THERE were several other persons in the carriage with Agneta, and they observed me curiously as I slowly recovered from the effects of the rush I had made.
"Nan," said Agneta, leaning forward and speaking in an angry whisper, "what is the meaning of this? Why are you here?"
"It is I who should put such questions," was my reply. "Why are you, Agneta, running away thus? How could you dare to send such a false excuse to Aunt Patty?"
"It is true enough!" she said defiantly. "My head does ache; and I could not go to the Hall because I had promised to go to London."
"To meet Ralph Marshman, I suppose?" I said, carefully subduing my voice.
She nodded.
"Of course; but it is all right, Nan. He has procured a special licence, and we shall be married almost as soon as I reach London."
"Oh, will you?" I said to myself. "Not if I can prevent it!"
"It is perfectly mad of you to come away thus," she went on, "and you will do no good. How could you be so foolish as to leave the garden party? What will Mrs. Canfield say?"
"I do not care," I said doggedly; but it was hardly true. I did care. The thought of Aunt Patty's anxiety and Mrs. Canfield's astonishment made me uneasy. It was not pleasant to think of the remarks people were probably making about me at that moment; but I believed I was doing right. Better that I should be misunderstood and misjudged than that Agneta, on the threshold of womanhood, should bring upon herself a lifelong misery. I might not succeed in thwarting her purpose; but it should not be my fault if she threw herself away upon a bad man.
"How you managed to get here so quickly I cannot think," Agneta continued. "You could not have done it if the train had not been late, I know, for I made a calculation. To think it should be late to-day of all days! Not that it will make any difference. You need not think that you are going to stop me! My mind is quite made up! I mean to marry him!"
"You shall not marry him in this wrong and secret manner if I can help it!" was my reply. "I tell you that frankly!"
Then aware that our fellow travellers were watching us, and doubtless wondering what caused the altercation we were carrying on in undertones, I became silent, and Agneta, after a few indignant and cutting comments on my behaviour, to which I made no reply, also ceased to speak.
I felt far from comfortable as the train bore us rapidly towards London. I dreaded the thought of another encounter with Ralph Marshman. I had but the vaguest ideas of what action I ought to take in the strange situation into which I was thus thrust. I could only resolve that I would not quit my cousin. I would witness her marriage if I could not hinder it; but I believed that no clergyman would perform the ceremony if I told him that Agneta was under age, and about to marry in defiance of her parents' will.
At the last station before we reached Liverpool Street most of the people in our compartment got out. Agneta seized the opportunity to make another attempt to shake my resolution.
"It is of no use, Nan," she said. "You had better take the next train back to Chelmsford. You will only make yourself ridiculous. You cannot prevent us from doing as we please."
"I am not so sure of that," I said. "Anyhow, I mean to try."
"I never knew such folly!" she said so passionately that I felt sure she was not so confident of carrying out her plans as she wished to appear.
"The folly is yours, Agneta!" I replied. "You are worse than foolish! You are a wicked, ungrateful girl, and if you get your own way in this you will be a miserable woman!"
That she responded with angry and offensive words was no sign that she did not feel my words to be true. Her face grew very white as the train began to slow into the terminus. I expect I was pale too. I know I felt faint, and trembled all over as I rose and grasped Agneta's arm, determined that she should not slip away. As we glided past an array of porters, I caught sight of Ralph Marshman peering eagerly into each compartment. The next moment he saw Agneta, and, darting forward, opened the door and helped her out almost before the train stopped. He looked amazed as I sprang after her and clung to her side.
"You here!" he faltered, and his brow grew dark. "What is the meaning of this?"
"It means that I have come to look after my cousin!" I said boldly.
"It is very kind of you," he said sarcastically; "but she needs your care no longer. I will take care of her now."
"Where she goes I go too," was all I said as I tightened my grasp of her arm, in spite of her efforts to shake me off.
"But this is absurd!" he said, and went on to make angry and rude remarks, which had no more effect on me than if I had been deaf, so firmly strong was my resolve. He even laid his hand on my arm and tried by force to separate me from my cousin, but I was able to resist the attempt, and he could not do more without making a scene amid the crowd of passengers now upon the platform.
We moved toward the exit, I clinging to Agneta's left arm, and Marshman walking on the other side of her. Suddenly she uttered a low cry of dismay and drew away from him.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
Why I looked towards him I do not know, but as I did so I saw that Alan Faulkner stood just behind him, and was gazing at me with astonished eyes. It was only for a moment that I saw him. A mist passed before my eyes and my head grew dizzy. When I looked again he had vanished in the crowd, and so had Ralph Marshman.
But it was not the sight of Alan Faulkner that had startled Agneta. Some one else was claiming her attention. An elderly gentleman, spare and trim in appearance and of dignified demeanour, had laid his hand on her shoulder and was gazing at her with wrath and indignation in his eyes.
"Agneta, what are you doing here? Was it you that rascal came to meet?"
Agneta was dumbfounded. When she tried to speak utterance failed her. Her lips quivered helplessly and she burst into tears. The speaker looked at her with more exasperation than compassion in his glance. His eyes fell on me, and he said with an air of extreme irritation:
"Perhaps you will kindly explain what brings my daughter to town at this hour. You seem to be her companion."
I had not seen my uncle since I was a child, and till he spoke thus I failed to recognise him. He was the last person I expected to meet just then. Deliverance had come from the most unexpected quarter; but thankful I was that it had come.
