'We must be as courteous to a man as we are to a picture, which we are willing to give the advantage of a good light.'—Emerson.'She has a most winning manner and a soft voice.'—The Abbot.
'We must be as courteous to a man as we are to a picture, which we are willing to give the advantage of a good light.'—Emerson.
'She has a most winning manner and a soft voice.'—The Abbot.
Audrey was able to fulfil her promise to Mollie the very next day, when she encountered Mrs. