CHAPTER XLV.VIOLET DARKWELL AT GILROYD AGAIN“Mrs. Kincton Knox” it said, “presents her compliments to the Rev. W. H. Sprague, and as Mr. Kincton Knox is suffering from gout in his hand, which though slight, prevents his writing, she is deputed to apprise him that the gentleman calling himself Mr. Herbert, who has been acting as tutor at Kincton, need not return to complete his engagement. Mr. Kincton Knox desires to remit to him, through your hands, the enclosed cheque, payable to you, and for the full amount of the term he was to have completed. Should the young man feel that, under the circumstances, he can have no right to retain the entire amount, he will be so good as to return that portion of the sum to which he feels himself unentitled. We wish to mention that we part with him not in consequence of any specific fault, so much as from a feeling, upon consideration, that we could no longer tolerate the practice of a concealment at Kincton, the character and nature of which—although we impute nothing—might not consist with our own ideas upon the subject.”“She begins in the third person and ends in the first,” said Doctor Sprague, “otherwise it is a very fine performance. What am I to do about the check?”“I will not touch a farthing,” said William.“Tut, tut; I think you’ve a right to it all, but if you object, we’ll send them back all that represents the unexpired part of your engagement, but I’ll have no Quixotism. I’m half sorry, Maubray, we ever thought of tuitions: we must think of some other way. You’re quite right in resolving not to vex Miss Perfect more than you can help, I’m clear upon that; but I’ve been thinking of quite another thing—I have not time now to tell you all.” He glanced at his watch. “But you can speak French, and you would have to reside in Paris. I think it would answer you very nicely, and I think you ought to let Miss Perfect know something of your plans, considering all she has done. I’ll see you here again in an hour.”And William took his leave.That evening Miss Violet Darkwell arrived at Gilroyd. She did not think old “grannie” looking well—was it a sadness or a feebleness—there was something unusual in her look that troubled her.Shethought her Violet looking quite beautiful—moreso than ever—so perhaps she was. And she asked her all sorts of questions about all sorts of things, and how the Mainwarings had arranged the rooms, for Aunt Dinah had known the house long ago, and whether the paint had ever been taken off that covered the old oak wainscot in the parlour, and ever so many other particulars besides.And at last she said—“Great news Mr. Trevor tells me of William.” She had already resolved against opening the Trevor budget to its more interesting recesses. “William Maubray—he’s going to marry—to make a great match in some respects—money, beauty⸺”“Oh!” said Violet with a smile.“Yes; a Miss Kincton Knox. He has been residing in the house; an only daughter.Kinctonis the place.”Something of this Violet had heard before she left Gilroyd, but not all; and Aunt Dinah went on—“They are connected somehow with Mr. Trevor, whom I’ve grown to like extremely, and he saw William there; and from what he told meIlook upon it as settled, and so in fact does he.”“It’s very cold, isn’t it, to-night?” said Miss Violet. “That’s all very nice—very well for William Maubray.”“Very well; better, perhaps, than he deserves. Had I been, however, as we used to be, I should have endeavoured to postpone it, to induce the parties to defer it for a little—in fact for five years. I may say, indeed, I should have made a point of it; because I—I happen toknowthat his marrying within that time will be attended with the worst consequences.”There was a silence.“Verycold,” repeated Miss Violet, drawing a little nearer to the fire.“It seems odd, as a mere matter ofrespect—that’s all, of course—he should not have written me a single line upon the subject,” said Miss Perfect grimly.“Well, perhaps notveryodd,” answered Miss Darkwell carelessly, yet somehow, ever so little, sadly. “I’m beginning to think it a worse world than I used to think it, and so hard to know anyone in it, except dear old grannie.”And up got the girl, and threw her pretty arms round old Aunt Dinah’s neck, and kissed her.“Little Vi, little Vi!” said Aunt Dinah, with a tender tremor in her voice, and she laughed a little.“I think you are tired, darling. Your long drive,” she added.“I believe Iam, grannie. Shall I run away to my bed?”“God bless you, darling!” said grannie, and rang the bell for old Winnie Dobbs, who appeared; and away, with a second good-night, they went.“Well, old Winnie Dobbs, great doings, I hear. Grannie says Mr. William’s to be married—a great lady, Miss Kincton Knox, she says—and very pretty—quite a beauty, quite a belle.”She was looking with a faint little smile down upon the trinkets she was laying upon the dressing-table, and she spoke in the tones in which people recall a very far-off remembrance.