Nancy and her chaperone spent a year on the Continent, visiting several capitals, and various scenes familiar to Mrs. De Wolfe. Not a few foreign hostelries knew and respected the dominating personality, and heavy purse, of this hawk-eyed "bird of passage."
Nancy was now twenty. Like a flower she had expanded in the sun of happiness, and developed into a strikingly beautiful girl. The mahogany tint had given place to a matchless complexion: her figure no longer boyish and angular, was slender and graceful, her dress was dainty, and she carried herself admirably. After a long and complete eclipse, Nancy's vitality and vivacity had returned with undiminished vigour: the girl was never tired, idle, bored, or—silent; the mere fact of her presence, seemed to neutralize weariness and depression. Yet the death of her father was a never forgotten grief; he stood apart, as the one impressive, and beloved figure connected with her life in India. Memories of Finchie, the "Corner boys," and the Hicks', had become a little faint; as for the acquaintance of a mere six weeks, she had thrust him entirely out of her mind. At first, like some pernicious and persistent insect, he had returned again and again; but for many months she had been free from this hateful visitation.
Possibly when a young woman determines to evict from her thoughts a disagreeable lodger—such banishment is complete. Nancy had assured a quaking heart, that the ceremony of her marriage might be dismissed to the limbo of a bad dream. It had been carried out solely to comfort and relieve the anxiety of her dying father; but as a binding contract, Finchie had positively declared, that it could be easily annulled.
It was more than two years since Nancy had heard of Captain Mayne, "out of sight, is out of mind," especially as her mind was full to overflowing of new scenes, new interests, and new friends.
During their wanderings, Mrs. De Wolfe had encountered various neighbours, acquaintances, and connections. Her circle was world wide. At the Hôtel National, Lucerne, she came across the Miller family,—who lived within a motor drive of her home in Moonshire.
Truly, it was a strange and startling tale that Lady Miller poured into the ear of her neighbour, when she had carried her off to her own apartment, and could there talk without restraint! It appeared that the four Miss Millers, had combined to break loose, had cast off all obedience, and so to speak, flung the fourth commandment to the winds! Headed by Wilhelmina—the eldest—they revolted against home life, and clamoured to be taken abroad, in order to see something of what they called, "the world." "Wilhelmina," continued Lady Miller, "has an iron will and enormous influence over her father. It took her a whole fortnight to gain her point, at the end Lucas yielded, and, my dear old friend, I know you will pity us, for 'here we are!'"
Yes, Wilhelmina's triumph had been remorseless, and complete!
Glancing round the luxurious bedroom, whose windows commanded a fine view of the lake, Mrs. De Wolfe was not disposed to offer much sympathy to the lachrymose lady.
"Of course I don't approve of the present ordinance," she said: "Parents obey your children, but possibly a little change may be no harm for any of you. Your girls are grown up. Why! Billy must be six and twenty! The twins are a charming couple, and so far, have been born to blush unseen! Millfield Placeisrather isolated, and surely you would not wish to have four old maids on your hands,—nowwouldyou?"
"I'mno husband-hunter," declared Lady Miller with considerable warmth, "and if girls are to be married, they'llbemarried."
"Well, that depends on circumstances! I remember an Irish servant who gave, as her reason for leaving an excellent, but dull situation, that 'she was out of the way of Providence.' I think there is the same drawback to Millfield."
Millfield Place was situated in a remote part of Moonshire, and in the days of Charles II., it had been the nucleus of many a robust and rollicking festivity: but time works changes, the Place was now generally referred to, as the "Back of Beyond." It was six miles from the nearest railway station: on the mere outer fringe of County Society, and to many of the rustics in Millfield village, the word "pictures" or "telephone" carried no meaning! Here years had passed swiftly—as they generally do, when spent in an uneventful, and monotonous round.
The four Miss Millers were endowed with an unusual amount of good looks, and intelligence; Wilhelmina, the eldest and heiress, was small, active, clever and outspoken: with a heart that knew no fear, and full of devotion to her sisters. Minna and Brenda (twins) were tall, vivacious and very fair to see. Amy, the youngest, aged twenty, had a wonderful mop of dark red hair, a pair of twinkling sea-green eyes, and uncontrollable spirits; she was still addressed as "Baby!"
For some years, the sisters had contented themselves with tennis, the sewing club, village entertainments, and the rearing of prize poultry; and then Wilhelmina, when her twenty-sixth birthday struck, began seriously to consider the situation. As alone she paced the long terrace, she held a solemn debate with herself, and this was the burden of her meditations: "Here we are embedded in the country, and growing into fossils. We haven't even a motor—because mother loathes them! We never see a soul, except the same old set, the Rector and Mrs. Puddock, Doctor and Mrs. Frost, father's elderly shooting friends; and once in a blue moon, the Hillsides, or Mrs. De Wolfe. Other girls go about, and visit new places, make new acquaintances, and have a good time; and we are young but once! I shall urge the Pater to transport us all to the Continent, for one whole year. If he resists, and won't listen to reason, I shall just tell him, we will leave home; the twins to go on the Stage,—front row,—Baby, to an A B C shop, and I to be a stewardess; I know I should love the sea,—which by the way, I have never seen!"
When Wilhelmina cautiously opened the subject to her mother, that lethargic matron was almost as startled as if a bomb had exploded on the hearth-rug! When she had recovered her senses (momentarily paralysed), with unusual animation, she expressed indignant horror at the mere suggestion of such a move. She pointed out to Billy that she and her sisters were extraordinarily fortunate; they had carriages, maids, saddle-horses; and every possible indulgence; the newest library books, a handsome dress allowance; what more did they want? Besides, how could such a pack of girls go dragging about the Continent! Certainly she would be no party to the crazy undertaking. Of course if they had beenboys, it might have been different!
"Yes!" retorted Billy, "boys always get everything they want, and girls go to the wall."
"Well, boys or girls, nothing will inducemeto leave my comfortable home," declared Lady Miller. "Paris, Switzerland, Egypt!" slightly raising her voice, "why, Wilhelmina, you must be mad! You know perfectly well, that I've not been even to London, for more than two years."
Lady Miller, a pretty, plaintive, fragile-looking woman, had been a celebrated beauty in her day,—but was now disposed to rest on such laurels, as remained. She relinquished visiting, and entertaining—beyond a small tennis party, or a few neighbours to tea,—pleading the state of her health; which, as it happened, was excellent; but the poor woman suffered from the dire and mortal malady of inertia; which is known to attack victims who live remote, and idle. The disease had grown from bad to worse, and Lady Miller had now abandoned herself to an existence of self-indulgent indolence. She was contented with her comfortable sofa, her embroidery, novels, patience cards, visits from newsmongering matrons,—and on fine days, an inspection of her celebrated rock garden! Wilhelmina had relieved her mother of all housekeeping worries: she managed the school, the village,—and her father.
