COQUETTE IN TOWN.
As Coquette and Lady Drum drew near to Glasgow the impatience of the
girl increased. Her thoughts flew on more swiftly than the train;
and they were all directed towards the Whaup, whom she was now about
to see.
"Will he be at the station? Does he know we are coming? Or shall we
see him as we go along the streets?" she asked.
"Dear me!" said Lady Drum. "Ye seem to think that Glasgow is no
bigger than Saltcoats. Meet him in the streets? We should scarce
see him in the streets if he were dressed in scaurlet."
It was growing towards dusk when the two ladies arrived. Lady Drum's
carriage was waiting at the station; and presently Coquette found
herself in the midst of the roar and turmoil of the great city. The
lamps on the bridges were burning yellow in the grey coldness of the
twilight; and she caught a glimpse of the masses of shipping down in
the dusky bed of the river. Then up through the busy streets--where
the windows were growing bright with gas, and dense crowds of people
were hurrying to and fro, and the carts, and waggons, and carriages
were raising a din that was strange and bewildering to ears grown
accustomed to the stillness of Airlie.
"Alas!" said Coquette, "I cannot see him in this crowd--it is
impossible."
Lady Drum laughed, and said nothing. And so they drove on--the high,
old-fashioned chariot, which ought to have been kept for state
purposes down at Castle Cawmil, swinging gently on its big
springs--up to the north-western districts of the city. When
Coquette was finally set down in front of a range of tall houses, the
rooms of which were shining ruddily through crimson curtains, she got
up the steps, and turned to take a look at her new place of abode.
Behold! in front of her there was no more city; but a great gulf of
pale blue mist, with here and there an orange lamp burning in the
distance. There were no more streets, nor crowds, nor great waggons;
and she even became aware that there were trees in front of her, down
there in the mysterious hollow.
"Where am I?" she said. "It is not a town--are we in the country
again? And where is my cousin?"
At this moment the hall door was thrown open by a servant; and out of
the blaze of light came a dapper and fat little gentleman, who, with
some brief exclamation of welcome, darted down the steps and gave his
arm to Coquette.
"Charmed to see you, Miss Cassilis," cried Sir Peter; "hope you will
have many a pleasant evening--many, and many, and many a pleasant
evening. Yes, yes, yes, indeed!"
Then he was about to hand her over in his airy fashion to the young
person who had been told off as her maid; but Miss Coquette was
rebellious.
"No," she said. "I do wish to go and see my cousin before anything;
he does not know I am in this town; it will be good-natured of you,
Sir Peter, to come with me."
"Oh, certainly! certainly! Roberts, hold on for a minute! My lady,
keep dinner to half-past eight. Come along, my dear. H'm! Ha!
Ha-ha-ha!"
Lady Drum stood at the open door, amazed. Indeed, she was so
astounded by this mad project on the part of her husband--within an
hour of dinner-time--that she had not a word to say; and in blank
astonishment she beheld the carriage drive off. Once more Coquette
found herself getting into a labyrinth of streets; and the farther
they drove the more noisy and dingy they seemed to become. She began
to wonder if it was in this place that the Whaup had been living for
so long a time, and how the thought of Airlie and the wild moorland
and the sea had not broken his heart.
It happens to most lads who go to college that they attach themselves
to some friend and companion considerably older than themselves, who
proceeds to act as their counsellor, teacher, and ally. Nothing of
the kind was possible to the Whaup. His individuality was too strong
to admit of any such submission. No sooner had he thrown himself
into the midst of college life than his exuberant spirits, along with
a touch of his old love of devilment, attracted round him a
considerable circle of associates, of whom he was the heart and soul.
It is to be feared that the Whaup and his friends did not form the
most studious coterie to be found in the old High Street building.
