NEW FRIENDS.
It was a Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park, in this pleasantly opening
summer; and there was a fair show of "the quality" come out for their
accustomed promenade, despite the few thunder-showers that had swept
across from the South. These, in fact, had but served to lay the dust,
and to bring out the scent of the hawthorns and lilacs, so that the air
was sweet with perfume; while the massive clouds, banking up in the
North, formed a purple background to show up the young green foliage of
the trees, all wet with rain, and shimmering tremulously in the
sunlight.
George Brand and his friend Evelyn sat in the back row of chairs,
watching the people pass and repass. It was a sombre procession, but
that here and there appeared a young English girl in her pale spring
costume--paler than the fresh glow of youth and health on her face, and
that here and there the sunlight, wandering down through the branches,
touched a scarlet sunshade--just then coming into fashion--until that
shone like a beautiful spacious flower among the mass of green.
When they had been silently watching the people for some little time,
Brand said, almost to himself,
"How very unlike those women she is!"
"Who? Oh, Natalie Lind," said the other, who had been speaking of her
some minutes before. "Well, that is natural and I don't say it to their
disadvantage. I believe most girls are well-intended enough; but, of
course, they grow up in a particular social atmosphere, and it depends
on that what they become. If it is rather fast, the girl sees nothing
objectionable in being fast too. If it is religious, the god of her
idolatry is a bishop. If it is sporting, she thinks mostly about horses.
Natalie is exceptional, because she has been brought up in exceptional
circumstances. For one thing, she has been a good deal alone; and she
has formed all sorts of beautiful idealisms and aspirations--"
The conversation dropped here; for at the moment Lord Evelyn espied two
of his sisters coming along in the slow procession.
"Here come two of the girls," he said to his friend. "How precious
demure they look!"
Brand at once rose, and went out from the shadow of the trees, to pay
his respects to the two young ladies.
"How do you do, Miss D'Agincourt? How do you do, Miss Frances?"
Certainly no one would have suspected these two very graceful and
pleasant-looking girls of being madcap creatures at home. The elder was
a tall and slightly-built blonde, with large gray eyes set wide apart;
the younger a gentle little thing, with brownish eyes, freckles, and a
pretty mouth.
"Mamma?" said the eldest daughter, in answer to his inquires. "Oh, she
is behind, bringing up the rear, as it were. We have to go in
detachment, or else the police would come and read the riot act against
us. Francie and I are the vanguard; and she feels such a good little
girl, marching along two and two, just as if she were back at Brighton."
The clear gray eyes--quite demure--glanced in toward the shadows of the
trees.
"I see you have got Evelyn there, Mr. Brand. Who is the extraordinary
person he is always talking about now--the Maid of Saragossa, or Joan of
Arc, or something like that? Do you know her?"
"I suppose you mean Miss Lind."
"I know he has persuaded mamma to go and call on her, and get her to
dine with us, if she will come. Now, I call that kind."
"If she accepts, you mean?"
"No, I mean nothing of the sort. Good-bye. If we stay another minute, we
shall have the middle detachments overlapping the vanguard. En avant,
Francie! Vorwarts!"
She bowed to him, and passed on in her grave and stately manner: more
calmly observant, demurer eyes were not in the Park.
He ran the gauntlet of the whole family, and at last encountered the
mamma, who brought up the rear with the youngest of her daughters. Lady
Evelyn was a tall, somewhat good-looking, elderly lady, who wore her
silver-white hair in old-fashioned curls. She was an amiable but
strictly matter-of-fact person, who beheld her daughters' mad humors
with surprise as well as alarm. What were they forever laughing at?
Besides, it was indecorous. She had not conducted herself in that manner
when she lived in her father's home.
Lady Evelyn, who was vaguely aware that Brand knew the Linds, repeated
her daughter's information about the proposed visit, and said that if
Miss Lind would come and spend the evening with them, she hoped Mr.
Brand would come too.
"These girls do tease dreadfully, I know," said their mamma; "but
perhaps they will behave a little better before a stranger."
Mr. Brand replied that he hoped Miss Lind would accept the
invitation--for during her father's absence she must be somewhat
dull--but that even without the protection of her presence he was not
afraid to face those formidable young ladies. Whereupon Miss
Geraldine--who was generally called the baby, though she was turned
thirteen--glanced at him with a look which said, "Won't you catch it for
that!" and the mamma then bade him good-bye, saying that Rosalys would
write to him as soon as the evening was arranged.
He had not long to wait for that expected note. The very next night he
received it. Miss Lind was coming on Thursday; would that suit him? A
quarter to eight.
He was there punctual to the moment. The presence of the whole rabble of
girls in the drawing-room told him that this was to be a quite private
and domestic dinner-party; on other occasions only two or three of the
phalanx--as Miss D'Agincourt described herself and her sisters--were
chosen to appear. And, on this especial occasion, there was a fine
hubbub of questions and raillery going on--which Brand vainly endeavored
to meet all at once--when he was suddenly rescued. The door was opened,
and Miss Lind was announced. The clamor ceased.