The younger girls were amusing, chattering creatures: fond of racing through the rooms, banging doors, and bringing in dogs, but remarkably pretty—especially Brenda, who at times, was almost startlingly lovely! Once or twice, Lady Miller had murmured to her husband "that she wished Brenda's rich godmother would invite her to pay her a visit in London,"—and her husband had accorded an indifferent assent—hedid not wish to part withanyof his girls.
Sir Lucas Miller was an active, fussy, little gentleman of fifty-five, whose time was absorbed by tenants, shooting, the county club, and the Bench! Little did he suspect, how soon the pleasant current of his days was to be diverted. One evening after dinner,—a particularly good dinner,—the bold, adventurous, andcunningWilhelmina, accompanied him to the smoking-room, and as he enjoyed a Havana, calmly proceeded to lay her plans before him.
Everything had been most carefully considered: the whole itinerary minutely sketched; reasons for the expedition were confidently advanced, and dilated on, and when at last, Wilhelmina had ceased to speak, she discovered that her communication had left her father speechless! For quite a surprising interval, he remained silent,—Sir Lucas was thinking things over! He liked to see his pretty, lively girls flitting about the house and tennis courts, but it had never once dawned on him, that they craved either change, or other diversions. "Why, they had the Hunt Ball in January,—weather permitting,—the cricket week in July,—also weather permitting!"
In his opinion, they were remarkably well off; and as Billy, his favourite, had carefully unfolded her schemes, he could scarcely believe his own ears.
"Close the house for twelve months! take you all abroad!" he cried at last. "What a monstrous idea. How about the estate, and the shooting?"
"You have an excellent agent, Dad, I've often heard you say so,—and now you may as well give him something to do. You know you're one of the people who keep a dog,—and bark yourself!"
"Rubbish! rubbish! preposterous nonsense!"
"I know you won't mind, dear, if I speak a little plainly. Looking at it from our point of view, do you think you are quite playing the game? You and the Mater have had your good times! You talk of Ascot, Scotland, and Paris; of dances and balls, operas, and races. Nowweshould like to be in a position, to enjoy the same experiences. We are very ready to be amused: or even employed; but there is not enough work here for the four of us. Are we always to content ourselves with visiting old women, rearing Buff Orpingtons, and finding our chief excitement in scraps of village news! Why, it was only yesterday, that Baby ran the whole way home, to tell us that the Postman's parrot was dead!Ican jog along all right, I'm not in my first youth, and I never was pretty; and being the eldest, I can find plenty of occupation, and interest of sorts; but, dear Daddy,doconsider the three girls; please think of what I've said," and Wilhelmina patted her parent encouragingly on the shoulder, and walked out of the room.
In the end, after some remarkably stormy scenes, Billy prevailed; for Billy, as her mother complained, "could twist her father round her little finger." Then what Brenda termed, the "great Exodus of the Millers" actually took place, and poor Lady Miller found herself with her husband, four daughters, two maids and a mountain of luggage, carried off to Paris; and from Paris they journeyed to Lucerne.
At Lucerne, to his audible consternation, Sir Lucas was thrust into the too prominent post of chaperon—his wife having declared that her health was not equal to society. Nevertheless, she took a certain amount of comfort in a sofa, her lace work, and patience cards,—although the rock-garden, was far, far away!
At first, Sir Lucas instinctively shrank from following five grown-up women into a dining-room, or restaurant; but most of his party were so handsome as to draw all eyes, and in this fact, he found considerable compensation; also, when he beheld other men doing similar duty, he became more resigned; and by and by actually began to enjoy this amazing, and absolute change! He and his girls played golf on the Sonnenberg, and made excursions, whilst her ladyship and maid, sat in the shade, listening to the band, or ventured on a little shopping, purchasing Swiss embroidery, and Italian tortoise-shell.
In spite of their already large party, the Miller girls good-naturedly invited Nancy to join them. She and Billy became immediate allies, and on the Sonnenberg links, laid the foundation of a lasting friendship.
"We are such a squad of women," she said to Nancy, "but it had to be all, or none; people get used to us, and find we are quite rural, and harmless. I think Mr. Holford, and Major Berners are becoming accustomed to Minna and Brenda, and I'm not the least surprised. At home, we thought little of their good looks! They were just nice, cheery, accomplished, girls. Minna has a lovely voice; but here, they stand out as beauties, and the Pater looks as proud as a peacock with two tails! They are the prettiest girls in Lucerne, bar yourself!"
"Oh, what nonsense!" Nancy protested, but Billy signed to her that she was about to make a drive, and thereby closed the argument!
At the Grand Hotel, Locarno, Mrs. De Wolfe again encountered neighbours; Lord and Lady Hillside, their son, and daughter; these were not merely neighbours, but connections,—and not only connections, but friends! It turned out, that Lord Hillside and Mrs. Ffinch were brother and sister, and on the strength of her intimacy with a relative, Nancy was welcomed by the family.
Lady Hillside had been an heiress: her fortune had paid off heavy mortgages on the estate, and repaired the dilapidated castle. So flourishing now were the Hillside concerns, that Theodore Lamerton, the heir, a young man in the Guards, was looked upon as a desirable parti. His mother, was a little woman with a yellow, haggard face, in which burned a pair of jet black eyes,—eyes of the reformer and fanatic.
Lady Hillside was feverishly energetic, and full of philanthropic plans: her name was well known on Boards, and Committees, and she cherished a secret passion for being, what is called "Chair." Her interests abroad, were so wide, and so various, that she could spare but little time for her own family;—in fact, she was something of an aristocratic Mrs. Jellaby. Her correspondence was enormous; she kept two secretaries, but rarely looked into her housekeeper's accounts—or answered what might be termed "a domestic letter."
Recently her health had broken down from overwork, and a specialist had ordered her abroad, with strict injunctions, as to absolute rest. Rest was impossible to a woman of her temperament! It was true that she now left correspondence in abeyance, but she was actively engaged in making a wonderful collection of seals and rings,—which enterprise carried her far, and wide.
Lord Hillside, a handsome, bearded individual, a great authority on Egyptology, lived much to himself, and took his walks apart. With his chiselled aquiline features and well-trimmed beard, he might almost have passed for an Egyptian Tetrarch himself. Next to Egyptology—and Rameses the Second, his chief interest in life was his daughter Josephine Speyde, a widow of eight and twenty. "Josie," as she was called, had not inherited the family good looks, but had been endowed with some of her father's brains, and more of her mother's inexhaustible energy,—which in her case, took the form of a tireless pursuit of amusement. In appearance she was thin, and hipless; her complexion was sallow; a pair of magnificent black eyes illuminated a long, but expressive countenance. Such was her art in dress, and deportment, that she actually persuaded her world, that she was as handsome as she was amusing, and otherwise attractive. Married at twenty to a distant cousin, the alliance had proved unfortunate, and as Josie herself confessed, "they had found one another out toosoon." She was restless, capricious, and extravagant: Victor Speyde was dissipated, ill-tempered, and jealous.
The relatives put their heads together, and predicted "trouble," but the death of Captain Speyde in a motor accident, relieved their apprehensions, and liberated his wife. As a widow, with an independent income, she returned to live with her parents,—a changed young woman, who had seen the seamy side of life; she rode hard, smoked incessantly, and had the reputation for a keen appetite for adventure, and stories, more or less risky! Mrs. Speyde belonged to a smart Bridge Club, possessed a car, and a latch-key—and claimed all the prerogatives of a self-chaperoning widow,—whilst enjoying as she described, "a really topping time."
Possibly because they were such a complete contrast in appearance and character, Mrs. Speyde took a violent fancy to Nancy Travers, called her by her christian name the second time they met, graciously instructed her in a new style of hairdressing, offered her the name of averyprivate dressmaker, and imparted amusing information respecting the affairs,—love and otherwise,—of her very dearest friends.
Not the least among Josie's accomplishments, was her art of story-telling; she drew little word-pictures with audacious and dramatic effect, and her voice, if slightly guttural, immediately claimed an audience. Nancy wept and screamed with laughter, as she found herself unexpectedly in the company of Lady Miller,—and all her invalid airs; not to speak of several of the inmates of the Grand Hotel; and Josie's own aunt, Julia Ffinch, was also taken off to the life!
Nancy was dazzled, flattered, and enslaved. Josie Speyde was so clever, so gay, and entertaining: she read aloud scraps of delightful letters,—chiefly from men in foreign parts,—related stirring little episodes in her own past, and more or less opened the girl's grey-blue eyes, to their very widest extent.
Mrs. De Wolfe rarely remained long in one place; she assured her friends that she must have gipsy blood in her veins, and offered this idea as a sufficient excuse for her unexpected, and erratic movements. Weary of Locarno, she adjourned to familiar quarters at Cadenabbia, and as soon as she was comfortably installed in her favourite sitting-room, proceeded as usual, to scan the lists of visitors at the various hotels in the neighbourhood.
"I see the Gordons are over at Bellaggio," she remarked. "The Mackenzies are back at the Villa d'Este, the Wynnes are in this very hotel; and oh! what a piece of luck!—Dudley Villars is here too," and as she made this announcement, Mrs. De Wolfe turned an unusually beaming face upon her companion.
In answer to Nancy's glance of interrogation, she explained: "He is the son of my greatest friend; I held him at the font, tied his sashes, heard his prayers, and if I am not greatly mistaken, smacked him soundly.—I am very fond of Dudley."
"Do you think the smackings give him a certain claim?"
"No, indeed, poor fellow; he makes a stronger appeal than that!"
"And is he really a poor fellow?"
"On the contrary, he is rich; but his life has been spoiled, he has no fixed home; Shandmere is let. Years ago he made an unfortunate marriage: after a few months of cat-and-dog life, he and his wife parted, he has no near relatives, or ties, and spends his time rambling about the world."
"One of the idle rich?"
"Idle rich yourself! Dudley is always intensely occupied; in pursuit of new schemes, the development of a voice, or some literary undertaking. He is a charming fellow, so popular, and remarkably handsome!"
"I'm simply dying to see him," exclaimed Nancy.
"Do not die just yet; I'll send him a little note, and ask him to look me up as soon as he returns. I thought he was in Greece, but Italy always draws him. His grandmother was an Italian, one of an ancient Roman family, and from her, he has inherited his graceful manners, and taste for art. She has also bequeathed him her olive skin, and matchless dark eyes."
"I don't believe I can possibly wait until he calls," said Nancy. "I think I shall go down, and hang about the hall."
"Oh, you may laugh, my dear, but you won't make such an acquaintance as Dudley, in a month of Sundays. He is one of my boys—although heisgetting on for forty—and a particular favourite."
"So I see."
"And not without good reason; Dudley is so attentive and thoughtful, to an old woman. His tender solicitude is quite touching! For instance, heneverforgets my birthday; he knows my tastes in flowers, and books, and people; remembers my likes and dislikes, the little remedies I use,—and how I hate sugar, and adore asparagus. Besides all this, I am his godmother, and since his dear mother is gone, I think he is a little inclined to look tome."
"I hope he will not be furiously jealous, and insist on turning me adrift," said Nancy.
"On the contrary, my dear, you will become friends,—great friends, and in one way, he will complete your education. He knows Italy, 'au bout des ongles,' and every yard of these lakes. He will widen your literary horizon, take you out sketching—he reallyisan artist. It is marvellous how, in a few strokes, he can place a scene or a face before you. And not only does he sketch, but write; his books are praised in the Press, his poems, called masterpieces. Strictly between ourselves, I buy his books,—but I cannot read them. His poetry is rather, rather ..." she paused, momentarily at a loss for a word.
"Improper!" suggested Nancy, raising her brows.
"No, you evil-minded girl! or if there is anything of the sort, it is too deeply hidden forme. His writing is vague, and—er, what I may call nebulous! There are rhapsodies about colour, sunset, perfume, and eyes. It all seems to me a sort of hotch-potch, but I keep my opinion to myself, and when anyone asks me what I think of Dudley Villars' last? I throw up my hands and say 'it's amazing.'"
"Does he do nothing but write amazing poems, paint, and travel?"
"Oh, yes, he goes into society. You will see him in London next season. He is what I may call in 'fierce demand' for balls. Women intrigue and squabble, to get him to their houses. He knows all the right people, and dances like.... Give me a simile."
"A moonbeam."
"Thank you. It is considered a very high distinction to be his partner. I've been told that girls, whom he has overlooked, have actually been seen with tears streaming down their faces."
"Poor idiots!" and Nancy laughed heartily, and heartlessly. "So much for Dudley Villars. Now please tell me something about his wife?" "I've never seen her; she lives in Florida, I believe, and it is an old, old story,—they parted many years ago, and possibly people over here do not suppose that she exists! I happen to know, because I sent her a wedding present. It is a most unsatisfactory state of affairs, I must say."
"I wonder they don't get a divorce? Isn't there some place in America, where it can be managed,—just while you wait at the railway station?"
