CHAPTER XXVIII.THE PIPING BULLFINCHNext Sunday Mr. Vane Trevor, after church, happened to be carried in one of the converging currents of decently-dressed Christianity into the main channel through the porch, almost side by side with the two Gilroyd ladies then emerging.Mr. Vane Trevor, in pursuance of his prudent resolve, would have avoided this meeting. But so it was. In the crowded church porch, out of which the congregation emerges so slowly, with a sort of decent crush, almost pressed inconveniently against good Miss Perfect, the young gentleman found himself, and in a becoming manner, with a chastened simper, inquiring after their health, and making the proper remarks about the weather.Aunt Dinah received these attentions very drily; but Miss Vi, in such an arch, becoming little shell-like bonnet, looked perfectly lovely; and to do her justice, was just as friendly as usual.It was no contrivance of his, the meeting with this bewitching little bonnet where he did. How could he help the strange little thrill with which he found himself so near—and was it in human nature, or even in goodmanners, to deny himself a very little walk, perhaps only to the church-yard gate, beside Miss Violet Darkwell?“How is my friend Maubray?” inquired Trevor of Miss Perfect, whom he found himself next.“I really don’t know—I have not heard—I suppose he is very well,” she answered, with an icy severity that rather surprised the young man, who had heard nothing of the quarrel.“I must write. I ought to have asked him when he meant to return. I am so anxious for an excuse to renew our croquet on the lawn at Gilroyd.”This little speech was accompanied with a look which Violet could hardly mistake.“I don’t think it likely,” said Miss Perfect, in the same dry tone.“Any time within the next three weeks, the weather will answer charmingly,” continued Trevor, addressing Miss Darkwell.“But I rather think Miss Darkwell will have to make her papa a little visit. He’s to return on the eighteenth, you remember, my dear; and he says, you know, you are to meet him at Richmond.”So said Aunt Dinah, who had no notion of this kind of trifling.Trevor again saw the vision of a lean, vulgar, hard-voiced barrister, trudging beside him with a stoop, and a seedy black frock-coat; and for a minute was silent. But he looked across at pretty Miss Vi, so naturally elegant, and in another moment the barrister had melted into air, and he saw only that beautiful nymph.“I want to look at old Lady Maubray’s monument round the east end, here, of the church. You would not dislike, dear, to come—only a step. I must have anyrepairs done that may be needed. Good-morning, Mr. Trevor.”But Mr. Trevor begged leave to be of the party, knowing exactly where the monument stood.There is a vein of love-making with which a country church-yard somehow harmonises very tenderly. Among the grass-grown graves the pretty small feet, stepping lightly and reverently, the hues and outlines of beauty and young life; the gay faces shadowed with a passing sadness—nothing ghastly, nothing desolate—only a sentiment of the solemn and the melancholy, and underlying that tender sadness, the trembling fountains of life and gladness, the pulses of youth and hope.“Yes; very, very much neglected,” said Miss Perfect. “We can do nothing with that marble, of course,” she observed, nodding toward the arched cornice at top, which time and weather had sadly worn and furrowed. “It was her wish, my dear father often told me; shewouldhave it outside, not in the church; but the rails, and this masonry—we must have that set to rights—yes.”And so, stepping lightly among weeds and long grass, and by humble headstones and time-worn tombs, they came forth under the shadow of the tall elms by the church-yard gate, and again Miss Perfect intimated a farewell to Trevor, who, however, said he would go home by the stile—a path which would lead him by the gate of Gilroyd; and before he had quite reached that, he had begun to make quite a favourable impression once more on the old lady; insomuch that, in her forgetfulness, she asked him at the gate of Gilroyd to come in, which very readily he did; and the little party sat down together in the drawing-room of Gilroyd, and chatted in a very kindly and agreeable way; and Vane Trevor, who, likeAunt Dinah, was a connoisseur in birds, persuaded her to accept a bullfinch, which he would send her next morning in a new sort of cage, which had just come out.He waited in vain, however, for one of those little momentary absences, which, at other times, had left him and Violet alone. Miss Perfect, though mollified, sat him out very determinedly. So, at last, having paid a very long visit, Mr. Vane Trevor could decently prolong it no further, and he went away with an unsatisfactory and disappointed feeling, not quite reasonable, considering the inflexible rule he had imposed upon himself in the matter of Gilroyd Hall and its inhabitants.