but, depend upon it, Mr Blandford's feelings are just as sincere as if
he had talked more about them. And I'm sure a more excellent person--"
Miss Venning paused, rather overcome by her feelings; and Flossy said,
gravely:
"I am afraid I _have_ been childish. It is because I think so much of
the things that interest me. But, indeed, I didn't mean to--to flirt
and lead him on."
"Whatever you meant, my dear," said Miss Venning, "you see the result."
"What in the world shall I do, Mary? What shall I say?"
"Why, my darling, if you can care about him--"
"Oh, dear, no!" interrupted Flossy. "Of course, I can't say yes. I
never dreamt of such a thing!"
"Flossy, don't be such a goose!" suddenly cried Clarissa. "Do bring
your mind down to the realities of life, and think of something besides
school-girls."
"If one mayn't talk to an old clergyman about his parish," cried Flossy,
who was chiefly concerned in exculpating herself from the dreadfully
unfamiliar notion of having trifled with the lover's feelings.
"Old! Flossy, you are _too_ silly," said Clarissa, angrily. But Miss
Venning interposed:
"Now give yourself time to recover. Mr Blandford should have tried to
prepare your mind for it. Go up to your room and think it over, and try
to understand yourself." Miss Venning spoke somewhat as if Flossy had
been a naughty child; but the girl was glad of the respite, and hurried
away to her own room. There she soon began to recover herself. A lover
in the flesh is a startling novelty to many maidens of this latter
nineteenth century, and Flossy's heart had not prepared her so to regard
Mr Blandford. Her sisters were unmarried, and she had thought it very
likely that she should not marry herself. But she had no doubt as to
her own feelings, and too much sense to reproach herself after the first
flutter was over. It was a simple, honest, womanly answer that she was
beginning to write, when a knock interrupted her, and Clarissa came in.
"Flossy," she said, in an agitated voice, "Don't--don't be a silly
child! You don't know what you are throwing away."
"Indeed, Clary!" said Flossy, "I am quite sure that I do not love Mr
Blandford. I am _very_ sorry. I misunderstood him, but I am quite
clear in my own mind; and if I talked nonsense at first it was just the
fluster of the thing."
"Oh, Flossy, you don't know," said Clarissa, with tears in her eyes.
"Don't be in a hurry! You think your life will always be like it is
now; but you'll get tired of it--you will, indeed. You'll want
something more. You'll grow into a woman--and--and you will have missed
your chance, and you'll be sorry."
"Do you wish me to accept him for the sake of being married?" said
Flossy, in superb disdain.
"Oh, I cannot tell," said Clarissa. "But, Flossy, I want you to think
what you are making up your mind to. Girls now-a-days don't have many
chances, and, though you're handsome, you are not so very taking. Don't
you see that it means, perhaps, never to be married--never to have--
Flossy, think, _think_!"
"Why, Clarissa, anyone would think you had said no yourself and
repented."
"I? I never said no--nor yes either."
"You can't suppose I am going to marry a man I don't love?"
"No; but there are different ways of putting things, and if there is no
one else--"
"Is it likely?" interrupted Flossy. "Clarissa, how can I go and marry a
man when I don't care as much for him as for hundreds of things--as I
care for you and Mary, and the girls--"
"Or Arthur Spencer?" whispered Clarissa, with a sudden mischievous
twinkle.
Flossy stood still; a great throb passed through her, and she quivered
to her fingertips.
"Oh, Flossy, Flossy, forgive me," cried Clarissa, clinging to her.
"Indeed, I didn't know--I didn't mean to--"
"No!" said Flossy, putting her little, slight sister back, and standing
up, tall and straight; her blue eyes lightening as they had never
lightened before. "No! I don't care half so much for him as I do for
Arthur Spencer--as I did for my dear Mysie. I care exceedingly for
Arthur, and Mr Blandford is only an acquaintance. You said no harm,
Clarissa." She stood grandly to her colours; but the sharp-eyed
Clarissa saw it all. She ceased her arguments--they had their answer.
"You've got your life-story, anyhow," she said, "and you will do as you
please. I haven't got any experience to give you the benefit of."
