CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER XXXIV.TREVOR AND MAUBRAY IN THE DRAWING-ROOMVane Trevor was a remote cousin, and so received as a kinsman; he entered and was greeted smilingly.“We have securedsucha treasure since we saw you—a tutor for my precious Howard; and such a young man—I can’t tell youhalfwhat I think of him.” (That, perhaps, was true). “He’s so accomplished.”“Accomplished—is he?” said Trevor.“Well, not, perhaps, in the common acceptation of the term, that I know of, but I referred particularly to that charming accomplishment of reading aloud with feeling andpoint, you know, so sadly neglected, and yet so conducive to real enjoyment and one’s appreciation of good authors when cultivated. You would hardly believe what a resource it is to us poor solitaries. I am quite in love with Mr. Herbert; and I will answer for Clara there; she is as nearly so as a young lady ought to be.”Playfulness was not Mrs. Kincton Knox’s happiest vein. She was tall, tragic, and ungainly; and her conscious graciousness made one uncomfortable, and her smile was intimidating.“He certainly does read charmingly,” threw in Miss Clara.“We have grown, I fear,” continued Mrs. Kincton Knox, “almost too dependent on him for the enjoyment of our evenings; and I sometimes say, quite seriously to my girl there, Clara, I do trust we are not spoiling Mr. Herbert.”“He does not look like a spoiled child—rather sad and seedy, doesn’t he?” replied Vane Trevor.“Does he?” said Miss Clara.“You’ve seen him, then?” supplemented her mother.“Yes; had that honour as I mounted the steep walk—how charming that walk is—among the fir-trees. But I did not see anything very unusual about him.”“I can only say I like himextremely,” observed Mrs. Kincton Knox, in a tone which concluded debate.“And what do you say, Miss Knox?” inquired Vane Trevor, with one of his arch cackles.“No; young ladies are not to say all they think, like us old people,” interposed Mrs. Knox; “but he’s a very agreeable young man.”“Is he?” said Vane Trevor, with irrepressible amazement. “That’s the first time, by Jove! I ever heard poor Maubray”—and hereupon he stopped, remembering that Maubray’s identity was a secret, and he looked, perhaps, a little foolish.Mrs. Kincton Knox coughed a little, though she was glad to be quite sure that Mr. Winston Maubray was safe under her roof, and did not want him or Vane Trevor to know that she knew it. She therefore coughed a little grandly, and also looked a little put out. But Miss Clara, with admirable coolness, said quite innocently—“What of Mr. Maubray? What have you heard of him?dotell us. How is poor Sir Richard? We never saw his son, you know, here; and is the quarrel made up?”“That’s just what I was going to tell you about,” said Vane Trevor, scrambling rather clumsily on his legs again after his tumble. “Not the least chance—none in the world—of a reconciliation. And the poor old fellow, in one of his fits of passion, got a fit, by Jove, and old Sprague at Cambridge told me one half his body is perfectly dead, paralytic, you know, and he can’t last; so Winston, you see, is more eligible than ever.”“Poor old man! you ought not to speak with so much levity,” said Mrs. Kincton Knox. “I did not hear a word of it—how horrible! And when had poor Sir Richard his paralytic stroke?”“About a week ago. He knew some people yesterday; but they say he’s awfully shaken, and his face all—you know—pulled up on one side, and hanging down at the other; old Sprague says, a horrible object; by Jove, you can’t help pitying him, though he was a fearful old screw.”“Melancholy!—and hewassuch a handsome man! Dear me! Is his son like him?” said Mrs. Kincton Knox ruefully.“Why, not particularly just now. They say the two sides of his face are pretty much alike; and his right limbs are about as lively as his left;” and Vane Trevor cackled very agreeably over this sally.“So I should hope, Mr. Trevor,” said the matron of the high nose and dark brows with a gloomy superiority, “and if there is any objection to answering my question, I should rather not hear it jested upon, especially with so shocking a reference to Sir Richard’s calamity—whom I knew, poor man! when he was as strong and as good looking as you are.”