxiety to take no such step without the approval of the sister to whom
he owed so much--all good reasons and founded on fact as far as they
went.
"I hope your sister will like me," said Eugenia, thoughtfully. "It is
with her Miss Eyrecourt lives, is it not? I think I liked Miss
Eyrecourt, at least I think so _now_," with a smile and a blush which
made her lover congratulate himself on his reticence.
Mr Dalrymple and Major Thanet both opened their eyes when they heard
the news.
"Well, my dear," said the former, oracularly, "I trust you will never
have reason to regret your share in the affair;" but to the young people
themselves he was "mean" enough to be profusely congratulatory.
"Just like a man," thought poor Mrs Dalrymple. "If Henry were the
least given to clairvoyance, and that sort of thing, I should really
think he went off yesterday on purpose that he might be able to put the
responsibility on to me."
Captain Chancellor's friend did not mince the matter. He had scented
one of Beauchamp's little "affaires," but the actual denouement so
suddenly announced to him by his companion was rather startling.
"Going to be married," he exclaimed; "and this morning you had as much
idea of anything of the kind--at least in _this_ quarter," pointedly,
"as--as," the gallant officer hesitated, at a loss for a sufficiently
forcible expression, "as I have of marrying the man in the moon."
Beauchamp laughed shortly and contemptuously. Major Thanet's
perceptions were not of the quickest.
"Are you sure you know what you are about, my dear fellow?" he inquired
confidentially.
"Perfectly, thank you," answered Captain Chancellor, and the tone of the
three words was unmistakable. So Major Thanet took his cue, and not
being behind the rest of the world in his capability of "bearing
perfectly like a Christian the misfortunes of another," resigned himself
with a cigar, and a sigh over "Chancellor's infatuation," to the
apparently inevitable, and being introduced to Eugenia a day or two
after by her fiance, congratulated her with as much graceful fervour as
if no piece of news of the kind had ever in his life afforded him such
unmingled satisfaction.
Eugenia thought him charming, seeing him through the flattering medium
of his position as one of Beauchamp's oldest friends, and was a very
little surprised that the cordiality of her expressions regarding him
hardly appeared as gratifying to her lover as she could have expected.
"Am I too outspoken, Beauchamp?" she ventured to inquire. "You don't
think me `gushing,' I hope?" with a little smile, but some anxiety, and
his answer, "Never to _me_," was scarcely reassuring.
"I will try to learn to be more dignified and--and more reserved, or
whatever it is my manner is wanting in," she said, penitentially. And
then the tiny cloud cleared off Beauchamp's face, and he told her she
could never in _his_ eyes be nearer perfection than she was already, and
all was sunshine again--sunshine almost too brilliant and dazzling, with
a want of the steady glow about it which tells of the settled maturity
of summer; reminding one rather of the flashing radiance of uncertain
April "with his shoures," "April, when men woo"--sunshine, nevertheless,
which brought back the roses to Eugenia's cheeks, and added new radiance
to her beautiful eyes.