It is sometimes thought impossible that a woman should give her heart
away, wholly without solicitation, utterly without hope of return; and,
perhaps, the fire of passion cannot be quite spontaneous. But, whatever
Flossy's young, fresh nature understood by love, the absorbing interest,
the unselfish devotion, the romantic idealism had gone out to Arthur
Spencer, as she thought, for ever. To use an expression prevalent among
the gentle, self-restrained heroines of an earlier day, "she had allowed
her affections to become engaged," and she faced the fact with all her
natural sense and honesty. He was the one man in the world for her, and
she would have--
Poor Flossy burst into tears of shame and fright as she thought that
there was nothing she would not have done for his sake. But as she was
not "disappointed," as she had never for a moment connected any personal
hopes or fears with him, she could bear to think that this feeling must
be carried about with her, hopeless of result; without being utterly
wretched, or fancying that she could never care for life again. And as
she was proud and brave, and was his true friend before all things, she
could resolve to make no perceptible change in her behaviour, but to be
as kind to him as ever, while no single soul should guess _how_ kindly
she felt. The idea had its attraction. Flossy's young eyes were
half-blinded by the sunrise still; her loves and her sorrows had still
some of the fascination of romance, were still fresh from the stately
dreamland of hero-worship and self-sacrifice. And so, fearless, she
turned her back on cloudland, and came out "into the light of common
day," which would soon show the stones in her path plainly enough. But
as she was sensible and practical too, and not inexperienced--if
experience can ever be other than personal--she was aware also that it
was an unlucky thing that had come to her, and one to solemnise, if not
sadden, her life; and she was seized with a fit of self-distrust. "I
feel as if my case was just the one exception to all rules; but I never
heard any girl talk nonsense who didn't think _that_," she said,
bitterly, to herself. "Well, any way, someone has liked me," and with
that she burst into a great flood of tears; and, though she was far too
single-minded to waver in her determination, the result of her discovery
that she had given her heart to another was that poor Mr Blandford
received a much softer and more tenderly-expressed refusal than he would
have got before, and that she thought of him with a much greater amount
of gratitude. However, between tears and excitement, she had worried
herself into a bad headache, and was quite unable to go down to her
teaching--a circumstance nearly as unusual as the event which had caused
it, and which cost her another half-hour's argument before she could
convince Miss Venning that she did not regret her decision, and could
induce her anxious sister to leave her in peace. She had been lying on
her bed, half-asleep, for some time, when there was a little tap, and
Violante came in with a cup of coffee in her hand.
"Miss Clarissa said I might bring you this. Are you better, signorina
mia?"
"Oh, yes," said Flossy, sitting up. "My headache is gone, I think.
Thank you, Violante; this is very good. Oh, dear! Whatever became of
the Italian?"
"I did it, Miss Florence, all myself; and Miss Clarissa sat in the
room," said Violante, in accents of pride.
"Why, Violante, how clever you are getting!"
"All, Miss Florence, I would do anything to help you a little bit!" said
Violante, kissing her hand. "The house is sad when you are ill."
Flossy was in a soft mood, and thought that she might yield to the
girl's caressing sweetness, without the possibility of a suspicion that
she was fretting for Mr Fordham or for anyone else. She little thought
that Violante--who, it is to be feared, considered being in love as the
normal condition of young maidens, and who had heard Florence talk a
great deal about Arthur--was only deterred from guessing the true state
of the case by her conviction that such a being as Miss Florence could
only find her equal in "Signor Hugo." To be sure, when, in a fit of
holiday-gossip, some glib-tongued girl had made this suggestion, Edith
Robertson had silenced her with a sharp "Oh, dear, no; not likely at
all! Mr Crichton will marry into a county family," which remark had
seemed to show innumerable vistas between _herself_ and Hugh; still,
_could_ Flossy know him and be insensible? Flossy little guessed these
thoughts, as Violante caressed her and helped her to twist up her long
bright hair--the flossy flaxen--which the little Italian girl thought
the most beautiful colour in the world; and Florence was comforted, she
hardly knew how, and went once more about her business, perhaps a little
graver, a little less ready for unnecessary interests; but giving Miss
Venning no reason to suppose that she regretted Mr Blandford. When she
looked back on her interview with Clarissa it struck her that sister's
manner had been singular; and one day she said to Miss Venning: "Mary,
did Clarissa ever have any lovers?"
