THE BROKEN LILY.
Pauline Darrell was a keen, shrewd observer of character. She judged
more by small actions than by great ones; it was a characteristic of
hers. When women have that gift, it is more to be dreaded than the cool,
calm, matured judgment of men. Men err sometimes in their estimate of
character, but it is very seldom that a woman makes a similar mistake.
The garden path widened where the tall white lilies grew in rich
profusion, and there Pauline and Captain Langton walked side by side.
The rich, sweet perfume seemed to gather round them, and the dainty
flowers, with their shining leaves and golden bracts, looked like great
white stars.
Captain Langton carried a small cane in his hand. He had begun to talk
to Pauline with great animation. Her proud indifference piqued him. He
was accustomed to something more like rapture when he devoted himself to
any fair lady. He vowed to himself that he would vanquish her pride,
that he would make her care for him, that the proud, dark eyes should
soften and brighten for him; and he gave his whole mind to the
conquest. As he walked along, one of the tall, white lilies bent over
the path; with one touch of the cane he beat it down, and Pauline gave a
little cry, as though the blow had pained her. She stopped, and taking
the slender green stem in her hand, straightened it; but the blow had
broken one of the white leaves.
"Why did you do that?" she asked, in a pained voice.
"It is only a flower," he replied, with a laugh.
"Only a flower! You have killed it. You cannot make it live again. Why
need you have cut its sweet life short?"
"It will not be missed from among so many," he said.
"You might say the same thing of yourself," she retorted. "The world is
full of men, and you would hardly be missed from so many; yet you would
not like----"
"There is some little difference between a man and a flower, Miss
Darrell," he interrupted, stiffly.
"There is, indeed; and the flowers have the advantage," she retorted.
The captain solaced himself by twisting his mustache, and relieved his
feelings by some few muttered words, which Miss Darrell did not hear. In
her quick, impulsive way, she judged him at once.
"He is cruel and selfish," she thought; "he would not even stoop to save
the life of the sweetest flower that blows. He shall not forget killing
that lily," she continued, as she gathered the broken chalice, and
placed it in her belt. "Every time he looks at me," she said, "he shall
remember what he has done."
The captain evidently understood her amiable intention, and liked her
accordingly. They walked on for some minutes in perfect silence; then
Pauline turned to him suddenly.
"Have you been long in the army, Captain Langton?"
Flattered by a question that seemed to evince some personal interest, he
hastened to reply:
"More than eight years. I joined when I was twenty."
"Have you seen any service?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "My regiment had been for many years in active service
just before I joined, so that we have been at home since then."
"In inglorious ease," she said.
"We are ready for work," he returned, "when work comes."
"How do you employ your time?" she asked; and again he was flattered by
the interest that the question showed. His face flushed. Here was a
grand opportunity of showing this haughty girl, this "proudest Darrell
of them all," that he was eagerly sought after in society such as she
had not yet seen.
"You have no conception of the immense number of engagements that occupy
our time," he replied; "I am fond of horses--I take a great interest in
all races."
If he had added that he was one of the greatest gamblers on the turf, he
would have spoken truthfully.
"Horse racing," said Miss Darrell--"that is the favorite occupation of
English gentlemen, is it not?"
"I should imagine so. Then I am considered--you must pardon my
boasting--one of the best billiard players in London."
"That is not much of a boast," she remarked, with such quiet contempt
that the captain could only look at her in sheer wonder.
"There are balls, operas, parties, suppers--I cannot tell what; and the
ladies engross a great deal of our time. We soldiers never forget our
devotion and chivalry to the fair sex, Miss Darrell."
"The fair sex should be grateful that they share your attention with
horses and billiards," she returned. "But what else do you do, Captain
Langton? I was not thinking of such trifles as these."
"Trifles!" he repeated. "I do not call horse racing a trifle. I was
within an inch of winning the Derby--I mean to say a horse of mine was.
If you call that a trifle, Miss Darrell, you go near to upsetting
English society altogether."
"But what great things do you do?" she repeated, her dark eyes opening
wider. "You cannot mean seriously that this is all. Do you never write,
paint--have you no ambition at all?"
"I do not know what you call ambition," he replied, sullenly; "as for
writing and painting, in England we pay people to do that kind of thing
for us. You do not think that I would paint a picture, even if I could?"
"I should think you clever if you did that," she returned; "at present I
cannot see that you do anything requiring mind or intellect."
"Miss Darrell," he said, looking at her, "you are a radical, I believe."
"A radical?" she repeated, slowly. "I am not quite sure, Captain
Langton, that I know what that means."
"You believe in aristocracy of intellect, and all that kind of
nonsense," he continued. "Why should a man who paints a picture be any
better than the man who understands the good points of a horse?"
"Why, indeed?" she asked, satirically. "We will not argue the question,
for we should not agree."
"I had her there," thought the captain. "She could not answer me. Some
of these women require a high hand to keep them in order."
"I do not see Miss Hastings," she said at last, "and it is quite useless
going to the aviary without her. I do not remember the name of a single
bird; and I am sure you will not care for them."
"But," he returned, hesitatingly, "Sir Oswald seemed to wish it."
"There is the first dinner-bell," she said, with an air of great relief;
"there will only just be time to return. As you seem solicitous about
Sir Oswald's wishes we had better go in, for he dearly loves
punctuality."
"I believe," thought the captain, "that she is anxious to get away from
me. I must say that I am not accustomed to this kind of thing."
The aspect of the dining-room, with its display of fine old plate, the
brilliantly arranged tables, the mingled odor of rare wines and flowers,
restored him to good humor.
"It would be worth some little trouble," he thought, "to win all this."
He took Pauline in to dinner. The grand, pale, passionate beauty of the
girl had never shown to greater advantage than it did this evening, as
she sat with the purple and crimson fuchsias in her hair and the broken
lily in her belt. Sir Oswald did not notice the latter until dinner was
half over. Then he said:
"Why, Pauline, with gardens and hothouses full of flowers, have you
chosen a broken one?"
"To me it is exquisite," she replied.
The captain's face darkened for a moment, but he would not take offense.
The elegantly appointed table, the seductive dinner, the rare wines, all
made an impression on him. He said to himself that there was a good
thing offered to him, and that a girl's haughty temper should not stand
in his way. He made himself most agreeable, he was all animation,
vivacity, and high spirits with Sir Oswald. He was deferential and
attentive to Miss Hastings, and his manner to Pauline left no doubt in
the minds of the lookers on that he was completely fascinated by her.
She was too proudly indifferent, too haughtily careless, even to resent
it. Sir Oswald Darrell was too true a gentleman to offer his niece to
any one; but he had given the captain to understand that, if he could
woo her and win her, there would be no objection raised on his part.
For once in his life Captain Langton had spoken quite truthfully.
"I have nothing," he said; "my father left me but a very moderate
fortune, and I have lost the greater part of it. I have not been careful
or prudent, Sir Oswald."
"Care and prudence are not the virtues of youth," Sir Oswald returned.
"I may say, honestly, I should be glad if your father's son could win my
niece; as for fortune, she will be richly dowered if I make her my
heiress. Only yesterday I heard that coal had been found on my Scotch
estates, and, if that be true, it will raise my income many thousands
per annum."
"May you long live to enjoy your wealth, Sir Oswald!" said the young
man, so heartily that tears stood in the old baronet's eyes.
But there was one thing the gallant captain did not confess. He did not
tell Sir Oswald Darrell--what was really the truth--that he was over
head and ears in debt, and that this visit to Darrell Court was the last
hope left to him.