Plenty of study there was; and the Whaup worked as hard as any of
them; but the wild evenings which these young gentlemen spent in
their respective lodgings--the stories told of their daredevil
pranks--and the very free-and-easy manners of more than one mother's
son among them--gained for this band a dangerous reputation. They
were held to be rather wild by the more discreet and methodical of
their fellow-collegians. The Whaup himself was known to stick at
nothing. His splendid physique gave him many advantages; and after
having let daylight come in upon their rambling and hotheaded
disquisitions on poetry or "metapheesics," on their too copious
beer-drinking, and smoking of lengthy clays, many were chagrined to
meet the Whaup in the forenoon as fresh and pink as a daisy, having
just completed his morning classes, and setting out for a long
swinging walk round by the Botanic Gardens and the Kelvin.
"What a powerful young fellow your cousin is," said Sir Peter, as
they drove along George Street. "Did you hear of his adventure at
the theatre? No? Good story; very good story; ho! ho! excellent
story. He takes three young ladies to the theatre--cabman insults
him--he hands the young ladies into the theatre, comes back, hauls
the cabman down from his box and gives him a thorough thrashing in
about a minute. Up comes another cabman, squares up, is sent flying
into the arms of a policeman; the policeman admires pluck, and says
it serves them both right. Your cousin goes into the theatre, sits
down, nobody knows. Ho, ho! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"
"But, pray, who were the young ladies?" asked Coquette, with a touch
of proud asperity.
"Young ladies--young ladies--young ladies--who can remember the names
of young ladies?" said, or rather hummed, Sir Peter, keeping time by
tapping on the carriage window. "Why, I remember! Those charming
girls that sing--what's the song?--why, the doctor's daughters, you
know, Kate, and Mary, and Bess--all of them Menzies, Menzies,
Menzies!"
"I think my cousin ought to attend to his studies, rather than go
about with young ladies," said Coquette.
"So, ho!" cried Sir Peter. "Must a young man have no amusement?
Suppose he caps his studies by marrying one of the doctor's
daughters!"
"There are plenty to choose from," said Coquette, with an air of
disdain.
Indeed, the mention of those three young ladies rendered Coquette
silent for the rest of the drive; and Sir Peter was left to talk and
hum to himself. Yet it was but a little time before that Coquette
had clapped her hands with joy on hearing that the Whaup had made
those acquaintances, and that she had eagerly asked Lady Drum if it
was probable he might marry one of them. Why should she suddenly
feel jealous now, and refuse to speak to this poor Sir Peter, who was
risking his dinner to do her a service?
Her face lightened considerably when the carriage was pulled up; and
she got out to look with some curiosity on the gaunt and grey house
in George Street, which bore a number she had often written on her
letters. Many a time she had thought of this house, and mentally
drawn a picture of it. But the picture she had drawn was of a small
building with a porch, and green casements, and a big square in
front, with trees in it--in short, she had thought of a quiet
thoroughfare in an old-fashioned French town. She was more grieved
than disappointed with the ugliness of this house.
Sir Peter led her along the entry, and up the stone stairs to the
first landing. It was her first introduction to the Scotch system of
building houses. But her attention was suddenly withdrawn from this
matter by a considerable noise within; and over the noise there broke
the music of a song, which was plentifully accompanied by rappings on
a table or on the floor.
"Ah, c'est lui!" she suddenly cried. "I do know it is he."
The Whaup, to tell the truth, had not a very beautiful voice; but it
was strong enough; and both Sir Peter and Coquette could hear him
carelessly shouting the words of an old English ballad--
Come lasses and lads, away from your dads,
And away to the maypole hie,
For every fair has a sweetheart there,
And the fiddlers standing by!
For Willy shall dance with Jane,
And Johnny has got his Joan,
To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it up and down
--while there was a measured beating of hands and feet. Sir Peter
had to knock twice before any one answered; and when the door was
opened, lo! it was the Whaup himself who appeared--there being no one
else in the house to perform this office.
"What! is it you, Coquette!" he cried, seizing both her hands.
"Oh, you bad boy!" she cried. "How you do smell of tobacco!"
