PARK LANE IN JUNE.
Nearly a year has passed since Mrs. Halford's visit, but no farther
intercourse has taken place between the families at Englefield Grange
and Lime Grove. Henry Halford had listened eagerly to his mother's
description of that visit spoken of in a passing way at the tea-table in
the evening, but only once did he venture a remark.
"Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter were in deep mourning," his mother said
in the course of conversation. "I was not aware they had lost a near
relative."
"They are in mourning for Mr. Armstrong's father," said Henry; "I saw
his death in the _Times_ a few weeks ago, in his eighty-third year."
This year of Mary's life had indeed been an eventful one. The first
meeting with Henry Halford, the second at Mr. Drummond's, the visit to
Meadow Farm, and the happy week with her dear old grandfather, that
never-to-be-forgotten time at Oxford, her father's angry suspicions and
threats, and a few weeks afterwards the hasty summons of his father's
death-bed--all these events, following each other so rapidly, were to be
also deeply impressed on Mary's memory by future results.
To Englefield Grange in February of the following year came the
overwhelming sorrow caused by the news of poor Fanny's death. So
completely had Arthur Franklyn's light-hearted letters removed all
anticipation of danger, that the shock was the more terrible, and poor
Mrs. Halford's health for a time completely gave way.
Mr. Armstrong's family also saw a notice of it in the
_Times_ obituary, and Mary and her mother were both surprised when her
father suggested that a message of condolence and kind inquiry should be
sent to Englefield Grange. The messenger brought back a formal
acknowledgment, and also the information that Mrs. Halford was
dangerously ill.
How Mary grieved over the conviction that she could not go and offer her
services to soothe and tend the mother of Henry Halford in her terrible
griefs! She had never heard of Kate Marston, Henry's cousin, who had for
so many years supplied to him and his parents the place of sister and
daughter. In spite of what appeared to Mary something like neglect and
indifference on the part of the schoolmaster's son, she would have been
glad to show him and his family that no proud or resentful feeling on
her part could raise a barrier between them as neighbours and
acquaintance.
Mary Armstrong possessed a good share of what is called common sense.
She had reflected deeply on the occurrences at Oxford, and she reasoned
thus with herself:--
"I daresay Mr. Henry Halford is sorry for what he said to me at Oxford,
or perhaps he meant nothing but a compliment. He is sensible enough not
to think of being married till he is ordained, and so perhaps he keeps
away for fear I should learn to love him;" and the young girl blushed as
this thought arose in her heart, even when alone. "And besides, after
what papa said that night in his passion, I am very, very glad he has
not paid us a visit. I could not marry any man without papa's consent,
but I hope he wont ask me to marry any one else. I shall be twenty next
July, but that doesn't matter; I should like to stay at home always, and
there is nothing very dreadful to me in the prospect of being an old
maid."
And so the young girl schooled her heart to try to forget that she had
met her _beau ideal_ of what a husband should be, and that her father
had forbidden her to associate with him or to notice the family until
their time of trouble called for neighbourly inquiries. How little poor
Mary guessed that her father had effectually put a stop to any farther
acquaintance, and that even this formal attention would have been
withheld had he not supposed her to be quite indifferent to this
schoolmaster's son who had presumed to ask him for the hand of his
daughter! Perhaps Mr. Armstrong would have been very much surprised had
he been told that another influence was at work in Mary's heart which
would prevent her from disobeying her father by marrying against his
wishes; an influence which had first made itself felt while listening to
the teachings of her grandfather, and which would prove her support in
the future through weary days of sorrow and trial.
During this twelve months other changes had also taken place; Charles
Herbert's regiment had been ordered to Canada, and his mother in her
loneliness petitioned Mr. Armstrong for his daughter's company. Sir
James and Lady Elston had given up their house in Portland Place, and
were now residing in the south of France on account of the old admiral's
health.
"You see, Edward, I am quite alone now," said Mrs. Herbert when asking
for Mary to be allowed to spend a month with them in Park Lane during
the season; "and Mary has seen nothing of society yet, you have made her
too much of a bookworm and a homebird."
"Not a bit of it," cried the colonel; "and for my part I do not see the
necessity for Mary to acquire a knowledge of London society; however, we
shall be glad to have her with us, Armstrong, for a time, and I don't
think there is any danger of Mary's head being turned; she's much too
sensible."