"Never, my dear, that I know of. I wish she had. She doesn't like
girls, and would be happier married."
"Nor ever cared for anyone?"
"Not that I know of," answered Miss Venning, placidly, as she folded the
letter that she had been writing to an anxious mother to relate her
daughter's progress and well-being. Flossy reflected; but her own
memory did not come to her aid; for, indeed, there was nothing to
remember, and Clarissa subsided into her usual lazy, satirical, yet not
uncheerful, demeanour; sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued; always the provider
of the family jokes and the arranger of the little family comforts, the
easy-chairs and cups of tea and unexpected fires, of which she always
showed such a strong appreciation. Yet it occurred to Flossy for the
first time to wonder what was Clarissa's main-spring. Certainly not her
work, which she hated: nor any art or occupation, for she had none of
any great consequence; and not her sisters, for she did not often excite
herself about their concerns. It seemed an objectless life; could
Clarissa have mended it? Flossy, young and enthusiastic, was much
inclined to answer that she could; and yet it was very difficult to
imagine Clarissa taking up any of the lines that seemed so alien to her.
She could no more acquire Flossy's strong impulses and inborn tastes
than she could alter the outlines of her lot; no more give herself a
love than a lover.
PART FIVE, CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
AMONG THE PRIMROSES.
"Who on faint primrose-beds were wont to lie."
"Rosa--Rosa, carissima mia! To see you--to have you again! I have
wanted you every day!"
"My darling child, I don't know when I have not wanted _you_! Tell me
all--everything. Are you well--are you happy? I think you look so."
"We have tried to make her so," said Flossy, as Rosa withdrew from
Violante's clinging embrace to look into her face and read its story.
"Now, Violante, make your sister comfortable, and all the rest of us are
going to walk."
Left thus alone, Violante put Rosa into a chair and knelt at her feet,
looking up in her face. Rosa was looking remarkably well and handsome;
she was nicely dressed, and had an air of prosperity.
"And so they are very kind to you?" she said.
"They are as kind as angels," said Violante, "and there is no one like
Miss Florence except you."
Rosa laughed, and Violante went on, rather hurriedly:
"And our cousins,--how are they? And your pupils--are they stupid? How
far have they got in Italian?"
"Not very far," said Rosa; "and that's the first question you ever asked
me about a pupil in your life."
"But I teach a great deal of the Italian. Miss Florence showed me how.
And father--will he come soon?"
"Yes. I'm afraid, Violante, he has not found much to do in Florence. I
shall be glad when he comes to London, because I think he is likely to
get engagements."
"Does he know anyone in London?" asked Violante.
"Well--there is a gentleman who comes a good deal to Uncle Grey's," said
Rosa, colouring a little. "He is not exactly a professional musician;
but he loves music better than anything, and he has composed some
things--they're very good, I think. He said he would ensure some
engagements for father. So we shall get some nice little lodgings near
the Greys. I know some that would do for us, and when you come,
darling--it will be home again."
"And father is coming?"
"The first week in May."
"Yes, and our holidays are to be on the 7th. You know we should have
gone home now, but for the Confirmation; and, besides, Miss Venning's
brother, who is a clergyman, is coming to examine the school on the 5th
of May in arithmetic and those hard lessons; so the classes preparing
for him have not broken up."
"How funny it sounds to hear you talk about lessons and arithmetic! Can
_you_ do your sums, my child?"
"Not very well," replied Violante, modestly; "they are very often wrong,
Rosina. But I have learnt many things."
She turned and slipped down by Rosa's side, playing with her fingers;
but keeping her own face averted.
"Things are very strange, Rosa mia. I never expected to see Signor
Arthur here."
"Signor Arthur. Mr Spencer? _Here_. Where?" exclaimed Rosa, greatly
surprised.
"Yes," said Violante, trying to control her trembling, "he--that is,
_they_, live here at Redhurst. They are Miss Venning's friends."
"_They_--you don't mean Mr Crichton! Oh, Violante, if I had known
this--" then, as there was a pause, "Have you seen him?"
"Oh, yes. But he never spoke, nor I to him. Do not fear, Rosa. He is
a great gentleman, and he knows well _here_ that I am only a poor little
girl; and no one knows anything."
"Oh, my darling, you should not have stayed here an hour!"