"You mean in Dakota? Well, it's not quite so rapid as all that, and my dear child how gliby you talk of divorce! What can you possibly know about it?"
"I have seen and known divorced people. Don't you remember the pretty American at Locarno? She had been divorced twice, and was going to marry that Swedish baron! I believe one of her former husbands happened to be passing through, and left a card, and a bouquet!"
"Pray who told you all this?"
"Josie Speyde!"
"Oh, Josie," and Mrs. De Wolfe made a gesture of angry impatience.
"Well, she said the lady was really charming: they made great friends, and played poker together,—she gave Josie lessons."
"That reminds me," said Mrs. De Wolfe, looking round, "I see Hardy has brought down the card box; we shall just have time for a game of piquet, before we dress for dinner."
The two ladies had scarcely settled down to piquet, when the door was flung wide, and a sonorous voice, announced, "Sir Dudley Villars!"
The meeting between Sir Dudley, and his godmother, was warmly affectionate. Nancy gazed in amazement, as she beheld him kiss the old lady foreign fashion, on either wrinkled cheek. After one or two ejaculations, and explanations, he was presented to her, and wonderful to relate, neither fell short of her lofty expectations, nor her chaperon's glowing description. Sir Dudley was slightly built; admirably turned out; he had clear-cut features, wavy dark hair,—the front locks picturesquely powdered with white;—his smile was almost an embrace; whilst his eyes, which were dark, were the very saddest, and most arresting, that Nancy had ever encountered.
But these tragic, heart-broken eyes, had no connection, with their owner's real disposition, and feelings; they were merely a notable family endowment, and had been for generations, a valuable asset in the fortunes of the noble Casserini. It was whispered, that these same eyes, had won vast estates, a ducal palace, and even,—but this is in your ear,—a cardinal's hat! In the present instance, the eyes were allied to an agreeable voice, a cultivated taste, and a captivating personality. Indeed one enthusiastic friend, had been heard to speak of Villars, as "a delicious fellow!" Delicious or otherwise, he was not to the taste of various married men, and one or two nervous chaperons. These, viewed him with no favour; but rather, as a shepherd beholds a strange, and suspicious dog!
The visitor and Mrs. De Wolfe immediately embarked on an animated conversation, an eager exchange of plans, and news, and Nancy, after listening for some time to the sayings and doings of complete strangers, made an excuse about dressing in good time, and left the friends to enjoy atête-à-tête. No sooner had the door closed upon her, than Sir Dudley said:
"My dear Auntie Wolfe, where did you get hold of such a beautiful young lamb? Is she the new companion you mentioned?"
The old lady nodded a complacent assent.
"You never were much given to companions, were you? I only recollect two; unprepossessing elderly females. What an amazing change!"
"Yes, I couldn't stand either of those elderly females; one had such decided views, and argued every question,—from the proper way to boil an egg, to the age of the world. The other, had a maddening sniff, and read all my letters. Still, an old woman cannot live entirely alone. There are wet days, and long evenings! I want someone to read to me, and play piquet. Nancy is pretty good for a beginner, but not like you,—a foeman worthy of my steel!"
"Nancy! What a nice simple name," said Sir Dudley. "Miss Nancy has lovely eyes; I admire their clear, crystal gaze of childlike innocence. Do tell meallabout her?"
In a few short but pithy sentences, Sir Dudley was made acquainted with the history of Miss Travers,—that is to say, as known to her chaperon.
"An orphan with tons of money, no undesirable relations, and a truthful, affectionate, nature; dear Auntie Wolfe, allow me to offer you my warmest congratulations! And how long do you suppose this delightful alliance will last?"
"To the end of my days, if I could have my wish," was the prompt reply. "The child is my right hand, and simply radiates happiness; however, some odious man is sure to snatch her from me, and carry her off ashiscompanion for life!"
"Yes," he assented, nodding his head, "I'm afraid your partnership is doomed! A beauty, an heiress, and launched by Mrs. De Wolfe—your chance of keeping her, is not worth the traditional button! But how you will enjoy yourself in the meanwhile! You who are always so interested in love affairs, and happy marriages."
"Well I give you my solemn promise, that I shall be in no hurry to marry off Nancy."
"Has she had any love affairs, do you think?"
"No, indeed. Why, my dear Dudley, you've only to look at the girl's face, to see that she has yet to experience the heart's awakening."
"Dio mio, and what a delightful task for some too lucky fellow!"
"Now look here, Dudley," and Mrs. De Wolfe suddenly sat erect, and tapped his sleeve with her pince-nez. "No experiments ifyouplease,—no philandering. I'm not in the way of seeing the gay, and gallant aspect of your character; you turn the good and steady side to my old eyes,—but I haveears, and I have heard tales."
"No doubt you have, dearest Auntie Wolfe, but you know you should never believe anything you hear, and only the half of what you see. I grant you, I have amused myself,pour passer le temps, but only with hardened, and accomplished flirts, who know how to play the game; never with girls,—and I thought you barred girls yourself?"
"Yes, I do, the usual run, who giggle, and whisper, and have silly secrets, and make faces at me behind my back. Now Nancy hasn't a secret in the whole world; if she had, she couldn't keep it! Her life is an open book, 'who runs may read.' A coffee plantation, an English school, once more a coffee plantation; her father's death, a year's slavery to an abominably selfish aunt; from this aunt she came to me—and there's her history!"
"How old is she?"
"Past twenty, and in some ways, absurdly young for her age."
"And I am thirty-eight, and absurdly old for my years, so I think you had better appoint me deputy-chaperon. Well now, I must be off to dress! May I look in again after dinner?"
"To be sure," assented Mrs. De Wolfe, "come in and out, whenever you please, just as you always do, and arrange to sit with us in the restaurant. Don't letNancymake any difference!"
"All right, then, I won't! I've got a capital motor-boat; I'll take you both on the lake, all day, and every day, and anywhere you like."
Sir Dudley Villars promptly installed himself as one of Mrs. De Wolfe's party, whilst Antonio, his valet, enacted the part ofcavaliere-servente, to the two lady's-maids. He sat with them at meals, entered their sitting-room, when so disposed—which was often; played piquet, sang tender and emotional love songs in a melting tenor, to Nancy's accompaniment, and was even suffered to smoke! He was evidently attached to his godmother, and full ofpetits soinson her behalf. His manner to her was charming; that of a cheery, sometimes teasing, and yet always devoted son! He went her errands, carried her wraps, brought her flowers, books, and papers; also occasionally, his letters from mutual friends; made a capital sketch of her for Nancy, a sketch of Nancy for his godmother, and altogether lived up to his reputation.