“But seriously,” said Miss Clara, who saw that her mother had not left herself room to repeat her question,“what is he like? is he light or dark, or tall or short—or what?”“Well, he’s dark at night, you know, when he’s put out his candle, and light enough in the daytime, when the sun’s shining, and he’s decidedlyshortsometimes—in his temper, I mean—he, he, he!—and tall in his talk always,” replied Vane Trevor, and he enjoyed a very exhilirating laugh at his witty conceits.“You used to be capable of a little conversation,” said the matron grandly. “You seem to have abandoned yourself to—to⸺”“Tochaff, you were going to say,” suggested Vane, waggishly.“No, certainly not, that’s a slang phrase such as is not usual among ladies, nor ever spoken at Kincton,” retorted the old lady.“Well, itisthough, whenever I’m here,” he replied agreeably. “But I’ll really tell you all I can: there’s nothing very remarkable in his appearance; he’s rather tall, very light: he has light hair, blue eyes, pretty good bat.”“What’s that?” demanded the elder lady.“He handles the willow pretty well, and would treat you to a tolerably straight, well pitched, slow underhand.”“I think you intimated that you were about making yourself intelligible?” interposed Mrs. Kincton Knox.“And don’tyouunderstand me?” inquired Vane Trevor of Miss Clara.“Yes, I think it’s cricket, aint it?” she replied.“Well, you see I was intelligible; yes, cricket, of course,” replied Vane.“I can’t say, I’m sure, where Miss Kincton Knox learned those phrases; it certainly was not in this drawing-room,” observed her mamma, with a gloomy severity.“Well, I mean he’s a tolerably good cricketer, and hereads poetry, and quarrels with his father, and he’s just going to step into the poor old fellow’s shoes, for, jesting apart, he really is in an awful state from all I can hear.”“Is it thought he may linger long?” inquired Mrs. Kincton Knox; “though, indeed, poor man, it is hardly desirable he should, from all you say.”“Anything but desirable. I fancy he’s very shaky indeed, not safe for a week—may go any day—that’s what Sprague says, and he’s awfully anxious his son should come and see him; don’t you think he ought?” said Mr. Vane Trevor.“That depends,” said the old lady thoughtfully, for the idea of her bird in the hand flitting suddenly away at old Sprague’s whistle, to the bush of uncertainty, was uncomfortable and alarming. “I have always understood that in a case like poor Sir Richard’s nothing can be more unwise, and, humanly speaking, more certain to precipitate a fatal catastrophe than a—a—adopting any step likely to be attended with agitation. Nothing of the kind, at least, ought to be hazarded for at least six weeks or so, I should say, and not even then unless the patient has rallied very decidedly, and in such a state as the miserable man now is, a reconciliation would be a mere delusion.Ishould certainly saynoto any such proposition, and I can’t think how Dr. Sprague could contemplate such an experiment in any other light than as a possiblemurder.”At this moment the drawing-room door opened, and William Maubray’s pale and sad face appeared at it.“Howard says you wished to see me?” said he.“We are very happy, indeed, to see you,” replied the old lady, graciously. “Pray come in and join us, Mr. Herbert. Mr. Herbert, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Trevor. You have heard us speak of Mr. Vane Trevor, of Revington?”“I had the pleasure—I met him on his way here, and we talked—and—and—I know him quite well,” said William, blushing, but coming out with his concluding sentence quite stoutly, for before Vane Trevor’s sly gaze he would have felt like a trickster if he had not.But the ladies were determined to suspect nothing, and Mrs. Knox observed—“We make acquaintance very quickly in the country—a ten minutes’ walk together. Mr. Herbert, would you object to poor Howard’s having a holiday?—and, pray, join us at lunch, and you really must not leave us now.”“I—oh! very happy—yes—a holiday—certainly,” replied he, like a man whose thoughts were a little scattered, and he stood leaning on the back of a chair, and showing, as both ladies agreed, by his absent manner and pale and saddened countenance, that Vane Trevor had been delivering Doctor Sprague’s message, desiring his presence at the death-bed of the departing baronet.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