And, indeed, there came from the apartment he had just left--the door
of which was also wide open--rolling volumes of smoke, which nearly
took Sir Peter's breath away.
"But what am I to do with you?" he said. "Mine is the only room in
the house that isn't in confusion just now----"
"We will go in and see your friends, if you do not object, and if the
gentlemen will permit us," said Coquette, at once. Perhaps she was
desirous of knowing what company he kept.
You should have seen how swiftly those young men put away their
pipes; and how anxious they were to get Coquette a chair; and how
they strove to look very mild and good. You would have fancied they
had been holding a prayer meeting; but their manner changed
perceptibly when Coquette hoped she had not interrupted their
smoking, and graciously asked that the gentleman who had been singing
should continue--at which there was much laughter, for the Whaup
looked confused. It was in the midst of this reawakening of voices
that Sir Peter (who was beginning to feel uncomfortable about his
dinner) explained the object of his visit, and asked the Whaup if he
could come along later in the evening. Of course, his friends
counselled him to go at once; but he was not so lost to all notions
of hospitality.
"No," said he; "I will come and see you to-morrow night."
Coquette seemed hurt.
"Well," said her cousin to her, with a dash of his old impertinence,
"you can stay here if you like, and let Sir Peter go home with an
excuse for you."
The young men appeared as if they would have liked to second that
invitation, but dared not. Indeed, they regarded Coquette--whose
foreign accent they had noticed--in rather an awe-stricken way.
Perhaps she was a French princess who had come on a visit to Sir
Peter; and she looked like a princess, and had the calm graciousness
and self-possession of a princess. That was no blushing country girl
who sat there--the small lady with the delicate and pale features and
the large, quiet, dark eyes, who had such a wonderful air of ease and
refinement. The rough students felt their gaze fall when she looked
at them. What would they not have given to have spoken with her for
a whole evening, and looked at the wonders of her costume and the
splendour of her dark hair?
"What do you say, Coquette?" said the Whaup; and they all pricked up
their ears to hear her called by this strange name.
Coquette laughed. Doubtless she considered the proposal as a piece
of her cousin's raillery; but any one at all conversant with the
secret likings of the young lady--as the Whaup was--must have known
that she was perhaps not so averse to spending an evening with a lot
of young students as she ought to have been.
"Perhaps I should like it," she said, frankly, "if you did all sing
to me--and tell stories--and make me one of your companions. But I
am very hungry--I have had no dinner."
"Bravely and sensibly spoken!" cried Sir Peter, who had become
alarmed by this outrageous suggestion put forward by the Whaup.
"Come along, my dear Miss Cassilis; your cousin will call and see you
to-morrow night."
"Good-bye, Tom," said Coquette. "I am pleased you enjoy yourself in
Glasgow. It is not all study and books--no? And now I understand
why you did write to me such very short letters."
"Look here, Coquette," said he, as they were about to go. "What are
you going to do to-morrow morning? I suppose you'll be driving
about, and visiting grand people, and you won't have a word for me."
"Ah, you wicked boy, to say that!" she said, reproachfully. "You
will come for me to-morrow when you choose--nine, ten, eleven--and we
will go for a walk just where you please; and I will speak to nobody
but you; and you shall show me all the things worth seeing in Glasgow
and round about."
"Why, Coquette, it is all like a dream come true!" he cried. "And to
think that you are in Glasgow at last!"
With that, Sir Peter offered the young lady his arm, and hurried her
down stairs. He was becoming more and more anxious about his dinner.
The Whaup returned to his companions, and instantly perceived that
they were treating him with unusual respect. They would talk, also,
about the young lady; and whether she was to remain long in Glasgow;
and where the Whaup had seen her first; and whether she would likely
be up at his rooms any other evening. Master Tom was not very
communicative; but at last one ventured to say--
"Tell us, now, Cassilis, is she likely to be married soon?"
"She is," said the Whaup.
"To whom?"
"To me," said the Whaup.