This conversation took place in Mr. Armstrong's office in Dover Street,
and he was ready at once to accept the invitation, even before
consulting the wishes of his wife and daughter. It was just what he
wanted; the niece of Mrs. Herbert was sure to attract suitors at the
house of Colonel Herbert, and soon put an end to this nonsense about the
young parson. For in spite of his confidence in these young people he
dreaded a chance meeting which might upset all his plans.
A few days after this interview Mary Armstrong stood at the window of
her uncle's house in Park Lane, looking out over the Park, now radiant
in the glorious beauty of a June morning. There had been a strange
contest in Mary's heart at the proposal to spend a month with her aunt
in London. She was very fond of her aunt Helen, and ready to accept the
invitation with great delight. The house, the arrangements, the varied
appliances of taste and refinement which belong to society when composed
of the well-bred as well as the rich, were all congenial to Mary. At
home the influence of her father was still too strong to allow Mrs.
Armstrong to carry out her own refined tastes even at the dinner-table.
The early habits at a farm-house were not so easily overcome, and the
exquisite and tasteful style of Mrs. Herbert's table was not yet
tolerated at Lime Grove. Good, solid, and in profusion, but plain and
homely, and without flowers or other ornaments, was considered more
suitable for a dinner-table than what Mr. Armstrong called useless
trumpery or expensive nicknacks.
And yet, with all that could satisfy her most refined tastes, Mary
Armstrong, as she stood at the open French window, sighed at the memory
of home. The country lanes which still remained near Lime Grove, the
broad high road which passed Englefield Grange as well as her father's
house, and along which she and her little brother Freddy had walked to
school on that cold morning that seemed now so long ago; the carriage
drive home after that fascinating evening at Mr. Drummond's, even the
meeting in the road when her father offered hospitality to Mr. Halford,
which he was never to accept--all this was connected with the rural
suburb surrounding her home. Still onward flew the rapid thoughts to a
pleasant hotel at Oxford, and all the happy hours of that
never-to-be-forgotten week, the strolls from college to college, from
chapel to chapel, the soul-stirring music of the choirs, the boat
excursions on the Thames beneath a June sky as bright as that now
casting a radiant but somewhat misty glow upon the Park, and that last
evening in Christ Church meadows beneath the moonlight, when those
trivial words were uttered which had stirred in her girlish heart
thoughts and feelings before unknown.
Very lovely she looked as she stood in the reflected sunlight from the
Park. The pretty lilac-sprigged muslin, finished at the throat and
wrists with lace collar and wristlets, bows from the throat down the
front of lilac ribbon, and one of the same colour in her hair, were
truly becoming to the fair face and bright brown tresses. The only
ornaments she wore consisted of a silver brooch and the chain belonging
to her watch.
So deeply were Mary's thoughts occupied, that her uncle and his friend
had reached the centre of the room before she was aware of their
presence. She started as her uncle said--
"Why, Mary, my dear, what a reverie!"
"I beg your pardon, uncle, I did not hear your approach. Good morning,
Captain Fraser," she continued, turning to the visitor with a laugh, and
holding out her hand. "I am not in general so easily alarmed; did you
and uncle enter purposely on tiptoe?"
The young officer cast upon the speaker a look of unmistakable
admiration, which deepened the flush on her cheek, but he did not
possess the tact with which to relieve the young lady and place her at
her ease with a retort as playful as her own.
Colonel Herbert was, however, more ready.
"Well, upon my word, Mary, you must have a very vivid imagination to
picture to yourself a stout old fellow like me tripping along the carpet
on tiptoe;" and her uncle's merry laugh restored Mary's self-possession
at once. "But now," he continued, "let me tell you the object which
brought us here. Would you like to join us in a canter this morning in
the Row? Captain Fraser and I have just been inspecting Daisy, she has
quite recovered from the effects of her journey by train, and I have
desired the groom to bring her round in half an hour; can you be ready?"
"Oh yes, uncle, thank you, I shall be delighted, if aunt Helen
approves."
"Aunt Helen is here to speak for herself;" and Mrs Herbert entered the
room as she thus announced her presence.
"Of course I approve; go, darling, and dress quickly; an hour's ride
will do you good after such a long practice."
"Mary was not practising when we entered the room," said her uncle, "but
lost in contemplation of our London landscape--quite a compliment to
Hyde Park I consider it."
"I am afraid I was making comparisons in my mind not very complimentary
to the Park, uncle, but I shall enjoy my ride nevertheless." And the
young girl ran gaily out of the room without waiting for a reply.
During the time the gentlemen had been in the room Captain Fraser had
not spoken; indeed, in reply to Mary he had only bowed a silent good
morning. Now, however, he entered into conversation with Mrs. Herbert,
showing that he could make himself in a certain sense agreeable as a
companion.