Mrs. Wynne, her daughter Flora, her fiancé—a young diplomatist on leave from Rome—joined forces with Mrs. De Wolfe. A party of six, just filled the motor-boat, and were admirably paired—two matrons, two lovers, Nancy and her new friend. Sometimes the younger people, went up and spent a long afternoon on the links above Menaggio; but as a rule the days were devoted to picnics and excursions, about the lake. Mrs. De Wolfe was anxious that Nancy should see all her old favourite "beauty spots," and proved an active, and indefatigable chaperon, but a long tiring day at Grave-dona, was too much for her seventy-four years. Returning amid the late mists, she caught a severe chill, and was confined to her room for one whole week; and as the Wynnes had betaken themselves to Bellaggio, Nancy and Sir Dudley were abandoned to atête-à-tête!
The invalid would not suffer her young companion to sit what she called "stuffing,—in a sick-room," and drove her forth to enjoy the exquisite autumn weather; to walk, to boat, and to sketch,—and so it came to pass, that Nancy and Sir Dudley—a rather striking pair—went about together, to play golf, to visit old villas and lovely gardens, or to climb the hills to well-known holy shrines,—also to flit around the lake in the motor-boat; now to Como, now to Varenna,—in short, wherever their fancy carried them!
Nancy had found old friends in Menaggio; the two Clovers (her schoolfellows), and their belongings,—which included their parents and an elder brother. They were eager for her company; she played golf with them on several occasions, but somehow most of the shining hours were claimed by Dudley Villars,—who pronounced the Clover family to be "bourgeois," and the son,—who exhibited a fervid interest in Miss Travers, "as a blundering lout, with a calf-like smile, and dull to the verge of idiocy."
Dudley, to do him justice, was a delightful companion; so entertaining, so thoughtful, always ready to fall in with the slightest whim; and he did things so well! To Nancy his painting was a revelation and a delight, his voice was sympathetic, and he told her many entrancing tales, of his wanderings in the far-away East, and then his good looks,—what a haunting face!
Sir Dudley's manner to his charming companion, had been partly that of a kindly teacher, and comrade; tinged with an infusion of chivalrous reverence.
Oh, how different to Teddy and Nicky, who never hurried to open a door, or stand up, when she entered the room. Once or twice Nancy had asked herself, if she was not growing to like this charming friend,toowell? After all; he was no relation. Simple Nancy! And she could not forget, that when he had gone to Milan for two or three days, she had missed him even more than his godmother; and once or twice, when, looking up suddenly, she had met his eyes, she found herself blushing to her hair.
That he liked and admired her,—Nancy felt instinctively, and a chilly little inward voice asked, if she was going to what is called "fall in love?" She dismissed the idea with horror. Sir Dudley was married, and had a wife living; she too was married, and had a husband, somewhere—incredible as it seemed, even to her own thoughts. One night, she took herself solemnly to task—sitting at her bedroom window, looking down at the stars, reflected in the lake, she held an inquiry. Dudley had often given her flowers; he had lately assumed an attitude of exclusive protection and possession; once it had seemed to her,—though it might have been imagination,—that he had pressed her hand, as she alighted from the motor-boat. There must be no more ofthat. What would her father have thought of his Nancy, if she gave her heart to a married man?
Mrs. De Wolfe had recovered from her chill, and resumed her responsibilities, but she no longer went on expeditions and picnics,—contenting herself with going across to Bellaggio, to call on friends, or to prowl about among the antiquity shops; whilst her companion sketched in the villa gardens, or endeavoured to immortalize the tall cypresses, above San Giovanni.
With the exception of one or two eloquent glances, and an involuntary hand-pressure, Dudley's manner to his godmother's beautiful companion, was admirably guarded. With the fear of his old friend's displeasure before his eyes, it had been a case of what he mentally termed "paws off," but how could any man under eighty years of age, withstand such an exquisite creature? So simple and transparently innocent; so warm-hearted and intelligent, and beyond and above all, what a lovely vision of glorious youth! It was this, that enthralled theblasédilettante.
He had played the part of genial comrade,—for he knew instinctively the sort of girl he had to deal with; how easy to alienate, and scare! She had been informed that he was married, and her Irish spirit and Irish chastity, were inscribed upon her exquisite lips. He and Nancy had many talks, and interesting discussions, as they took their daily stroll along the romantic thoroughfare, which leads from Cadenabbia through and beyond Tremezzo. Mrs. De Wolfe frequently accompanied them, and then, when half way, a half-hearted chaperon, sat down on a low wall to rest, and there await their return.
Nancy, who always enjoyed the sound of her own voice, and an appreciative listener, was neither shy, nor self-conscious; at a very early period of their acquaintance, and with consummate ease, the subtle man of the world, had made himself master of her simple history. He enjoyed listening to her vivid descriptions of the Indian hills, and to confidences as fresh, and pure as the dew of the dawn. He heard all about her school-days, her father's money troubles, and his splendid character. She spoke of the Corner boys, and Sir Dudley's old friend, Mrs. Ffinch. Once and once only had she touched on the tragedy of her bereavement,—when with averted face, and broken voice, she related particulars of Travers' death.
"And what became of the fellow who missed the panther?" inquired Villars, after a pause.
"I don't know; he is somewhere in India," she replied, almost under her breath.
"Well, I suppose, he was ashamed to show his face." But to this remark there was no reply.
Late one afternoon, Sir Dudley and his pupil,—having finished a sketch of the Baptistery, at Lenno, crossed over in the boat to the Villa Arconati,—which stands on its promontory half surrounded by water, and embowered in shade. Here the pair sat on the edge of a low wall, overlooking the lake, and carried on a lively discussion,—of which Mrs. Ffinch was the subject. Nancy did gallant battle for her friend, and patroness, and spoke with enthusiasm of her generosity and kindness of heart.
"Of course I am not denying old Julia a few good qualities; I've known her since I was a kid,"—and Sir Dudley unkindly added—"she's four or five years older than I am.—I remember her in the nursery, a big, overbearing girl,verystingy with jam. In those days the Hillsides were terribly hard up, and had a large family. Ju Lamerton was a sensible young woman, with no romantic nonsense about her, and she made room for her sisters, by marrying the biggest bore in the whole of India."
"Well, at any rate, they seem quite happy."
"Seem," repeated Sir Dudley; "that's her cleverness; she manages him. She manages everyone! She married off Emma and Mabel, and last time she came home, got a lout of a brother, into a capital sinecure." Then turning to look at Nancy, he added—"I wonder she didn't try her hand onyou,—but I suppose you were too young?"
Nancy felt herself colouring up to the roots of her hair, and carried off the suggestion with a rather embarrassed laugh.
"I expect you had all the young planters on their knees, young as you were? Come now, own up, strictly between ourselves! How many scalps did you bring home?"