TREVOR AND MAUBRAY IN THE DRAWING-ROOM

TREVOR AND MAUBRAY IN THE DRAWING-ROOM

TREVOR AND MAUBRAY IN THE DRAWING-ROOM

Vane Trevor was a remote cousin, and so received as a kinsman; he entered and was greeted smilingly.

“We have securedsucha treasure since we saw you—a tutor for my precious Howard; and such a young man—I can’t tell youhalfwhat I think of him.” (That, perhaps, was true). “He’s so accomplished.”

“Accomplished—is he?” said Trevor.

“Well, not, perhaps, in the common acceptation of the term, that I know of, but I referred particularly to that charming accomplishment of reading aloud with feeling andpoint, you know, so sadly neglected, and yet so conducive to real enjoyment and one’s appreciation of good authors when cultivated. You would hardly believe what a resource it is to us poor solitaries. I am quite in love with Mr. Herbert; and I will answer for Clara there; she is as nearly so as a young lady ought to be.”

Playfulness was not Mrs. Kincton Knox’s happiest vein. She was tall, tragic, and ungainly; and her conscious graciousness made one uncomfortable, and her smile was intimidating.

“He certainly does read charmingly,” threw in Miss Clara.

“We have grown, I fear,” continued Mrs. Kincton Knox, “almost too dependent on him for the enjoyment of our evenings; and I sometimes say, quite seriously to my girl there, Clara, I do trust we are not spoiling Mr. Herbert.”

“He does not look like a spoiled child—rather sad and seedy, doesn’t he?” replied Vane Trevor.

“Does he?” said Miss Clara.

“You’ve seen him, then?” supplemented her mother.

“Yes; had that honour as I mounted the steep walk—how charming that walk is—among the fir-trees. But I did not see anything very unusual about him.”

“I can only say I like himextremely,” observed Mrs. Kincton Knox, in a tone which concluded debate.

“And what do you say, Miss Knox?” inquired Vane Trevor, with one of his arch cackles.

“No; young ladies are not to say all they think, like us old people,” interposed Mrs. Knox; “but he’s a very agreeable young man.”

“Is he?” said Vane Trevor, with irrepressible amazement. “That’s the first time, by Jove! I ever heard poor Maubray”—and hereupon he stopped, remembering that Maubray’s identity was a secret, and he looked, perhaps, a little foolish.

Mrs. Kincton Knox coughed a little, though she was glad to be quite sure that Mr. Winston Maubray was safe under her roof, and did not want him or Vane Trevor to know that she knew it. She therefore coughed a little grandly, and also looked a little put out. But Miss Clara, with admirable coolness, said quite innocently—

“What of Mr. Maubray? What have you heard of him?dotell us. How is poor Sir Richard? We never saw his son, you know, here; and is the quarrel made up?”

“That’s just what I was going to tell you about,” said Vane Trevor, scrambling rather clumsily on his legs again after his tumble. “Not the least chance—none in the world—of a reconciliation. And the poor old fellow, in one of his fits of passion, got a fit, by Jove, and old Sprague at Cambridge told me one half his body is perfectly dead, paralytic, you know, and he can’t last; so Winston, you see, is more eligible than ever.”

“Poor old man! you ought not to speak with so much levity,” said Mrs. Kincton Knox. “I did not hear a word of it—how horrible! And when had poor Sir Richard his paralytic stroke?”

“About a week ago. He knew some people yesterday; but they say he’s awfully shaken, and his face all—you know—pulled up on one side, and hanging down at the other; old Sprague says, a horrible object; by Jove, you can’t help pitying him, though he was a fearful old screw.”

“Melancholy!—and hewassuch a handsome man! Dear me! Is his son like him?” said Mrs. Kincton Knox ruefully.

“Why, not particularly just now. They say the two sides of his face are pretty much alike; and his right limbs are about as lively as his left;” and Vane Trevor cackled very agreeably over this sally.

“So I should hope, Mr. Trevor,” said the matron of the high nose and dark brows with a gloomy superiority, “and if there is any objection to answering my question, I should rather not hear it jested upon, especially with so shocking a reference to Sir Richard’s calamity—whom I knew, poor man! when he was as strong and as good looking as you are.”