"I am her cousin, Annie Darracott," I said simply.
"Oh, really! And you think it right to assist her to meet that scoundrel," he said huskily. "So this is how Mrs. Lucas discharges her responsibility! I see I made a mistake in committing my daughter to her care."
"You make a very great mistake now," I replied; "my aunt knows nothing of our being here."
"The more shame to you," he responded severely; "but now, please take my daughter into the waiting-room while I look after that scoundrel."
I was only too glad to obey, for Agneta had lost all control of herself and was sobbing hysterically, and I felt like crying myself, though I was determined I would not give way.
Ralph Marshman had not waited to be interviewed by an indignant parent. Mr. Redmayne came back after a futile search for him. By that time I had procured a glass of water for Agneta and she was a little calmer.
"I shall take charge of you now," he said grimly; "you will both come with me to my hotel."
A moment's reflection convinced me that nothing would be gained by my taking the next train for Chelmsford. The garden party would be over before I could get to Greentree.
"I must send a telegram at once to Aunt Patty," I said. "She does not know what has become of us and will be very uneasy."
"Oh, I am glad you have some consideration for her," he said bitterly. "Really the lawlessness of young people nowadays is appalling! Running off by yourselves to London in this way! I never heard of such disgraceful conduct on the part of well-brought-up girls."
"You should not speak so to Nan, father," Agneta said. "It is not her fault that we are here. She only came because I did."
"I beg her pardon if I am unjust," he said, "but the whole affair is incomprehensible to me. I will go and telegraph to Mrs. Lucas, and then I will take you away."
"Oh, if only you would take me home to mother!" I said involuntarily.
"What! To Clapham? You would like to go there?"
"Why, of course!" I said almost impatiently.
He looked at me in some surprise.
"I could take you, certainly," he said. "Perhaps—I wonder if—However, we can talk of that presently." And he went off to despatch the telegram.
"Oh, Nan, don't leave me!" Agneta said when he had gone. "Father is awful when he is angry! He won't be quite so bad if you are with me."
"And yet you were ready to dare his utmost anger," I said.
"Oh, I should not have minded so much if Ralph were with me!" she said. "And he always said that father would be sure to forgive us when he found it impossible to part us, but I was afraid."
"It seems that Mr. Marshman is afraid too, now," I could not help saying. "At any rate, he has found it convenient to slip away and leave you to bear the brunt of your father's displeasure."
When Uncle Redmayne came back to us, his bearing was somewhat less severe. He said he had been thinking things over, and had come to the conclusion that it would be well to take me home at once and explain to my parents what had happened. Perhaps my mother would be willing to take Agneta in for the night. He had business that would occupy him for some hours on the following day, but he could take her back to Manchester with him in the evening. He would write and explain to Mrs. Lucas his reasons for not allowing her to return.
Agneta looked miserable enough when she heard this, but she said not a word. Her father's manner towards her had lost none of its harshness. I could not but feel sorry for her as I heard the cutting words he addressed to her every now and then.
Before we started for Clapham, he took us to the refreshment room to have some tea. He pressed me to try various sweet cakes, but neither I nor Agneta could eat anything. The tea refreshed us, however, and still more sustaining to me was the thought that I was going home. I had no fear of meeting my parents. I knew that they would not condemn me unheard.
It hardly seemed real to me when presently I found myself driving in a cab along the side of Clapham Common. How little I had thought when I rose that morning that the evening would find me here!
Mother's astonishment when she saw us drive up to the door was beyond words to express. She looked absolutely frightened, till I assured her that we were both well, and that no fresh outbreak of illness had occurred. She told me afterwards that I could have no idea how we had alarmed her, for both Agneta and I looked as if something terrible had happened.
By this time, indeed, my cousin's strength was about gone, while her headache had become almost unbearable. When we went upstairs she broke down utterly, and, feeling sure that she could endure nothing more in the way of rebuke or reproach, I persuaded her to go to bed.
Olive and Peggy bustled about and rearranged the rooms, aching with curiosity to know what was the meaning of our sudden, unexpected arrival. I, too, was longing to tell them, but nothing could be said till poor Agneta's aching head lay on a cool pillow, and we could leave her to the quiet she so sorely craved, though inward tranquillity it was beyond our power to give her.
A little later I was telling Mr. Redmayne in the presence of my father and mother what I knew of Ralph Marshman's meetings with Agneta, and all that had happened that day. When I had done, he expressed his regret that he had blamed me ere he knew the truth of the matter.
"I see now that you were my headstrong girl's true friend," he said. "You tried to save her from herself." Then, turning to father and mother, he added, "You are more fortunate in your children than I am. I don't know how it is. I have done everything for my children that I could do. They have had every advantage, and all kinds of indulgences, yet when I look for a little comfort from them, they reward me by the basest ingratitude."
There was a moment's silence, and then mother said gently:
"Agneta will surely be wiser after this. She has learned a lesson, I trust."
"If she has not, I will see that she does," he replied angrily. "She will find that I will stand no more nonsense of this kind. That man thought that, if he succeeded in marrying her, I should be fool enough to forgive her, and let her have the portion I can give to my daughters, or, at any rate, leave it to her when I die. I should have done nothing of the kind. If Agneta had married in defiance of my wishes I would never have forgiven her. She might have starved before I would have given her a shilling!"