Mary had met him twice already during the few days she had been in Park
Lane, but while the memory of a gentleman who could fascinate her with
his conversation on intellectual and poetical subjects was still fresh,
the style in which Captain Fraser made himself agreeable was not likely
to attract Mary Armstrong.
"I'm afraid--aw--we alarmed--aw--Miss Armstrong this morning," said the
young man, pulling violently at his whiskers as he spoke.
"My niece is not easily frightened, Captain Fraser."
"No--aw--not exactly frightened, but startled I mean--aw--just for a
minute, and she turned it off--aw--and laughed as she spoke in such a
captivating manner that--aw--there was nothing left for a fellah to
say."
"But you should say something, and not allow young ladies to have it all
their own way, Captain Fraser."
"Oh dear me--aw--I couldn't possibly; besides--aw--Mrs. Herbert, I don't
think--aw--I ever saw a handsomer girl in my life--aw--than Miss
Armstrong; but now I don't mind telling you, she's so clever--aw--that
I'm half afraid to speak to her."
"Ah, well, you can get better acquainted with her this morning during
your ride; she is perfectly at home on horseback, and a fearless rider."
"I believe that Miss Armstrong is clever in everything that she does,"
replied the young officer, with another firm tug at his whiskers.
The appearance of the young lady in equestrian attire, and the
announcement that the horses were at the door, aroused the young man to
offer his assistance. He escorted Mary to the entrance, and was ready
and eager to be allowed to mount her; but he got so confused, and
appeared so awkward about the matter, that Mary felt afraid to place her
foot in his hand, and said quickly, "Thank you very much, Captain
Fraser, but I am so used to be mounted by my uncle, pray do not trouble
yourself to help me."
He drew back instantly to give place to Colonel Herbert, and looked so
intensely miserable that Mary's kind heart pitied him, and she
determined during her ride to endeavour by her attention to him to
restore his self-appreciation.
But Mary made very little progress towards the completion of her object.
She addressed her conversation almost entirely to him while walking
their horses; she tried various topics, but none proved of any interest
until a friend whom they met admired Mary's beautiful grey mare, who
pranced, and tossed her head, and curved her sleek neck as if she knew
that she carried her young mistress, and considered herself and her
rider the most attractive objects in the Park.
This notice of Daisy by the colonel's friend loosened Captain Fraser's
tongue, and for the remainder of the ride he entertained his companion
with descriptions of the turf, and advice about the treatment of horses,
which to Mary were as incomprehensible as if uttered in Sanscrit. But
this subject, so familiar to the young officer, set him at his ease, and
by the time he reached home the shy awkwardness of the morning had quite
disappeared.
When he joined them in the evening, Mary, whom he had taken down to
dinner, found his loquacity almost as painful to endure as his shyness.
The long drawn out words, the constant repetition of "aw, aw," and the
affected lackadaisical style of manner and speech, annoyed Mary even
while it amused her. Indeed, at last nothing but the recollection that
he was her uncle's guest could influence her to endure his society.
Gladly did she hail her aunt's signal to leave the dinner-table, and had
she been alone would have openly expressed to Mrs. Herbert her opinion
of their visitor. But quietly leaning back in her chair while the elder
ladies talked, Mary Armstrong began to reflect. Had she any right to
despise this young captain because he had peculiarities and foibles? She
had heard her aunt say that Reginald Fraser had been motherless from his
birth, and to his father's neglect might be attributed much that was
disagreeable or affected in his manners, which in other respects she was
obliged to acknowledge were those of a gentleman. "Would my dear
grandfather have approved of my treating this young man with contempt?"
she asked herself. "With all his plain country manners he was a true
Christian gentleman, one of those who would not for the world say or do
anything to pain or mortify another. Again, how would Henry Halford
treat Reginald Fraser?" she asked herself. The answer was plain; she
knew how he would have acted, for Mr. Henry Halford would not forget the
advantages of his own happy home, and the careful training he had
received from his own mother. Thus reasoning, Mary Armstrong decided
that during her visit to Park Lane she would bear with this weak-minded
young man, and treat him kindly in spite of his foibles.
But too much crooked policy exists in the world for straightforward
conduct and honest intentions to meet with a due reward.
Mary's innocent, unsuspecting proceedings were mistaken by Captain
Fraser for a growing attachment to himself.