"Then you would be more foolish than I," cried Violante; "more foolish a
great deal, Rosa. You see I am well and happy. And is not a girls'
school like a convent? I never see any of them but Signor Arthur, and
he is always kind. His _promessa sposa_ was here at school, you know,
Rosa. She was Miss Florence's dear friend."
"I could not have believed that you would have concealed such a thing
from me!" said Rosa, reproachfully.
"It was because I knew you would expect me to be unhappy. I wanted you
to see me and to know that I can bear it," said Violante, with
excitement. "Rosa, I would not deceive you--it is all over--all over!
But I knew you would hear their names."
"Mr Spencer Crichton, then, is an acquaintance of Miss Venning's?" said
Rosa, still in a tone of perturbation.
"Yes; and, besides, he has to do with everything--the railways and the
gas--"
"The what?"
"Why, they were going to build some ugly gas-works in the field, and he
was the only person who could prevent it. That was why he came here.
But it is Signor Arthur who is their friend."
"Ah, has he got over his trouble?"
"No," said Violante, with an air of interest and knowledge rather
surprising to Rosa.
"Oh, no, he looks much more sad and ill than he did in Italy. I think
he will never forget Mysie. But they will be coming in, and I was to
show you your room. There," as Rosa followed her, "that is the
school-room, and I must go there presently and see that the little girls
get ready for tea."
Rosa felt utterly bewildered. It is always startling to find one's
nearest and dearest possessed with a flood of new ideas and interests,
acquired apart from ourselves, and this is specially the case with a
girl's first experience of independent life. Violante's very accent and
idiom had attained a more English turn, and there was an air of life and
capability about her entirely new. She had opinions and ideas, and
evidently was proud of her various occupations and anxious to show them
off. How much of this was owing to her more vigorous health--the
English air evidently being very favourable to her--how much to the
mental awakening which some congenial experience often gives to girls
sooner or later, and how much to the undercurrent of excitement that
Hugh Crichton's neighbourhood caused, Rosa could not tell. Certainly
she was glad to see her little sister so bright and well; but she could
not get over the idea of Violante's secrecy, and forgot, perhaps, how
hardly while pitying her sister she had judged Hugh in her hearing.
Moreover, Rosa's attention was not so entirely devoted to Violante's
affairs as had been the case last year. Possibilities were arising in
her own life; but they were still too vague for her to wish to make a
confidante of her young sister. There seemed to be what the Miss Greys
called "a chance for Rosa;" and Rosa, it was thought, was not altogether
averse to avail herself of it. She was very agreeable, and her foreign
experiences and shrewd cleverness gave her an originality refreshing in
a London young lady. She liked society; and, besides, she liked
attention, in a sensible moderate sort of way; at any rate, she liked
the attentions of the musical Mr Fairfax. He was not a very young man,
and not at all handsome; but he had enough enthusiasm of character to
appeal to Rosa's sympathies, and enough of unconventionality to think
her history and connections attractive rather than the reverse. He held
a situation in the British Museum, and had some private means; so that
he had been able to indulge his musical taste without being dependent on
it for support. Nothing very definite had passed, but he was gradually
giving Rosa to understand that he meant something serious; and she had
welcomed this short absence as an opportunity for making up her own mind
and testing her own feelings.
She made a very good impression on Miss Venning, and became friendly
with Flossy, though secretly she thought her rather high-flying, and
considered her objects of interest inadequate to the enthusiasm expended
on them. She found that Violante, allowance being made for her
imperfect education, was considered to have fair capabilities; and, with
the help of her music and Italian, to be likely to be able to earn her
living, under favourable circumstances. ("If I had a home for her to
fall back upon," was Rosa's mental comment;) while she was much liked by
teachers and companions. Rosa was constantly amused and surprised at
seeing her busy and important; but, perhaps, she liked the moments best
when Violante nestled down by her side, happy once more in her caressing
presence. Rosa had arrived on Easter Monday, and was to stay till
Saturday. The Confirmation would take place on the Friday, and on the
Wednesday afternoon the whole party went into the woods to gather
primroses, to renew the Easter decoration of Oxley parish church. The
best primroses grew near Fordham; but, as nothing would have tempted
Miss Florence's steps in that direction, she ordained that they should
walk towards Oxley--"it was a prettier view to show Miss Mattei."