"Oh, don't say that!" mother cried with a shiver, but there was no relenting in his countenance. He looked quite capable of so acting at that moment, and I am sure that he meant what he said.
Then he went on to explain how he had learned that Marshman had been dismissed from his post in the bank at Newcastle, certain doubtful practices of his having come to the knowledge of the firm. Thinking it probable that the young man had gone to London and might make an attempt to see Agneta, Mr. Redmayne decided to take an early opportunity of going to town himself. While there, he would go down to "Gay Bowers," see Agneta, and put Aunt Patty on her guard in case the detrimental should present himself.
He had not long arrived in town, and was on his way to Liverpool Street with the idea of going down that very evening to Chelmsford, if there was a train that would serve his purpose, when he perceived Ralph Marshman entering the station in advance of him. Instantly, he resolved to watch the young man's proceedings. He followed him to the platform where the train from Chelmsford would come in, and, carefully avoiding his observation, waited a wearisome time till at last the overdue train arrived. The result that rewarded his pains I have already narrated. I was interested in hearing uncle's description of what had occurred, till suddenly mother's eyes fell on me, and she exclaimed:
"Nan, you look worn-out. Go to bed at once."
And to bed I thankfully went, but did not sleep till I had told Olive the whole story, and a good deal more.
UNCLE REDMAYNE adhered to his resolve, and took Agneta back to Manchester on the following afternoon. Mother would gladly have kept her for a few days; but he seemed to feel that she was safe only in his custody. She looked very miserable as she bade us good-bye. I could not help feeling sorry for her although she had caused me to suffer so much. My heart grew cold and heavy within me whenever I thought of the look I had seen on Alan Faulkner's face as he glanced at me across the platform at Liverpool Street. It is hard to be misunderstood, and to lose, through no fault of your own, the good opinion of one on whose friendship you set a high value.
Mother had discovered that I was not looking so well as when I was last at home, and she insisted on my remaining with her for a week.
"I am sure that your Aunt Patty will not mind," she said; "I have written to explain it all to her, and she will hear too from your uncle. You need not be afraid that she will misjudge you, Nan."
"Oh, I am not afraid of Aunt Patty," I said. "She will understand. It is what Mrs. Canfield and other people will think that makes me uneasy."
"Oh, your aunt will be able to explain the matter to Mrs. Canfield, and to make it right with other people too, I dare say," mother said soothingly; "and, if not, what does it matter? You acted for the best; you did nothing wrong. Your uncle said he was very grateful to you for what you had done."
"But I did nothing," was my reply. "After all, I might as well have stayed at the garden party, for uncle was on the platform when the train came in. He would have stopped Agneta without my being there."
I spoke with some bitterness, for it seemed to me that I had made a fruitless sacrifice of what was very precious. I could not believe that aunt would be able to make everything right, nor could I persuade myself that it did not matter.
"I am sure that your uncle was glad that you were with her," mother said. "Don't worry about it, Nan. It is cowardly to mind what people may say about us, if our conscience tells us we have done right. I would not have a girl reckless as to the opinion others may form of her, but it is a mistake to let ourselves be unduly influenced by a fear of misjudgment."
I knew that mother's words were true, but it was not of "people" that I was thinking. It was good to be with mother again. I enjoyed the days at home, yet my mind dwelt much at "Gay Bowers," and I found myself looking forward to my return with mingled longing and dread.
To my great satisfaction it was arranged that father should take me back and stay over Sunday at "Gay Bowers." Aunt could give him Mr. Dicks's room, as that gentleman had gone with his daughter to the seaside for a fortnight. At the expiration of that time Paulina hoped once more to take up her abode at "Gay Bowers."
In spite of all misgivings, I felt wonderfully lighthearted when father and I reached Chelmsford late in the afternoon. His presence was a great support to me. If Alan Faulkner doubted me, he could not fail to see that father and I were on the best of terms. I knew that he liked father, and I looked forward to hearing them talk together.
As the train entered the station I caught sight of the wagonette waiting outside. Had any one come to meet us? As I stepped on to the platform I looked about me at once eagerly and timidly. Some one had come to meet us. It was Miss Cottrell. My heart sank as I caught sight of her. I could have dispensed with her society.
Miss Cottrell was looking wonderfully well. Was it the new hat and the pink blouse she wore which made her appear younger? I could not believe that it was simply my return which gave her face such a radiant expression. Yet she greeted me very warmly. It was evident that she was in the best of spirits. Even father noticed how well she looked.
"I hope you are as well as you look, Miss Cottrell," he said. "You seem to have quite recovered from the fatigue of nursing. Yet you must have had a very trying time."
"Oh, no, indeed!" she said briskly. "Paulina's was not a bad case, and she has been convalescent for the past week. I really had not much to do."
"I expected to hear that you had gone with her to the seaside," I said.
"Oh, I could not do that," she said, bridling in a way I thought curious, "and Paulina did not need me as Mr. Dicks proposed taking the nurse, though her post is now a sinecure."
"He must feel very grateful to you for your devotion to his daughter," father said.
"Oh, not at all; I was very glad to be of service," she said, and then, to my amusement, she blushed like a girl and looked so oddly self-conscious that I could have laughed.