During the month of her stay in Park Lane she had been associated with
many men and women belonging to the best society, and more than one of
the former had been attracted by the colonel's niece, and were ready to
offer her a position in society quite sufficient to satisfy her father's
pride.
But there was something in the manner of Mary Armstrong which repelled
foolish flirtation, and completely prevented any attentions of a more
honourable nature. These gentlemen were too greatly superior to Reginald
Fraser for her to venture the kind of patronising notice she bestowed
upon the tall, effeminate young soldier. And yet in her innocent
ignorance of the world she was preparing for herself a bitter and
unexpected trial.
On Mary's last evening at Park Lane no other visitor had been admitted
excepting Captain Fraser, and after playing and singing, _to him_ (as he
thought), all the evening, she felt tired of his exclusive attention,
and rose to retire, something in his manner of bidding her farewell made
her say to herself as she ascended the stairs, "Well, I am glad that's
over; I do not think I could endure Captain Fraser's society for another
day; and then to think that he should have the impertinence to squeeze
my hand! At all events, uncle and aunt can never accuse me of being rude
to their visitor."
Poor Mary! had she been able to hear the conversation that took place in
the drawing-room on that evening, great would have been her surprise and
regret. Captain Fraser only stayed a few moments after Mary had left the
room, and when he was gone Colonel Herbert returned to his wife with a
serious face, and said--
"Well, Helen, what do you think Armstrong will say to this?"
"Do you suppose the young man is in earnest, Charles?" was Mrs.
Herbert's reply in the form of a question.
"No doubt about it; why, after dinner he became quite eloquent, talked
without any 'aw-aw,' and gave me quite a biography of himself and his
family."
"I don't think Mary cares for him in the least," said Mrs. Herbert; "I'm
afraid that young man we met at Oxford is the favoured one; and
certainly, so far as intellectual and manly qualities are concerned,
Reginald Fraser is not to be compared with young Halford for a moment."
"But, my dear Helen," replied her husband, "Charles told me before he
left England that this Halford was a schoolmaster's son, and even after
he has taken his degree can only hope to be a curate. Armstrong will
never sanction such an intimacy."
"No, I'm sure of that: indeed, Mary has told me quite enough on the
subject of her father's opinion of schoolmasters and curates to prove
that she would have to relinquish all hope of being better acquainted
with the Halfords, whatever her own wishes might be. But my impression
is that she has no thought of marriage yet."
"Reginald seems to think she has encouraged his attentions, and is quite
elated about it. Certainly, so far as money and position go, Armstrong
could not hope for a better offer for his daughter. Why, the man has
twelve thousand a year, and is the grand-nephew of a duke."
"And what does he intend to do? has he said anything to Mary?"
"No, I advised him not to do so until he had seen her father, and, poor
fellow, he seemed glad enough of the respite. He's good and amiable, but
not very wise, and he confessed to me that he dreaded popping the
question more than undergoing a six hours' drill."
"Poor Mary," said Mrs. Herbert, "what a prospect for such a bright,
intelligent, sensible girl as she is! I'm afraid Armstrong will never be
able to resist the temptation of such an offer for his daughter."
"Not he, you may be sure; and Mary appears so completely under her
father's control, that she will submit to his wishes without a word of
complaint."
"And be miserable for life in spite of the money," said her aunt, with a
shrug of the shoulders expressive of pity. How little Mrs. Herbert
understood the character of Mary Armstrong will be seen in the sequel.
On the morning of the next day Mary rose with the feeling that an
incubus had been removed from her shoulders. At last she was set free
from the unpleasant necessity of listening to the frivolous conversation
of Captain Fraser. "How thankful I am that it is over!" she said to
herself, while busily engaged after breakfast in packing her boxes with
the assistance of Annette, who was _desolee_ at the approaching
departure of Mademoiselle Marie.
Her task was scarcely finished when a message from her aunt summoned her
to the drawing-room.
"Should you like to ride Daisy home to-day, my dear?" said Mrs. Herbert;
"your uncle has business at Harrow, and he can accompany you as far as
the Limes."
"Oh, indeed, aunt, it would be delightful; I shall enjoy it beyond
everything. When does uncle propose to start?"
"At about twelve o'clock."
"I shall be ready, aunt dear; and will you send my boxes? Annette has
been helping me to pack them. Oh, aunt Herbert," she continued, "you
have been so kind, I shall never forget this pleasant visit."
A few hours later Colonel Herbert parted from his niece at the Limes
after a hasty lunch, the latter quite unprepared for the consequences of
her kind and innocent attentions to Reginald Fraser.