"Not one," she answered, with decision, "we were just good friends, like you and I,—nothing more."
"I am delighted we are good friends," murmured Villars; and after this sentence, there fell a strange and dreamy silence. The surrounding scene was exquisite, the beauty of Italy's lake land, tinged with a kind of roseate romance. Above them to the left, towered hills, clothed with olive and chestnut woods; at their feet gently lapped the jade-green water of the lake. The glow of a wonderful sunset touched the quiet landscape, and the only sound that recalled one to a workaday world, was the chime of the Angelus, stealing across from San Giovanni.
The stillness and solitude, had a compelling effect upon Villars; turning to Nancy, he said abruptly, "I must speak! Here is the hour, and the place! I want to tell you, that I have not had such a happy time, as this last five weeks—for many a long, long year. Nancy, may I call you Nancy?—everyone does, and Miss Travers sounds so formal! I may, may I not?"—as Nancy made no reply, but nervously twisted a rose between her fingers. He moved an inch or two nearer, and in a low, seductive voice continued: "There is no one to object,—is there?"
"No one," she answered, raising her head, and meeting his burning dark eyes, with a flash of pride. He gazed at her critically and in silence. What a darling she was! From the very first he had been enthralled by her high spirits,entrain, and beauty; here, he assured himself, was the perfect treasure for which he had vainly sought; and in many and far lands. He had made this discovery on former occasions,—but the prize had eluded him, or proved a bitter disappointment. Close beside him, twirling a red rose in her taper fingers, sat his one, and only love.
If that devil Cassandra, would but divorce him, here was her successor,—the future Lady Villars! But Cassandra, the most obstinate and malignant of her sex, was adamant; hitherto, his appeals, prayers, threats, and flagrant indiscretions had failed to move her. This was her revenge; she refused to release him!
Something in this long and unusual silence, filled the girl with a sense of vague uneasiness: and this uneasiness was not dispelled, when her companion broke the long pause, with the startling question: "May I kiss you, darling?" His voice was very humble and pleading, but there was a smouldering fire, in his melancholy dark eyes.
"Certainly not," she answered sharply.
"But why?" urged Villars, moving still nearer, "since we are such friends?"
"Because I should hate it," she declared decisively.
"Une jeunesse sans amour, est comme un matin sans soleil," he quoted. "I suppose no man has ever touched those perfect lips?"
Nancy tossed the rose away, but made no reply: she was feeling excessively uncomfortable.
"So you know nothing about it, darling little girl?" he went on. "No one has ever yet drawn your soul through in one long kiss! Listen tome, Nancy," and he made an effort to take her hand. "Won't you make room for a very lonely fellow in your heart? Youwould, if you only knew how miserable his life has been."
Nancy slipped down off the low wall, and stood erect, surveying her companion with a heightened colour, and irrepressible tears glistening in her eyes. She had received a tremendous shock, and felt a horrible impression of degradation, and insecurity.
"Sir Dudley, please don't talk to me in this way. I," and she gulped down an inclination to burst into tears, "I—I don't like it!"
Then with a desperate snatch at her ebbing self-possession, she added: "Will you be so kind as to signal for the boat?"
"Horrified! frightened! affronted! easy to seeshe'snew to the situation," he said to himself. "I must go slow,chi va sano—va lontano. I've been a bit of an ass, but the sunset and the Angelus were too much for me."
"You know I wouldn't offend you for the whole world," he murmured, as in strained self-consciousness they awaited the boat. "Only forgive me for this once! One never can tell. Most girls like admiration, and kisses—I see you are different."
Nancy made no reply, but picked up her red Lugano umbrella, and got into the boat, without a word.
"She has taken the little scene seriously," he said to himself, as he looked at her set profile, and it was now his turn to be uneasy, and alarmed! Supposing she were to go and lodge a long complaint with Aunty De Wolfe? He must make his peace before they returned to the hotel. Accordingly on their way there, with all the eloquence, cleverness, and guile of a well-experienced diplomatist in emotion, he pleaded with his companion, for forgiveness; his misery and regrets appeared to be so acute, that they touched her sensitive feelings, and cooled her indignation. Howcouldshe withstand, the tears that stood in his wonderful eyes?
Notwithstanding this patched up peace, Mrs. De Wolfe might have noticed a certain constraint, between her young companions that evening, and there was no singing,—but as it happened, the mind of their chaperon was occupied with a recent interview, and the old lady was happily unconscious of any cloud.
Among Mrs. De Wolfe's friends at Bellaggio, was a certain lady, known to her intimates as "Sally Horne," a well endowed, unencumbered widow of sixty; her daughter was married to an Indian official, her son was quartered in Cairo,—and her London house was let! She and her maid were staying at the "Victoria," where she had many acquaintances, and vainly endeavoured to inveigle Mrs. De Wolfe to cross the water, and establish herself in her company,—but Mrs. De Wolfe declining the lure of Bridge, preferred to remain where she was!
The afternoon that Nancy and Sir Dudley set out to sketch the Baptistery, Mrs. Horne came over to see her friend. The old lady was sitting in the little garden by the lake, and recognizing her visitor on the boat, hastened to meet, and welcome her.
"Would you like to go inside, Sally?" she asked, "or shall we have tea out here?"
"I've had tea, thank you," said Mrs. Horne, "but by all means let us sit outside. Where's your girl?" she inquired, looking round, and her air was inquisitorial.
"Gone up to Lenno to finish a sketch."
"With Sir Dudley?"
Mrs. De Wolfe nodded a careless assent. After a moment's hesitation this bold visitor announced: "I have something disagreeable to say to you, Elizabeth."
"You needn't tell me that!" rejoined her companion, with a grim smile, "I saw it in your face, before you came off the boat."
"I wonder if I shall make you very angry!"
"Try," said Mrs. De Wolfe; the word was a challenge, "I've not been in a good wholesome rage for ages."
"Well, it's about Nancy, and Sir Dudley Villars.—People are talking."
"Bah!" ejaculated Mrs. De Wolfe, "let them talk!"
"But do please listen, my dear! I am fond of Nancy, and I can't bear to hear it said, that she is being compromised."
"Compromised," shouted Mrs. De Wolfe. "What nonsense! What infamous scandal."
"Yes, it's all over my hotel, and only this morning, as we sat in the garden, Lady MacBullet, said she was sorry for Miss Travers; such a pretty young creature, and she understood an orphan, making herself so cheap and conspicuous, with a man of the character of Dudley Villars. They were on the lake together all day,—and the hotel was full of stories."
"Only cat women's gossip,—I know the style! I'm sure the men don't talk of Dudley's character! Men are not gossips!"