“But seriously,” said Miss Clara, who saw that her mother had not left herself room to repeat her question,“what is he like? is he light or dark, or tall or short—or what?”

“Well, he’s dark at night, you know, when he’s put out his candle, and light enough in the daytime, when the sun’s shining, and he’s decidedlyshortsometimes—in his temper, I mean—he, he, he!—and tall in his talk always,” replied Vane Trevor, and he enjoyed a very exhilirating laugh at his witty conceits.

“You used to be capable of a little conversation,” said the matron grandly. “You seem to have abandoned yourself to—to⸺”

“Tochaff, you were going to say,” suggested Vane, waggishly.

“No, certainly not, that’s a slang phrase such as is not usual among ladies, nor ever spoken at Kincton,” retorted the old lady.

“Well, itisthough, whenever I’m here,” he replied agreeably. “But I’ll really tell you all I can: there’s nothing very remarkable in his appearance; he’s rather tall, very light: he has light hair, blue eyes, pretty good bat.”

“What’s that?” demanded the elder lady.

“He handles the willow pretty well, and would treat you to a tolerably straight, well pitched, slow underhand.”

“I think you intimated that you were about making yourself intelligible?” interposed Mrs. Kincton Knox.

“And don’tyouunderstand me?” inquired Vane Trevor of Miss Clara.

“Yes, I think it’s cricket, aint it?” she replied.

“Well, you see I was intelligible; yes, cricket, of course,” replied Vane.

“I can’t say, I’m sure, where Miss Kincton Knox learned those phrases; it certainly was not in this drawing-room,” observed her mamma, with a gloomy severity.

“Well, I mean he’s a tolerably good cricketer, and hereads poetry, and quarrels with his father, and he’s just going to step into the poor old fellow’s shoes, for, jesting apart, he really is in an awful state from all I can hear.”

“Is it thought he may linger long?” inquired Mrs. Kincton Knox; “though, indeed, poor man, it is hardly desirable he should, from all you say.”

“Anything but desirable. I fancy he’s very shaky indeed, not safe for a week—may go any day—that’s what Sprague says, and he’s awfully anxious his son should come and see him; don’t you think he ought?” said Mr. Vane Trevor.

“That depends,” said the old lady thoughtfully, for the idea of her bird in the hand flitting suddenly away at old Sprague’s whistle, to the bush of uncertainty, was uncomfortable and alarming. “I have always understood that in a case like poor Sir Richard’s nothing can be more unwise, and, humanly speaking, more certain to precipitate a fatal catastrophe than a—a—adopting any step likely to be attended with agitation. Nothing of the kind, at least, ought to be hazarded for at least six weeks or so, I should say, and not even then unless the patient has rallied very decidedly, and in such a state as the miserable man now is, a reconciliation would be a mere delusion.Ishould certainly saynoto any such proposition, and I can’t think how Dr. Sprague could contemplate such an experiment in any other light than as a possiblemurder.”

At this moment the drawing-room door opened, and William Maubray’s pale and sad face appeared at it.

“Howard says you wished to see me?” said he.

“We are very happy, indeed, to see you,” replied the old lady, graciously. “Pray come in and join us, Mr. Herbert. Mr. Herbert, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Trevor. You have heard us speak of Mr. Vane Trevor, of Revington?”

“I had the pleasure—I met him on his way here, and we talked—and—and—I know him quite well,” said William, blushing, but coming out with his concluding sentence quite stoutly, for before Vane Trevor’s sly gaze he would have felt like a trickster if he had not.

But the ladies were determined to suspect nothing, and Mrs. Knox observed—

“We make acquaintance very quickly in the country—a ten minutes’ walk together. Mr. Herbert, would you object to poor Howard’s having a holiday?—and, pray, join us at lunch, and you really must not leave us now.”

“I—oh! very happy—yes—a holiday—certainly,” replied he, like a man whose thoughts were a little scattered, and he stood leaning on the back of a chair, and showing, as both ladies agreed, by his absent manner and pale and saddened countenance, that Vane Trevor had been delivering Doctor Sprague’s message, desiring his presence at the death-bed of the departing baronet.

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