But the next moment I did not feel at all like laughing, for she went on to say:
"We were all so glad to hear that you were coming, Mr. Darracott, for we are such a small party now. Colonel Hyde will be obliged to you for keeping him in countenance, for he is our only gentleman."
"Really! Why, what has become of Professor Faulkner?" asked my father, while my heart gave a sudden bound and then seemed to stand still.
"He has gone to Edinburgh on business—something to do with a post at a college there, I believe," said Miss Cottrell.
I seemed to turn both hot and cold as she spoke. In that brief moment of suspense I felt that I could not possibly bear it, if he had taken his final departure from "Gay Bowers" without saying good-bye to me.
"Then he is coming back again," father said quietly.
"Oh, yes, he is coming back some time," Miss Cottrell replied; "he has not taken his books and things with him."
I breathed freely again; but my heart was like lead. All the pleasure of my return was gone. I felt sick at the thought of having to wait for days, possibly for weeks, ere I could be assured that Alan Faulkner was not hopelessly estranged from me. I fell silent and let Miss Cottrell do all the talking as we drove through the sweet-scented lanes on that lovely summer evening. How differently things were turning out from what I had anticipated! At last a shrewd, observant glance from Miss Cottrell warned me of her terrible skill in putting two and two together, and I roused myself and made an effort to appear happier than I was.
"Gay Bowers" looked much as usual as we drove up to the door; the roses had come out more plentifully about the porch. Sweep had a disconsolate air as he lay on the mat; he missed some one. I could hardly believe that it was only a week since I rode away from the house in such desperate haste. It might have happened a year ago, it seemed so far away. I felt like the ghost of my old self as I forced myself to smile and talk and appear as pleased to be there as if nothing had changed for me. What a blessing it was that Miss Cottrell was so cheerful and her flow of small talk never ceased!
"It is good to have you back, Nan," Aunt Patty said, coming into my room when she had shown father his. "You must not run away from me again."
"I wish I had not run away," I said ruefully; "the people who met me tearing into Chelmsford must have thought me mad. What did Mrs. Canfield say?"
"Oh, when you did not come back we thought something must be very wrong. I went home to see what was the matter, and when I could find neither you nor Agneta I was uneasy enough until I got the telegram," said my aunt. "Afterwards I thought it best to tell Mrs. Canfield, in confidence, the whole truth, and I am afraid I did not spare Agneta. What a foolish girl! I pity her parents! She came near ruining their happiness and her own!"
"She is greatly to be pitied, too, auntie," I said; "poor Agneta is very unhappy."
"Well, I won't be so hard-hearted as to say that she deserved to suffer," replied Aunt Patty. "You will miss her, Nan."
I smiled at the sly significance of my aunt's words as I glanced round my pretty room. She knew how pleased I was to see it restored to its old order and to have it for my own sanctum once more. Yet I was very sorry that Agneta had departed in such a way.
"Auntie," I said, after a minute, "what has come to Miss Cottrell? She seems overjoyed to be at 'Gay Bowers' again!"
Aunt Patty laughed. "You may well ask what has happened to her," she said. "It is not just her return to this house which is making her so joyous. I wonder she has not told you. Miss Cottrell is engaged to be married!"
"Oh, auntie!" I exclaimed. "You don't mean it! Not to Mr. Dicks?"
"To no less a person than Josiah Dicks," replied Aunt Patty with twinkling eyes.
I was not altogether surprised, and yet the news was sufficiently exciting. So this was how the American would evince his gratitude for Miss Cottrell's devotion to his daughter!
"Well, I never!" I exclaimed. "But they always got on well together. Of course she is delighted, for he has so much money and she thinks a great deal of wealth."
"Come, come, don't be too hard on Miss Cottrell!" my aunt replied. "Give her credit for better feelings. In spite of her faults—and they are not very serious ones, after all—she has a large heart, and I believe she really loves Mr. Dicks."
"Auntie! Is it possible?" I cried. "But poor Paulina! How does she like it? It must be a trial to her."
"On the contrary, Miss Cottrell assures me that she is quite pleased," my aunt said.
But that statement I took with a grain of salt. I remembered Miss Cottrell's talent for embroidering facts, and classed the pleasure she ascribed to Paulina with her glowing descriptions of dear Lady Mowbray's' attachment to herself.
"When will they be back?" I asked.
"The Dickses? On Wednesday week," aunt replied.
She might have known that I wanted to hear when Mr. Faulkner was expected to return; but she never mentioned him, and something withheld me from making a direct inquiry.
Then aunt went away, and I began to make myself tidy, feeling that the house seemed strangely quiet and empty after the cheerful bustle of home, and oppressed by the thought of the days before me. I had now been at 'Gay Bowers' for about six months, and the time had passed swiftly enough, but I looked forward with some dread to the remainder of my sojourn there.
Yet how lovely the dear old garden was looking as the sun declined! I stepped from my window on to the top of the porch. The boxes which bordered it were planted with mignonette, amid which some fuchsias and geraniums in pots made a brilliant show. There was just room for me to sit in a little low chair in the space thus enclosed, and in the warm days I often sat there to read or sew. Alan Faulkner used to call this spot my "observatory," since from it I could survey the front garden and see all that passed the house on the road that descended from the common to the village. I had not stood there many moments when I perceived Jack Upsher spinning down the hill on his bicycle. He took off his cap and waved it gleefully as he caught sight of me. At the gate, he alighted, and there was nothing for it but I must go down and talk to him.