She was dressed in black, with a red camellia in her bosom, and another
in the magnificent black hair. Brand thought he had never seen her look
so beautiful, and at once so graciously proud and gentle. Lady Evelyn
went forward to meet her, and greeted her very kindly indeed. She was
introduced to one or two of the girls. She shook hands with Mr. Brand,
and gave him a pleasant smile of greeting. Lady Evelyn had to apologize
for her son's absence; he had only gone to write a note.
The tall, beautiful Hungarian girl seemed not in the least embarrassed
by all these curious eyes, that occasionally and covertly regarded her
while pretending not to do so. Two of the young ladies there were older
than she was, yet she seemed more of a woman than any of them. Her
self-possession was perfect. She sat down by Lady Evelyn, and submitted
to be questioned. The girls afterward told their brother they believed
she was an actress, because of the clever manner in which she managed
her train.
But at this moment Lord Evelyn made his appearance in great excitement,
and with profuse apologies.
"But the fact is," said he, producing an evening paper, "the fact
is--just listen to this, Natalie: it is the report of a police case."
At his thus addressing her by her Christian name the mother started
somewhat, and the demure eyes of the girls were turned to the floor,
lest they should meet any conscious glance.
"Here is a fellow brought before the Hammersmith magistrate for
indulging in a new form of amusement. Oh, very pretty! very nice! He had
only got hold of a small dog and he was taking it by the two forelegs,
and trying how far he could heave it. Very well; he is brought before
the magistrates. He had only heaved the dog two or three times; nothing
at all, you know. You think he will get off with a forty shillings fine,
or something like that. Not altogether! Two months' hard labor--_two
solid months' hard labor_; and if I had my will of the brute," he
continued, savagely, "I would give ten years' hard labor, and bury him
alive when he came out. However, two months' hard labor is something. I
glory in that magistrate; I have just been up-stairs writing a note
asking him to dine with me. I believe I was introduced to him once."
"Evelyn quite goes beside himself," his mother said to her guest, with
half an air of apology, "when he reads about cruelty like that."
"Surely it is better than being callous," said Natalie, speaking very
gently.
They went in to dinner; and the young ladies were very well behaved
indeed. They did not at all resent the fashion in which the whole
attention of the dinner-table was given to the stranger.
"And so you like living in England?" said Lady Evelyn to her.
"I cannot breathe elsewhere," was the simple answer.
"Why," said the matter-of-fact, silver-haired lady, "if this country is
notorious for anything, it is for its foggy atmosphere!"
"I think it is famous for something more than that," said the girl, with
just a touch of color in the beautiful face; for she was not accustomed
to speak before so many people. "Is it not more famous for its freedom?
It is that that makes the air so sweet to breathe."
"Well, at all events, you don't find it very picturesque as compared
with other countries. Evelyn tells me you have travelled a great deal."
"Perhaps I am not very fond of picturesqueness," Natalie said,
modestly. "When I am travelling through a country I would rather see
plenty of small farms, thriving and prosperous, than splendid ruins that
tell only of oppression and extravagance, and the fierceness of war."
No one spoke; so she made bold to continue--but she addressed Lady
Evelyn only.
"No doubt it is very picturesque, as you go up the Rhine, or across the
See Kreis, or through the Lombard plains, to see every height crowned
with its castle. Yes, one cannot help admiring. They are like beautiful
flowers that have blossomed up from the valleys and the plains below.
But who tilled the land, that these should grow there on every height?
Are you not forced to think of the toiling wretches who labored and
labored to carry stone by stone up the crest of the hill? They did not
get much enjoyment out of the grandeur and picturesqueness of the
castles."
"But they gave that labor for their own protection," Lady Evelyn said,
with a smile. "The great lords and barons were their protectors."
"The great lords and barons said so, at least," said the girl, without
any smile at all, "and I suppose the peasantry believed them; and were
quite willing to leave their vineyards and go and shed their blood
whenever the great lords and barons quarrelled among themselves."
"Well said! well said!" Brand exclaimed, quickly; though, indeed, this
calm, gentle-eyed, self-possessed girl was in no need of any champion.
"I am afraid you are a great Radical, Miss Lind," said Lady Evelyn.
"Perhaps it is your English air, Lady Evelyn," said the girl, with a
smile.