“Well, she did tell me so, Miss Vi: and very glad I was, poor fellow; but very young. I that knew him when he was only the length o’ my arm—to think of him now. But very sensible—always was; a good head—wiser than many an older body.”“You’ve never seen the lady?” said Vi.“No; but Mr. Trevor’s groom was stopping there last summer for a week with Mr. Trevor, you know, and he did not much like the family—that’s the old lady—no one has a good word of her; and the young one, Miss Clara—do you like the name Clara, Miss?”“Yes; a pretty name, I think.”“Well, they don’t say much about her; only she’s very distant like.”“Andshe’sthe lady?” asked Violet.“Ah!thatshe is, Miss—the only daughter.”“She’s tall?”“Well, yes; he says she is.”“Taller than I, I dare say?”“Well, he did not say that; you’re a good height, you know yourself, Miss—a nice figure, yes indeed.”“And what colour is her hair?” asked Vi.“Light—light hair, he said.”“Yes; he always liked light hair, I think,” she said, still with the same faint smile and in the same soft and saddened tones. Vi was arranging her own rich dark brown tresses at the glass.“And blue eyes—large—something the colour o’ yours, he said, Miss; he used to take great notice to her, the groom—everything. She used to go out a ridin’. A hair-pin, Miss?”“No, Winnie, thanks.”“He says she’s a fine rider; showy, handsome, that sort, you know.”“And when is it all to be?”“Well, they don’t know; but once it’s settled, I do suppose it won’t be long delayed. Why should it?”“Nowhy, once it’s settled, as you say.”“And is it not well for him, poor fellow, he should have some one to love him, and look after him? What’s the good o’ life without kindness? Both o’ them handsome, and young, and loving. What more need they ask?” said old Winnie. “And if they aren’t happy, who will?”“Yes, old Winnie, they will, very happy, I’m sure; and now I’ll bid you good-night, I’m sotired, very tired; it’s a long tedious way, and I’m always wishing to come back to you, and dear old grannie, and poor old Gilroyd, where we were all so happy, where I always feel so safe—but I believe we always fancy the old times the pleasantest—when I was a child. Good-night, old Winnie.”
CHAPTER XLV.
VIOLET DARKWELL AT GILROYD AGAIN
VIOLET DARKWELL AT GILROYD AGAIN
VIOLET DARKWELL AT GILROYD AGAIN
“Mrs. Kincton Knox” it said, “presents her compliments to the Rev. W. H. Sprague, and as Mr. Kincton Knox is suffering from gout in his hand, which though slight, prevents his writing, she is deputed to apprise him that the gentleman calling himself Mr. Herbert, who has been acting as tutor at Kincton, need not return to complete his engagement. Mr. Kincton Knox desires to remit to him, through your hands, the enclosed cheque, payable to you, and for the full amount of the term he was to have completed. Should the young man feel that, under the circumstances, he can have no right to retain the entire amount, he will be so good as to return that portion of the sum to which he feels himself unentitled. We wish to mention that we part with him not in consequence of any specific fault, so much as from a feeling, upon consideration, that we could no longer tolerate the practice of a concealment at Kincton, the character and nature of which—although we impute nothing—might not consist with our own ideas upon the subject.”
“She begins in the third person and ends in the first,” said Doctor Sprague, “otherwise it is a very fine performance. What am I to do about the check?”
“I will not touch a farthing,” said William.
“Tut, tut; I think you’ve a right to it all, but if you object, we’ll send them back all that represents the unexpired part of your engagement, but I’ll have no Quixotism. I’m half sorry, Maubray, we ever thought of tuitions: we must think of some other way. You’re quite right in resolving not to vex Miss Perfect more than you can help, I’m clear upon that; but I’ve been thinking of quite another thing—I have not time now to tell you all.” He glanced at his watch. “But you can speak French, and you would have to reside in Paris. I think it would answer you very nicely, and I think you ought to let Miss Perfect know something of your plans, considering all she has done. I’ll see you here again in an hour.”
And William took his leave.
That evening Miss Violet Darkwell arrived at Gilroyd. She did not think old “grannie” looking well—was it a sadness or a feebleness—there was something unusual in her look that troubled her.Shethought her Violet looking quite beautiful—moreso than ever—so perhaps she was. And she asked her all sorts of questions about all sorts of things, and how the Mainwarings had arranged the rooms, for Aunt Dinah had known the house long ago, and whether the paint had ever been taken off that covered the old oak wainscot in the parlour, and ever so many other particulars besides.