"Oh, Nan, it is jolly to see you again!" he cried as I ran out. "I am glad you've come back, and isn't it nice that most of the others have taken themselves off? It will seem like the good old times before the 'paying guests' came."
"Aunt Patty would hardly consider it nice if all her guests departed," I said. "However, Miss Cottrell is with us again, and father has come down with me to-day, so we are not quite without society."
"I know. The governor and I are coming in to see him this evening," he said; "so then we'll have some tennis, Nan, and you shall tell me all you have been doing since you departed in such imprudent haste without any luggage. I heard how you rode into town on that occasion. You will please not to say anything to me in the future on the subject of 'scorching.'"
What a boy he was! We had a sharp war of words for a few minutes, and then he rode off, convinced that he had got the better of me. Though he did not dare to say so, I could see that Mr. Faulkner's absence afforded him gratification. It was very strange. I never could understand what made him dislike the Professor so much.
I took an early opportunity of congratulating Miss Cottrell on her engagement, and received in response such an outburst of confidence from her as was almost overpowering. With the utmost pride she exhibited her betrothal ring, on which shone a magnificent diamond, almost as big as a pea.
"It frightens me to think what it must have cost," she said, "yet you see he has so much money that he hardly knows what to do with it, for he is naturally a man of simple tastes and habits."
"So I imagine," I said, "or he would hardly have been happy so long here with us. Paulina helps him to spend his money. He must be glad to have found some one else on whom he may lavish gifts."
"He is very thankful that he came to 'Gay Bowers,'" she said solemnly, "and you can't think how glad I am that we both chanced to see your aunt's advertisement."
"It has indeed proved a happy circumstance," I said, "but I hope this will not lead to your cutting short your stay, Miss Cottrell."
"I don't know," she said, blushing like a girl; "He wants me to—name a day in the autumn, and then he will take me abroad. I have so often longed to go on the Continent, and it will be so delightful to travel with him to take care of me, you know. And of course we shall do everything in the first style, for the expense will be nothing to him. Am I not a fortunate woman?"
"I can quite understand that you feel that," I said. "And how about Paulina—what will she do?"
"Oh, Paulina is so good and sweet!" she said ecstatically. "Her father would like her to go with us, but she says she would rather stay here with Mrs. Lucas till we come back. You know I think she is rather interested in the Professor."
"Oh!" I said. "But he has gone away!"
"Only for a few weeks," said Miss Cottrell carelessly.
She went on talking, but for some moments I lost all sense of what she was saying. A question recalled my mind to the present. Miss Cottrell was asking me if I had ever seen a buggy.
"No," I said dreamily; "it is a kind of carriage, I believe."
"Of course," said Miss Cottrell, "that is what I told you. He says he will take me for drives in a buggy when we go to New York. I thought you might know what it is like. It does not sound very nice somehow."
"THE Dickses will be here to-morrow, Nan," Aunt Patty said to me one morning more than a week later.
"Oh, I am glad!" I said involuntarily.
"So you have found our diminished household dull," said Aunt Patty, smiling.
"Oh, no, auntie, it is not that," I said quickly; "but I have grown very tired of hearing Miss Cottrell talk about Mr. Dicks and dilate upon the glories and delights that await her in the future."
Aunt Patty laughed.
"Poor Miss Cottrell!" she said. "It is rather absurd the way she plumes herself on the prize she has won, yet I am glad she is so happy. I fancy she led a lonely life before she came here."
"After 'dear Lady Mowbray' died," I said. "Well, I am sure I do not grudge her her happiness, though I should like to be sure that it will not lessen Paulina's."
"I think you will find that Paulina takes it philosophically," aunt said; "she is never one to fret or worry. I shall be glad to welcome her back. Do you know she has been away from us for more than a month? It hardly seems so long."
"It seems a long time to me," I said, and had hardly uttered the words ere I longed to recall them, for I did not want aunt to discover why it was that the time had seemed so long to me. It was more than a fortnight since I had seen Alan Faulkner, and our last talk together, when he had tried to warn me of the unworthiness of Ralph Marshman, was a constant burden on my memory. While the hope of arriving at a better understanding with him had to be deferred indefinitely, the days dragged heavily. The entrance of Miss Cottrell, evidently in the best of spirits, prevented Aunt Patty from making any comment on my words.
There was a pleasant bustle in the house that day as we prepared for the return of our Americans. As I helped to set Paulina's room in order, I thought of the miserable night when I had watched beside her and she had suffered so much and shrunk in such dread from the prospect of illness. How dark had seemed the cloud of trouble that loomed ahead of her then! But it had passed and the blessing of health was Paulina's once more. What had the experience meant for Paulina? Would she be just the same as she had been before it befell?
I could hardly keep from laughing when Miss Cottrell brought some of her choicest carnations to adorn Mr. Dicks's room. It seemed so impossible that any woman could cherish a romantic attachment to Josiah Dicks, and he was so prosaic a being that I feared the flowers would be lost on him. I am afraid middle-aged courtship will always appear ridiculous in the eyes of a girl of nineteen.
I was putting the finishing touches to Paulina's room when I became aware of a shrill whistle from the garden. I looked out of the window. Jack stood on the gravel below.
"Come down, Nan, please," he shouted. "I have news—such news for you!"
He was looking so elate that I had no fear of the news being other than good. Full of wonder, I ran downstairs.