All along the opposite banks of the canal, between Fordham, Redhurst,
and Oxley--and, indeed, out beyond Blackwood, on the other side of the
town--were, at intervals, great oak copses, skirting the heath behind.
Ashenfold was in the midst of them; they touched at one end the famous
Fordham beeches, and at the other were lost in Lord Lidford's park at
Blackwood. The London road crossed the canal by a bridge at Oxley,
where the woods were interspersed with villas, and a path, rough and
dirty in winter, but charming in summer, led right through them to
Redhurst and Fordham. A sort of hand-bridge led back to the Redhurst
Road, opposite Ashenfold; further on there were only Redhurst and
Fordham locks.
A considerable tract of copse had been felled the year before; and this
spring the place of the underwood was supplied by the young sprouting
oak-shoots and by myriads of primroses and anemones, ivy, lichen and
moss, and all the beauties of woodlands in the spring. It was a lovely
day, warm and sunny, with a sky the colour of the speedwells that were
still hiding in the hedges. Birds sang and twittered; butterflies, like
flying primroses, hovered about in pairs.
"There is nothing like a wood in spring," said Florence; "and out there,
Miss Mattei, the furze is getting golden, and even that ploughed field
has a deep, rich colour under this wonderful sky."
"Yes, abroad we don't believe in English spring, but a day like this--"
"Vindicates the spring of the poets--and makes up for rain and east
winds, doesn't it?" The girls scattered over the wood in search of
their primroses, Violante among them; while Rosa sat down on a log and
talked to Miss Venning. The chatter and laughter of the girls sounded
through the wood; and Flossy, in her great straw hat, with her hands
full of primroses, came back towards them over the rough broken ground,
tall, lithe, and blooming, like an incarnation of this fresh woody
spring. Suddenly she paused, and exclaimed, as Hugh and Arthur, in
rather unwonted companionship, came up the narrow path towards her.
"What? A great primrose-picking?" said Arthur.
"Yes, did you come to enjoy the woods?" she said.
"I wanted to go to Ashenfold," said Hugh, "so we came back this way. We
are rather idle this week."
As he spoke, Hugh became aware of Rosa's presence, by hearing Arthur
greet her; and, after a momentary hesitation on both sides, they bowed,
and he asked after Signor Mattei.
"My father is very well, thank you," said Rosa, without an unnecessary
word. Hugh stood like a shy boy in his first quadrille, trying to think
of something that would do to say. Arthur had strolled away towards the
primrose-pickers, and he decided that it would look too marked to walk
on without him. At last he said: "Oh! Miss Venning, about that gas. I
believe I shall get it arranged as you wish."
"I always knew, Hugh, that no sensible person could see it in any other
light," said Miss Venning.
"I don't think gas is injurious to human life," said Hugh, looking round
the wood. Rosa almost pitied him, he seemed so ill at ease. "The
component parts--"
"Now, I am said to be fond of discussions," said Flossy; "but, really,
to talk chemically in this lovely wood is a shame."
"Let us come, then, and look at the view and find Arthur," said Hugh,
relieved; "I ought to be going."
Rosa would fain have followed, but Miss Venning, with a "You see, my
dear," entered on the subject of the gas-works, and the other two walked
farther into the wood.
There were days when Hugh was sure that he ought not to marry Violante,
there were many days when he thought that he did not wish to marry her;
but now and then came a day when he dreamed of a future that might come
when time should have softened the present troubles, and this day was
one of them. He would _not_ throw away this chance--at least, he would
see her and hear her speak again. Suddenly the sound of her sweet
unmistakable voice fell on his ear. They were coming over a piece of
rising ground, and down below them sat Arthur and Violante on a fallen
tree. She was tying the primroses into little bunches. The occupation
and her light spring dress brought another sunny afternoon and other
brighter-tinted flowers to Hugh's mind. He could only see the top of
Arthur's hat; but her face was visible, raised in profile, tender and
smiling, in the radiant sun. She was evidently answering a remark.
"Ah, then, do _you_ `say die,' so often?"
"Very often, I am afraid."
"But I keep the olive-leaves, signor, and I look at them sometimes."
"Ah, yes, I remember, I believe I have mine here still," and Arthur took
out his pocket-book, and after a moment's search showed the little spray
of leaves.