"Oh! and why not; what about men's clubs?"
"Well, I've never heard aman, say anything against Dudley."
"No, because he is straight enough withthem, I believe;—both rich and generous. For women, he has a different code! Elizabeth, I know you are devoted to Dudley Villars,—and although an old grandmother, I am not altogether insensible to his fascinations,myself! When he chooses, he can be irresistible, so do pray imagine the spell he can cast over an impressionable young girl like Nancy?"
"Nospell has been cast," protested her friend, sharply, "and really I'm surprised at you, Sally, taking the trouble to come over here, and tell me your hotel was talking scandal. Dudley Villars is my godson, I have absolute confidence in him you may be sure, or I would never have suffered him to be the continual companion of Nancy."
"Well, at least I meant well," said Mrs. Horne, stiffly, "and my good intention must be its own reward. I like Nancy, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered." Then rising, "I see the Tremezzo boat coming in, and I will go back in her!"
"No indeed, Sally," pulling her down, "you will do nothing of the sort. I'm an ungrateful, ungracious old harridan, and I'm sincerely obliged to you for your interest in Nancy. I confess, that I have never seen anything but the best side of Dudley; I believe, and I feel in my bones,—that he has behaved most honourably, with regard to the girl; not one indiscreet word has he spoken!ThatI can guarantee; and she is not susceptible! Every scrap of love in her heart was absorbed by her father, and since his death, I do not think she has much to spare for anyone. Dudley and Nancy are good friends, and no more. I've allowed them a little extra liberty, to go sketching and boating, not knowing thateveryeye was fixed upon them! I have already told you, I trust Dudley, and as for the girl, before she ever saw him, I informed her that he was a married man."
"Sometimes that makes no difference," remarked her companion.
"Oh! my dear Sally, I'm afraid you are getting infected; let me again assure you, that Dudley's friendship with Nancy, is entirely platonic!"
"Then, my dear Elizabeth, it's something entirely new for Dudley Villars," and Mrs. Horne, imparted to a reluctant ear, a brief account of one or two affairs of which he was the hero.
"I suppose you haven't heard that the Bellamys are separated on his account, and Daisy Bellamy has gone home to her mother?"
"I'venever believed that Dudley was responsible for that business! still I'm afraid, Sally, that I've been a little slack as a chaperon; so I'll put an end to the talk, by taking the girl on to Florence."
"A very wise move, my dear, and I sincerely hope it will not be a case of 'locking the stable door, when the steed is stolen.'"
"No indeed!mypalfrey is safe. Nancy is heartwhole. I am getting rather tired of the lake, and am such a well-known old tramp, that when I bundle off at a couple of days' notice, it never excites remark."
"Do you think that Dudley Villars will make his way there too?"
"No," rejoined his champion with decision, "for although it is a perfectly harmless friendship, I draw the line at followers."
After the boat had carried her visitor away, Mrs. De Wolfe remained for a long time buried in profound meditation; then she rose, went into the hotel, despatched a prepaid wire to Florence, and give notice of her intending departure.
The next morning as the little party were atdéjeuner, Mrs. De Wolfe received a telegram. Having read it, she laid it aside and said: "Well that's all right, we have got our rooms! Nancy, prepare to march on Florence, the day after to-morrow!"
"You are not serious!" exclaimed Sir Dudley, setting down an untasted glass.
"Perfectly serious, I wonder that I was not away long before this! My campaigns, like Napoleon's, are rapidly organized."
"Butyouhave no campaign."
"No! but what about Nancy?"
"Beginning with this forced march, Auntie Wolfe, I wonder you can exchange this lovely clear air, for the gloomy streets of Florence."
Mrs. De Wolfe laughed, and said: "I am tired of looking out on water; in my hotel, which is not on the Lung' Arno, I can lie at my ease in a comfortable bed, and stare at the Duomo; think of that!"
Dudley realized how foolish it was to argue with Auntie Wolfe at present, but when Nancy had departed to give instructions to her maid, and the old lady was alone, he said:
"Why are you going off so suddenly?"
An unwelcome idea flashed into his brain. Could Nancy have confided in her chaperon?
"To a plain question, I'll give you a plain answer, my dear boy. There are two kinds of discretion: one voluntary; the other enforced. I find that people have begun to notice that you and my little girl are very much together, and although it is a most innocent friendship, still it does not do for Nancy to be talked about, so we will remove ourselves."
"What an infernal shame," exclaimed her godson, looking surprisingly vexed. "The venomous tongues of some devils wouldn't leave an angel alone."
"And you, my dear Dudley, are by all accounts, far from being an angel!—I have heard some sad tales."
"Which of course you don't believe! Have you ever known me to play the fool with any of your friends?" He paused for a reply. As none was forthcoming he continued, "I cannot tell you what a happy time I have put in here. You know I always feel so much at home with you, dear Auntie Wolfe!" and he stooped and kissed her on her cheek. Then, straightening himself, he said, as if struck by a bright idea: "I've not been in Florence for a couple of years,—I believe I'll run down there next week."
"No, Dudley," protested his godmother, raising her thin old hand, "thatI positively forbid. You will see us in town,—and later at the Court, but abroad, no more! It is so easy to be conspicuous in a small do-nothing circle, and I'm sure you are quite as sensitive about Nancy's reputation—though that is too big a word—as I am myself."
During the remaining two days, Dudley's manner to Nancy was perfect, and entirely of the kindly elder brother type. He gave her sketches of their favourite spots, supplied her with books for the journey, and went all the way to Como, to put the ladies and their parcels into the train, himself. Then returned down the lake alone, in a condition of most abject misery. For days he walked and boated in the neighbourhood of Cadenabbia; a melancholy object of picturesque dejection. Those who witnessed and marked this change, said to one another, "Dudley Villars has been badly hit this time; serves him jolly well right!" He wrote cheerful (and exchangeable) letters to both ladies, giving them to understand, that he was excessively gay, and well occupied.
But do what he would, he could not get Nancy out of his head; however he consoled himself with the belief, that time and persistence would be his staunch allies. And how he longed to see her! Sometimes this longing overpowered him, and he nearly drove Antonio crazy by his conflicting, and capricious orders. Twice, he arranged to go to Florence, twice, he changed his mind; at last, he positively took his departure. Was not Florence free to all the world?—Auntie Wolfe's attitude implied that she had it on lease,—and even if he only saw Nancy in a church, a picture gallery, or the street,—that would be something!
On his arrival in the city of flowers, he boldly drove direct to Mrs. De Wolfe's hotel; and here he had the mortification of learning, that "the Signora and the Signorina, had left that morning for Palermo!"