"No, I am not coming in," he said as we shook hands; "I am going to tell you all by yourself. You know I went up to London this morning?"
"I know nothing about it," was my reply. "You generally tell me when you are going to town, but you did not on this occasion."
"Oh, well," he said smiling, "there was a reason for that."
"You have not been to my home?" I asked eagerly. "The news has nothing to do with my people, has it?"
"I cannot say that it has," he answered rather blankly. "Is there no one else in whom you can take a little interest?"
"Why, of course! Now I know, Jack!" I cried, enlightened by his manner. "You have passed for Woolwich! That is your news."
"You are right," he said, with shining eyes; "aren't you amazed?"
"Not in the least," I replied. "It is only what I expected; but I am very glad."
"I thought that the result might be known in London this morning, so I went up to find out," Jack explained. "I could not wait for the post to bring me the news. Besides, I felt I'd like to be alone when I learned how it was with me. I can tell you I trembled like a leaf when I saw the list, and when I looked for my name, there seemed to be something wrong with my eyesight. But I found it at last—'John Upsher'—sure enough."
"Of course I knew it would be there," I said. "Let us go and tell Aunt Patty."
"Not yet," he said, slipping his hand within my arm and drawing me away from the house. "We'll tell her by and by; but I want to have a little talk with you first. Do you know, I really believe that if my name had not been there I should never have found courage to come back to Greentree."
"Don't talk nonsense, there's a good boy," I said; "as you have passed there is no need to consider what you would have done if you had not succeeded."
"What a horrid snub!" he exclaimed. "And I wish you would not call me a boy. They do not admit boys to Woolwich Academy."
"No, really?" I said, trying hard not to laugh.
"You are a most unsympathetic person, Nan," said Jack, with an aggrieved air.
I glanced at him, and saw that he was more than half in earnest. I was really delighted to hear of his success; but I was feeling a little impatient with him for taking me down the garden just then, for I wanted to finish the task I had in hand before the afternoon was over. I prided myself on my methodical habits, though I got little credit for these at home, where the others constantly prevented my practising them. But my heart smote me when I heard Jack call me unsympathetic. I remembered that he had neither mother nor sister with whom he could discuss the things that most keenly interested him, so I resolved to listen cheerfully to all he had to say.
"Am I, Jack?" I said meekly. "Well, I can only say that if I am deficient in sympathy, it is my misfortune rather than my fault; but such as I have is all yours. You don't know how pleased I am that you have passed."
His face brightened instantly.
"I expect it's a bit of a fluke," he said.
"It's nothing of the kind," I returned. "You have been working hard and you have done what you hoped to do. You need not talk as if you were utterly incapable."
"Then you don't think me altogether good for nothing, Nan?" he said, bending his tall person to look into my face.
"Why should I, Jack?" was my response. "I wish you would not ask such foolish questions."
"I don't see that it is foolish," he said. "I know I am altogether inferior to you, but I did want to please you. I longed to pass for your sake."
"For my sake!" I repeated, growing suddenly hot as I realised that Jack was not speaking in his usual light strain. "For your father's sake, you surely mean."
"No, for your sake," he repeated. "Oh, Nan, you must know that I would rather please you than any one else in the world!"
"Oh, Jack," I exclaimed in dismay, "do please stop talking in that absurd way!"
"Absurd!" he repeated in a tone which made me know I had hurt him. "Is it absurd to love you, Nan? Oh, you must know how I love you! I could not speak of it before; but, now that I am all right for the Army, I want you to promise that you will be my wife—some time. I know it can't be yet."
I could have laughed at the audacity with which he made the proposal, had I not seen that it was no laughing matter with him. He seemed to think I was already won, and to expect me to pledge myself to him forthwith. And all the while, eager and anxious as he was, he looked such a boy!
"It can never be," I said decisively. "You must never speak of this again, Jack. It is quite impossible. What can have made you think of such a thing?"
"Why, I have always thought of it," he said, "at least that is, since you came to stay at 'Gay Bowers.'"
"That is only six months ago," I remarked. "So now you must please banish the idea from your mind. It could never be."
"Why not, Nan?" he asked wistfully. "Do you dislike me so much?"
"Jack, how silly you are! What will you ask next? Have we not been good chums? But our marrying is quite out of the question. It vexes me that you should speak of it. For one thing you are younger than I am, and altogether too young to know your mind on this subject."
"Thank you, Nan," he retorted; "I assure you I know my own mind perfectly. I am only six months younger than you, and you seem to have no doubt of the soundness of your opinion. It is not such a great difference I don't see that it matters in the least."
"I dare say it would not if we were both about thirty years of age," I replied; "but, as it is, I feel ever so much older than you. Mother says that girls grow old faster than boys."
"That's all rubbish," he said impatiently. "I beg your mother's pardon, but it is. Anyhow, by your own showing, it will not matter in ten years' time, and I am willing to wait as long as that if need be. So, Nan, give me a little hope, there's a darling. You say you don't dislike me, so you can surely promise that we will always be chums."
I shook my head. I hated the position in which I was placed, but I had no doubt as to my own feelings. "I can give no promise," I said firmly.
"Nan, you are unkind," he said. "You don't understand what this means to me. If only you would consent to wait for me, how I would work! It would be something to live for. You should be proud of me some day, Nan."