Lord Evelyn's mother, notwithstanding her impassive, unimaginative
nature, soon began to betray a decided interest in this new guest, and
even something more. She was attracted, to begin with, by the singular
beauty of the young Hungarian lady, which was foreign-looking, unusual,
picturesque. She was struck by her perfect self-possession, and by the
ease and grace of her manner, which was rather that of a mature
woman than of a girl of nineteen. But most of all she was interested in
her odd talk and opinions, which she expressed with such absolute
simplicity and frankness. Was it, Lady Evelyn asked herself, that the
girl had been brought up so much in the society of men--that she had
neither mother nor sisters--that she spoke of politics and such matters
as if it the most natural thing in the world for women, of whatever
age, to consider them as of first importance?
But one chance remark that Natalie made, on the impulse of the moment,
did for the briefest possible time break down that charming
self-confidence of hers, and show her--to the wonderment of the English
girls--the prey of an alarmed embarrassment. George Brand had been
talking of patriotism, and of the scorn that must naturally be felt for
the man who would say of his country, "Well, it will last my time. Let
me enjoy myself when I can. What do I care about the future of other
people?" And then he went on to talk of the larger patriotism that
concerned itself not merely with one's fellow-countrymen but with one's
fellow-mortals; and how the stimulus and enthusiasm of that wider
patriotism should be proportionately stronger; and how it might seek to
break down artificial barriers of political systems and religious
creeds. Patriotism was a beautiful flame--a star; but here was a sun.
Ordinary, to tell the truth, Brand was but an indifferent speaker--he
had all an Englishman's self-consciousness; but now he spoke for Natalie
alone, and minded the others but little. Presently Lady Evelyn said,
with a smile,
"You, too, Miss Lind, are a reformer, are you not? Evelyn is very
mysterious, and I can't quite make out what he means; but at all events
it is very kind of you to spare us an evening when you must be so deeply
engaged."
"I?" said Natalie. "Oh no, it is very little that I can do. The work is
too difficult and arduous for women, perhaps. But there is one thing
that women can do--they can love and honor those who are working for
them."
It was spoken impulsively--probably the girl was thinking only of her
father. But at the moment she happened to look up, and there were
Rosalys D'Agincourt's calmly observant eyes fixed on her. Then some
vague echo of what she had said rushed in upon her; she was bewildered
by the possible interpretation others might put on the words; and the
quick, sensitive blood mounted to her forehead. But fortunately Lady
Evelyn, who had missed the whole thing, happened at this very instant to
begin talking of orchids, and Natalie struck in with great relief. So
that little episode went by.
And, as dinner went on, Brand became more and more convinced that this
family was the most delightful family in England. Just so much restraint
had left their manner as to render those madcap girls exceedingly frank
and good-natured in the courtesy they showed to their guest, and to
admit her as a confidante into their ways of bantering each other. And
one would herself come round to shift the fire-screen behind Miss Lind
to precisely the proper place; and another said that Miss Lind drank
water because Evelyn had been so monstrously stupid as not to have any
Hungarian wine for her; and another asked if she might call on Miss Lind
the following afternoon, to take her to some place where some marvellous
Japanese curiosities were on view. Then, when they left for the
drawing-room, the eldest Miss D'Agincourt put her arm within the arm of
their guest, and said,
"Now, dear Miss Lind, please understand that, if there was any stranger
here at all, we should not dream of asking you to sing. Ermentrude and I
take all that on our shoulders; we squawk for the whole of the family.
But Evelyn has told us so much about your singing--"
"Oh, I will sing for you if you wish it," said Natalie, without
hesitation.
Some little time thereafter Brand was walking up and down the room
below, slowly and thoughtfully: he was not much of a wine-drinker.
"Evelyn," he said, suddenly, "I shall soon be able to tell you whether I
owe you a life-long gratitude. I owe you much already. Through you I
have got some work to do in the world; I am busy, and content. But there
is a greater prize."
"I think I can guess what you mean," his companion said, calmly.
"You do?" said the other, with a quick look. "And you do not think I am
mad?--to go and ask her to be my wife before she has given me a single
word of hope?"
"She has spoken to others about you: I know what she thinks of you,"
said Lord Evelyn. Then the fine, pale face was slightly flushed. "To
tell you the truth, Brand, I thought of this before you ever saw her."
"Thought of what?" said the other, with a stare of surprise.
"That you would be the right sort of man to make a husband for her: she
might be left alone in the world at any moment, without a single
relation, and scarcely a friend."
"Women don't marry for these reasons," said the other, somewhat
absently. "And yet, if she were to think of it, it would not be as if I
were withdrawing her from everything she takes an interest in. We should
be together. I am eager to go forward, even by myself; but with her for
a companion--think of that!"
"I have thought of it," said Lord Evelyn, with something of a sad smile.
"Often. And there is no man in England more heartily wishes you success
than I do. Come, let us go up to the drawing-room."
They went out into the hall. Some one was playing a noisy piece
up-stairs; it was safe to speak. And then he said,
"Shall I tell you something, Brand?--something that will keep you awake
all this night, and not with the saddest of thinking? If I am not
mistaken, I fancy you have already 'stole bonny Glenlyon away.'"