And at last she said—
“Great news Mr. Trevor tells me of William.” She had already resolved against opening the Trevor budget to its more interesting recesses. “William Maubray—he’s going to marry—to make a great match in some respects—money, beauty⸺”
“Oh!” said Violet with a smile.
“Yes; a Miss Kincton Knox. He has been residing in the house; an only daughter.Kinctonis the place.”
Something of this Violet had heard before she left Gilroyd, but not all; and Aunt Dinah went on—
“They are connected somehow with Mr. Trevor, whom I’ve grown to like extremely, and he saw William there; and from what he told meIlook upon it as settled, and so in fact does he.”
“It’s very cold, isn’t it, to-night?” said Miss Violet. “That’s all very nice—very well for William Maubray.”
“Very well; better, perhaps, than he deserves. Had I been, however, as we used to be, I should have endeavoured to postpone it, to induce the parties to defer it for a little—in fact for five years. I may say, indeed, I should have made a point of it; because I—I happen toknowthat his marrying within that time will be attended with the worst consequences.”
There was a silence.
“Verycold,” repeated Miss Violet, drawing a little nearer to the fire.
“It seems odd, as a mere matter ofrespect—that’s all, of course—he should not have written me a single line upon the subject,” said Miss Perfect grimly.
“Well, perhaps notveryodd,” answered Miss Darkwell carelessly, yet somehow, ever so little, sadly. “I’m beginning to think it a worse world than I used to think it, and so hard to know anyone in it, except dear old grannie.”
And up got the girl, and threw her pretty arms round old Aunt Dinah’s neck, and kissed her.
“Little Vi, little Vi!” said Aunt Dinah, with a tender tremor in her voice, and she laughed a little.
“I think you are tired, darling. Your long drive,” she added.
“I believe Iam, grannie. Shall I run away to my bed?”
“God bless you, darling!” said grannie, and rang the bell for old Winnie Dobbs, who appeared; and away, with a second good-night, they went.
“Well, old Winnie Dobbs, great doings, I hear. Grannie says Mr. William’s to be married—a great lady, Miss Kincton Knox, she says—and very pretty—quite a beauty, quite a belle.”
She was looking with a faint little smile down upon the trinkets she was laying upon the dressing-table, and she spoke in the tones in which people recall a very far-off remembrance.
“Well, she did tell me so, Miss Vi: and very glad I was, poor fellow; but very young. I that knew him when he was only the length o’ my arm—to think of him now. But very sensible—always was; a good head—wiser than many an older body.”
“You’ve never seen the lady?” said Vi.
“No; but Mr. Trevor’s groom was stopping there last summer for a week with Mr. Trevor, you know, and he did not much like the family—that’s the old lady—no one has a good word of her; and the young one, Miss Clara—do you like the name Clara, Miss?”
“Yes; a pretty name, I think.”
“Well, they don’t say much about her; only she’s very distant like.”
“Andshe’sthe lady?” asked Violet.
“Ah!thatshe is, Miss—the only daughter.”
“She’s tall?”
“Well, yes; he says she is.”
“Taller than I, I dare say?”
“Well, he did not say that; you’re a good height, you know yourself, Miss—a nice figure, yes indeed.”
“And what colour is her hair?” asked Vi.
“Light—light hair, he said.”
“Yes; he always liked light hair, I think,” she said, still with the same faint smile and in the same soft and saddened tones. Vi was arranging her own rich dark brown tresses at the glass.
“And blue eyes—large—something the colour o’ yours, he said, Miss; he used to take great notice to her, the groom—everything. She used to go out a ridin’. A hair-pin, Miss?”
“No, Winnie, thanks.”
“He says she’s a fine rider; showy, handsome, that sort, you know.”
“And when is it all to be?”
“Well, they don’t know; but once it’s settled, I do suppose it won’t be long delayed. Why should it?”
“Nowhy, once it’s settled, as you say.”
“And is it not well for him, poor fellow, he should have some one to love him, and look after him? What’s the good o’ life without kindness? Both o’ them handsome, and young, and loving. What more need they ask?” said old Winnie. “And if they aren’t happy, who will?”
“Yes, old Winnie, they will, very happy, I’m sure; and now I’ll bid you good-night, I’m sotired, very tired; it’s a long tedious way, and I’m always wishing to come back to you, and dear old grannie, and poor old Gilroyd, where we were all so happy, where I always feel so safe—but I believe we always fancy the old times the pleasantest—when I was a child. Good-night, old Winnie.”