"You have your father and your profession and your king and country to live for," I said. "They ought to be enough."
"They are not for me!" he cried. "I don't profess to be a heroic being, but you might make anything of me. It was the hope of winning your love that brought me through my exam. I knew you would not look at me if I failed."
"Oh, Jack, as if that would make the least difference if I cared for you in that way!" I cried impulsively, and the next moment was covered with confusion as I realised how I had given myself away. I grew crimson as Jack halted and stood looking at me with sudden, painful comprehension in his eyes.
"I see," he said slowly; "you know you care in that way for some one else. I can guess who it is—that—"
"Stop, Jack!" I cried, so imperiously that the words died on his lips. "Remember that you are a gentleman, and do not say what you will afterwards be sorry for. You have no right to speak to me so, and I will not listen to you. Never open this subject again. My answer is final!"
To make it hard for him to disobey me, I started at a run for the house. He did not attempt to follow me. At the end of the lawn I halted for a moment and looked back. Jack stood motionless where I had left him. He had so dejected an air that my anger was lost in regret. I could not bear to give pain to my old playfellow. I went on more slowly towards the house. As I entered I glanced back again. Jack was just swinging his long limbs over the wall. He often preferred vaulting it to making his exit by the gate. It seemed so odd an ending to our romantic interview that I burst out laughing as I went indoors. Colonel Hyde, who sat smoking just within the porch, looked at me in astonishment, and I found some difficulty in replying to his query as to the cause of my merriment. I could only say that I laughed at the way Jack jumped over the wall. Then I made haste to tell him of Jack's success. He was delighted, for, as the Vicar's old friend, he took a great interest in Jack.
"But why could not the young scamp come in and give me an opportunity of congratulating him?" he asked.
I murmured that I believed Jack was in a hurry to get home, and went quickly upstairs. By the time I reached the room my merriment had vanished. I sank into a chair, and began to sob. I was vexed and unhappy about Jack, but my regret for his suffering was mingled with a strange, overwhelming emotion which I could not well have explained. My tears were not soon checked, and when I ceased to cry I looked such an object that I could not go down when the gong announced that tea was ready below.
After a while Aunt Patty came to discover what was the matter with me. I both laughed and cried as I told her what had happened. Aunt Patty laughed too. It struck her as inexpressibly droll that Jack should be in love.
"I am really very sorry," she said, suddenly growing serious. "I might have known—I ought to have seen; but I thought Jack had more sense—no offence intended, Nan. I don't know that I could have done any good, though, if I had foreseen it. Poor old boy. He is a silly fellow; but I am sorry for him. He will suffer acutely, I dare say, for a day or two."
"A day or two!" I repeated.
"Why, yes; you don't think you have broken his heart, do you, Nan? I assure you, calf-love is soon cured. If this were the hunting season a day's hunt might do it. As it is, I dare say your rejection will rankle in his mind till he meets with another girl who strikes his fancy; but it will have ceased to trouble him much long before he gets to Woolwich."
"You don't give him credit for much constancy;" I said, a trifle nettled by her remarks, which were hardly flattering to my vanity.
"At his age there is none," said Aunt Patty. "What are you thinking of, Nan? You don't want poor Jack to be miserable, do you?"
"Oh, dear, no!" I said, and then I laughed. "I am quite glad you think he will get over it easily, for he seemed so hurt that it made me 'feel bad,' as Paulina would say. I can't understand how it is that some girls think it grand and desirable to have offers of marriage. I am sure I hope that I shall never have another."
"Do you?" asked my aunt, with a mischievous glance. "You mean till the right one comes-eh, Nan?"
"That will be never," I said decidedly; "I am quite sure that I shall never marry. I shall be the old maid of the family."
"There are no 'old maids' nowadays," said Aunt Patty cheerfully; "the term is quite out of date. So many careers are open to women that a single life may be a most useful and honourable one. When you are at the head of a college, Nan, you won't want to change places with any toiling mistress of a house like myself."
"I am afraid not," I said, with a laugh that was not very mirthful. "I should certainly never choose to do domestic work for its own sake."
"Ah, well, dear, you will soon be able to take to your books again," said Aunt Patty, kissing me ere she went away.
She meant to cheer me by so speaking; but somehow her words had quite the opposite effect. My tastes had not changed, yet something within me rebelled against the thought of going home and taking up a severe course of study again.
"IT is a restless age," observed Colonel Hyde the next morning, as with the utmost precision and deliberation, he opened his egg. "My godson was in London yesterday, yet he must be off to town again by the first train this morning. Then he talks of joining a party of friends who are going to Norway next week for some fishing."
Aunt Patty and I glanced at each other. Fishing might effect a cure as well as hunting.
"He needs and deserves a holiday after working so well," my aunt said. "He has been at home a great deal of late."
"His father has not had much of his company," remarked the colonel. "Jack has been going up to London continually, and whatever leisure he had he spent here."
"Does the vicar complain that he has too little of his son's society?" inquired Aunt Patty. "It always seems to me that he prefers the company of his books, since Jack and he have so little in common. But he must be very pleased that Jack has passed his exam."
"Has he passed?" exclaimed Miss Cottrell eagerly. "When did you hear? Why did no one tell me?"
It was not quite easy to answer the latter question. I trembled lest Miss Cottrell with her talent for investigation should discover why Jack had become suddenly desirous of change of scene. Happily she was just then too absorbed in anticipating the return of her fiancé to devote much attention to the affairs of others.