“Maubray has told her all I said,” thought Vane Trevor, as he pursued the solitary path along the uplands of Revington. “The old woman—what a bore she is—was quite plainly vexed at first; but that jolly little creature—Violet—Violet, itisa pretty name—she was exactly as usual. By Jove! I thoughtshe’dhave been a bit vexed; but she’s an angel,” he dreamed on, disappointed. “I don’t think she can have even begun to care for me the least bit in the world—I reallydon’t.” He was looking down on the path, his hands in his pockets, and his cane under his arm; and he kicked a little stone out of his way at the emphatic word, rather fiercely. “And so much the better; there’s no need of all that caution. Stuff! they know quite well I’ve no idea of marrying; and what more? And there’s no danger of her, for she is plainly quite content with those terms, and does not care for me—now, that’s all right.”It is not always easy to analyse one’s own motives; but, beneath that satisfaction, there was very considerable soreness, and something like a resolution to make her like him, in spite of her coldness. The pretty, little, impertinent, cold, bewitching gipsy. It was so absurd.She did not seem the least flattered by the distinction of his admiration.Next morning, after breakfast, he drove down in his dog-cart, instead of sending the birdas he had proposed. There were some ingenious contrivances in this model cage which required explanation. The oddest thing about the present was that the piping bullfinch sang two of Violet’s favourite airs. Trevor had no small difficulty, and a diffuse correspondence, in his search for one so particularly accomplished.When in the drawing-room at Gilroyd, he waved a feather before its eyes, and the little songster displayed his acquirements. Trevor stole a glance at Miss Vi; but she looked perfectly innocent, and smiled with a provoking simplicity on the bird. Miss Perfect was, however, charmed, and fancied she knew the airs, but was, honestly, a little uncertain.“It is really too good of you, Mr. Trevor,” she exclaimed.“On the contrary, I’m much obliged by your accepting the charge. I’m a sort of wandering Arab, you know, and I shall be making the tour of my friends’ country houses; so poor little Pipe would have been very lonely, perhaps neglected; and I should very likely have had a letter some day announcing his death, and that, for fifty reasons, would have half broken my heart;” whereat he laughed a little, for Aunt Dinah, and glanced one very meaning and tender ogle on Miss Violet.“Well, Mr. Trevor, disguise it how you may, you are very good-natured,” said Miss Perfect, much pleased with her new pet; “and I’m very much obliged.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE PIPING BULLFINCH
THE PIPING BULLFINCH
THE PIPING BULLFINCH
Next Sunday Mr. Vane Trevor, after church, happened to be carried in one of the converging currents of decently-dressed Christianity into the main channel through the porch, almost side by side with the two Gilroyd ladies then emerging.
Mr. Vane Trevor, in pursuance of his prudent resolve, would have avoided this meeting. But so it was. In the crowded church porch, out of which the congregation emerges so slowly, with a sort of decent crush, almost pressed inconveniently against good Miss Perfect, the young gentleman found himself, and in a becoming manner, with a chastened simper, inquiring after their health, and making the proper remarks about the weather.
Aunt Dinah received these attentions very drily; but Miss Vi, in such an arch, becoming little shell-like bonnet, looked perfectly lovely; and to do her justice, was just as friendly as usual.
It was no contrivance of his, the meeting with this bewitching little bonnet where he did. How could he help the strange little thrill with which he found himself so near—and was it in human nature, or even in goodmanners, to deny himself a very little walk, perhaps only to the church-yard gate, beside Miss Violet Darkwell?
“How is my friend Maubray?” inquired Trevor of Miss Perfect, whom he found himself next.
“I really don’t know—I have not heard—I suppose he is very well,” she answered, with an icy severity that rather surprised the young man, who had heard nothing of the quarrel.
“I must write. I ought to have asked him when he meant to return. I am so anxious for an excuse to renew our croquet on the lawn at Gilroyd.”
This little speech was accompanied with a look which Violet could hardly mistake.
“I don’t think it likely,” said Miss Perfect, in the same dry tone.
“Any time within the next three weeks, the weather will answer charmingly,” continued Trevor, addressing Miss Darkwell.
“But I rather think Miss Darkwell will have to make her papa a little visit. He’s to return on the eighteenth, you remember, my dear; and he says, you know, you are to meet him at Richmond.”
So said Aunt Dinah, who had no notion of this kind of trifling.
Trevor again saw the vision of a lean, vulgar, hard-voiced barrister, trudging beside him with a stoop, and a seedy black frock-coat; and for a minute was silent. But he looked across at pretty Miss Vi, so naturally elegant, and in another moment the barrister had melted into air, and he saw only that beautiful nymph.