From Sicily, the ever wandering Mrs. De Wolfe, took ship for Egypt, where she put up at the Savoy Hotel, Cairo; here she discovered her friend, Mrs. Horne, already established, and heard that all the Miller party were at the Mena House.
"Six months' travelling had wrought a surprising change in her family," as Billy explained to her friend Nancy,—to whom she paid an immediate visit.
"I declare we are so altered, you will hardly recognize any of our party,—except myself. There is the Pater, he has cut off his little side whiskers, and wears up-to-date collars, and looks years younger; he plays golf, is very keen about excursions, and actually dances at our hotel balls! He has met crowds of old friends, and has come out of his shell in a most remarkable manner. Then mother has floated to the surface. She now goes about with us; dresses very smartly, has taken madly to Bridge, and can ride a donkey with the best. I think it was Minna's engagement that aroused her from her torpor. She was so immensely interested in a love affair at first hand! Minna is making a splendid match, and wealllove Major Brently; he has become our brother, and what he calls, 'wheels us into line'; and is awfully good to us. Mother having, to use a sporting expression 'tasted blood,' has now great hopes of Brenda; and many people consider Baby, our beauty! The fact is, what with this inspiring climate, heaps of new friends, a whirl of excitement and amusement, our existence has been quickened, and we don't know ourselves, we are so happy!"
"Then your exodus has been a wonderful success! What a triumph foryou, Billy? No one now dare call you 'Silly Billy!'"
"Yes, it has turned out all right, and even if nothing particular had occurred,—like Minna's engagement,—we would have had enough to think and talk about, for years. As it is, we have souvenirs to fill a room, and thousands of picture postcards; have enlarged our ideas, and made many friends,—even mother has her pals."
"You like Egypt, I can see," said Nancy.
"I just love it, the sand, the delicious desert air, the cloudless blue sky, and then Cairo itself. You and I must go about together, Nancy. I've been here six weeks, and am getting quite clever at finding my way, and making bargains. I can even talk a little Arabic. I have collected ever so many presents for the people at home."
"I am sure you have," said Nancy; "how I wish that I had people at home, I could take presents to."
"Oh! that will all come in time, my dear. Do tell me, have you come across any interesting young men?"
"Yes, several; good dancers and tennis players, but not otherwise specially engaging."
"You don't appear to have lost your heart?"
"No, I don't believe I'vethatsort of heart to lose."
"It remains to be seen. When I've married off my three sisters—I'll see about settling you."
"Thank you, Billy."
"And talking of settling, I wonder how father and the Mum will content themselves at home, after this gay and giddy whirl about the world?"
"They won't settle; they will be continually on the move. I warn you, that you have started an avalanche."
"A good thing I did! better than being an iceberg all one's days. By the way, I hear you have done some exquisite water-colours of Como; do show them to me."
"Oh! how good!" she exclaimed, after Nancy had displayed her treasures,—artfully keeping the best to the last—
"Nancy, these are quite top-hole,—who taught you?"
"I had a good master at school, but a friend of Mrs. De Wolfe's, who was at Cadenabbia, gave me lessons. We went out sketching together, almost every day."
"With a chaperon, of course?"
Nancy shook her head.
"Who was he; had he a name?"
"Certainly he had! Sir Dudley Villars."
"Oh! Some call him 'Prince Charming,' others, 'a Deadly villain.' He is not very young,—but so handsome, isn't he? and a merciless lady-killer."
"Well, here am I, alive and well, so you see he has sparedme," said Nancy, who had almost forgotten a certain conversation which had taken place on the low wall, by the Villa Aconati.
Cairo is said to be the most typical Eastern city in the world, and it appealed very strongly to Nancy Travers. The palm trees, the dark faces of a gesticulating voluble throng, the dense blue sky, the warm and golden sun, in some ways recalled India. In February Cairo is socially at its gayest. Nancy and her chaperon were in flattering request.
However, it was not society, but this land of tombs, temples and a river, that engrossed her interest, and fired her warm imagination. One afternoon, towards the end of her stay, as Mrs. De Wolfe and Nancy drove out to the Mena House, behind a dashing pair of long-tailed Arabs, as they sped along Ismail's road, the old lady discussed her plans.
"I must give you a bit of the season, Nancy, and you shall be presented at a May Court."
"Oh! no, no, please no!"
"Well, you know, you will have to make your curtsey to your sovereign, some time! Shall we say on your marriage?"
Nancy made no immediate reply, but the cheek nearest to her friend, was unusually pink—Why? She appeared to be engrossed in watching a long string of clumsy, heavily-laden camels. Nothing to blush at there!
"After June, we will go down to the Court," resumed Mrs. De Wolfe; "it is such a dear old place, you will love it."
"How can you desert it, as you do?"
"That is what my neighbours ask, but I don't mind their remonstrances, I yield to theWanderlust. The Court is too large for one old woman, and though I am attached to it,—it holds agonizing memories, and I cannot endure it, unless it is packed,—so to speak,—to the roof, when my guests and their doings monopolize my attention, and distract my thoughts from the long illness, and death of my dear husband, the parting with my two sons,—who never came back to me. One was killed at Magersfontein, the other died of typhoid in India. The Court is full of reminders, of Freddy, and Hugh. Their bedrooms, with their personal belongings, are precisely as they left them, with their pictures, books, birds' eggs, and butterflies. The gardens they worked in, are still kept up, and planted with their favourite flowers; their old pony, Barkis, only died two years ago, at an immense age. I often ask myself, why the lives of those two promising young men should be cut short? and a useless old woman, their mother, still cumbers the ground?"
To this question Nancy—who had a large lump in her throat—could make no reply, and there fell a long silence.
"I wonder what you see in me, my dear?" began Mrs. De Wolfe suddenly. "My life is now behind me, you are young and stand upon its threshold,—a radiant, and expectant figure."
"Radiant! I'm afraid not; you are too partial, and as for expectations—they are strictly moderate."
"That at least is something. On thePatna, they were positively nil. Poor forlorn child, I took pity upon you, as I would on a drowning kitten!"
"You did," assented the girl, with laughing eyes, "and here I am on your hands, a full-grown young cat!"
"Claws and all complete, a most formidable responsibility! Well, I threw you a plank and brought you to land,—some of these days I may float you off again, upon the sea of matrimony."
"No, no, dear Auntie Wolf," laying her hand on hers, "I'm very happy as I am,—please don't dream of such a thing."
"Well, if I do not,—others will. Ah, there are Sir Lucas and Major Horne, waiting for us," she added, as they turned into the garden, and dashed up the entrance of Mena House. "I wonder if the Millers have secured their cabins in our steamer?"
"I think so, and you will find Major Horne will be of the party,—I have a presentiment, that he hopes to marry Billy."