They were expected to arrive in time for afternoon tea. I watched Miss Cottrell drive off, radiant with satisfaction, to meet them at the station, then I took a book and seated myself amid the flowers in my favourite nook on the top of the porch. It was a warm afternoon, no breeze reached me where I sat, and the air was heavy with the perfume of the roses and jasmine that grew about the porch. Bees were buzzing about me, and now and then a white butterfly would flit past my book. It was a book on Goethe which Alan Faulkner had advised me to read and which father had procured for me from a London library. I was truly interested in it, yet I found it hard to fix my attention on its pages this afternoon. The sweet summer atmosphere and the stillness, broken only by the hum of insect life, made me drowsy. My book dropped, my head sank sideways, and I passed into a pleasant dream.
I was wandering through a wood with Alan Faulkner beside me when the stir and bustle of arrival below roused me to consciousness of my actual surroundings. How long I had been sleeping I could not tell, but the wagonette stood before the house, and as I sprang up and rubbed my eyes, I heard Paulina's high, thin American tones calling for "Nan." I ran down and we met at the foot of the stairs.
"Nan—you dear old Nan! Why weren't you on the doorstep to welcome me?" cried Paulina as she threw her arms round me. "Come, you need not be afraid to kiss me! I am warranted perfectly harmless."
"That's more than I'd warrant you, Pollie Dicks," came as an aside from her father.
"Indeed, I am not afraid," I responded, a little surprised at the fervour of her embrace, "and I'm very glad you've come back."
"That's right. I can't tell you how good it feels to be at 'Gay Bowers' again!" cried Paulina gleefully. "But say, Nan, what's the matter with you? I declare you've been sleeping! You lazy thing! It's time I came back to wake you up."
"She'll rouse you all—you may trust Pollie Dicks for that!" cried her father, rubbing his hands, while Miss Cottrell hovered near him, looking absurdly self-conscious. "Say, doesn't she look as if scarlet fever agreed with her?"
She certainly did. I had expected to see her looking thin and pale and languid, but it was not so. She had put on flesh in her convalescence, and the sea air had given her a more ruddy hue than I had yet seen her wear. She appeared to be in robust health, and was undoubtedly in excellent spirits. I need not have been anxious on the score of her happiness.
"If you mention scarlet fever again, I'll fine you a thousand pounds!" she cried, turning on her father. "I don't want to hear the name again, do you understand? All the same, Nan," she added, turning to me, "it is not half bad having a fever. It is good for the complexion. It rejuvenates you altogether, I guess. You'll be sorry one of these days that you haven't had it. Anyway, I've had a jolly time for the last fortnight, with nothing to do save eat and drink and take mine ease."
"You have changed if you have grown fond of repose," I said, as we went upstairs.
"Ah, Nan! Sharp-tongued as ever!" she replied. "I know you thought me a terrible gadabout, and I certainly never went to sleep in the middle of the day like some one I know. But you must have been deadly dull without me, and your cousin gone too, and the Professor. What a miserable little party you must have been here!"
"We have managed to bear up somehow," I said, smiling; "but it is good to have you here again, Paulina."
I spoke in all sincerity. I had not taken readily to Paulina Dicks. Her odd, American ways had jarred on me when first she came. I had not realised how much I liked her, or how I missed her, till now that her eager, vivid personality once more made a pleasant stir in the house. I think I laughed more in the first half-hour after her arrival than I had laughed during the whole of her absence. A cheerful disposition wields a potent charm.
Yet I had seen Paulina other than cheerful. What a different Paulina she was from the girl who had gone away in sore anxiety and dread! She made no allusion to the manner of her departure, yet I knew it was in her mind as she opened the door of her room. I had suggested to aunt that we should make a little alteration in the arrangement of Paulina's room. So the bedstead now stood in another position, and the aspect of the room did not inevitably recall the long, weary night in which she had suffered so much. I saw that she noted the change with satisfaction. All she said was, "Nan, you are a darling!" It was not Pollie Dicks's way to indulge in sentiment or make a parade of emotion.
Yet ere we slept that night she opened her heart to me as she had not done save on that night when she looked death in the face and was afraid.
Dinner had been over about half-an-hour. I chanced to be alone in the drawing-room. It was growing dusk, but the lamps were not yet lighted, when I heard Paulina's voice at the open window.
"Do come out, Nan," she cried. "I want to show you something."
I ran out willingly enough. It was lovely in the garden at that hour. After the heat of the day the air seemed deliciously cool and sweet. The moon was slowly rising above the tree-tops. A soft breeze whispered through the leaves. The flowers were giving forth their sweetest perfumes.
"Oh, how lovely!" I exclaimed as I drew a deep breath.
"Hush," said Paulina, with a warning gesture, "not a word! I want to show you something."
She led me noiselessly along the grass till we reached the tall thick hedge at the end of the lawn. Then she signed to me to peer stealthily over it. I did so, and perceived Josiah Dicks and Miss Cottrell pacing arm in arm the narrow path between the apple trees. As a precaution against chill, for the dew was falling, his long neck and lean shoulders were enveloped in a Scotch plaid. She wore her huge garden hat, and had wrapped herself in a red shawl. They were certainly an odd-looking couple.
"Romeo and Juliet," whispered Paulina, and I nearly exploded.