“I want to look at old Lady Maubray’s monument round the east end, here, of the church. You would not dislike, dear, to come—only a step. I must have anyrepairs done that may be needed. Good-morning, Mr. Trevor.”
But Mr. Trevor begged leave to be of the party, knowing exactly where the monument stood.
There is a vein of love-making with which a country church-yard somehow harmonises very tenderly. Among the grass-grown graves the pretty small feet, stepping lightly and reverently, the hues and outlines of beauty and young life; the gay faces shadowed with a passing sadness—nothing ghastly, nothing desolate—only a sentiment of the solemn and the melancholy, and underlying that tender sadness, the trembling fountains of life and gladness, the pulses of youth and hope.
“Yes; very, very much neglected,” said Miss Perfect. “We can do nothing with that marble, of course,” she observed, nodding toward the arched cornice at top, which time and weather had sadly worn and furrowed. “It was her wish, my dear father often told me; shewouldhave it outside, not in the church; but the rails, and this masonry—we must have that set to rights—yes.”
And so, stepping lightly among weeds and long grass, and by humble headstones and time-worn tombs, they came forth under the shadow of the tall elms by the church-yard gate, and again Miss Perfect intimated a farewell to Trevor, who, however, said he would go home by the stile—a path which would lead him by the gate of Gilroyd; and before he had quite reached that, he had begun to make quite a favourable impression once more on the old lady; insomuch that, in her forgetfulness, she asked him at the gate of Gilroyd to come in, which very readily he did; and the little party sat down together in the drawing-room of Gilroyd, and chatted in a very kindly and agreeable way; and Vane Trevor, who, likeAunt Dinah, was a connoisseur in birds, persuaded her to accept a bullfinch, which he would send her next morning in a new sort of cage, which had just come out.
He waited in vain, however, for one of those little momentary absences, which, at other times, had left him and Violet alone. Miss Perfect, though mollified, sat him out very determinedly. So, at last, having paid a very long visit, Mr. Vane Trevor could decently prolong it no further, and he went away with an unsatisfactory and disappointed feeling, not quite reasonable, considering the inflexible rule he had imposed upon himself in the matter of Gilroyd Hall and its inhabitants.
“Maubray has told her all I said,” thought Vane Trevor, as he pursued the solitary path along the uplands of Revington. “The old woman—what a bore she is—was quite plainly vexed at first; but that jolly little creature—Violet—Violet, itisa pretty name—she was exactly as usual. By Jove! I thoughtshe’dhave been a bit vexed; but she’s an angel,” he dreamed on, disappointed. “I don’t think she can have even begun to care for me the least bit in the world—I reallydon’t.” He was looking down on the path, his hands in his pockets, and his cane under his arm; and he kicked a little stone out of his way at the emphatic word, rather fiercely. “And so much the better; there’s no need of all that caution. Stuff! they know quite well I’ve no idea of marrying; and what more? And there’s no danger of her, for she is plainly quite content with those terms, and does not care for me—now, that’s all right.”
It is not always easy to analyse one’s own motives; but, beneath that satisfaction, there was very considerable soreness, and something like a resolution to make her like him, in spite of her coldness. The pretty, little, impertinent, cold, bewitching gipsy. It was so absurd.She did not seem the least flattered by the distinction of his admiration.
Next morning, after breakfast, he drove down in his dog-cart, instead of sending the birdas he had proposed. There were some ingenious contrivances in this model cage which required explanation. The oddest thing about the present was that the piping bullfinch sang two of Violet’s favourite airs. Trevor had no small difficulty, and a diffuse correspondence, in his search for one so particularly accomplished.
When in the drawing-room at Gilroyd, he waved a feather before its eyes, and the little songster displayed his acquirements. Trevor stole a glance at Miss Vi; but she looked perfectly innocent, and smiled with a provoking simplicity on the bird. Miss Perfect was, however, charmed, and fancied she knew the airs, but was, honestly, a little uncertain.
“It is really too good of you, Mr. Trevor,” she exclaimed.
“On the contrary, I’m much obliged by your accepting the charge. I’m a sort of wandering Arab, you know, and I shall be making the tour of my friends’ country houses; so poor little Pipe would have been very lonely, perhaps neglected; and I should very likely have had a letter some day announcing his death, and that, for fifty reasons, would have half broken my heart;” whereat he laughed a little, for Aunt Dinah, and glanced one very meaning and tender ogle on Miss Violet.
“Well, Mr. Trevor, disguise it how you may, you are very good-natured,” said Miss Perfect, much pleased with her new pet; “and I’m very much obliged.”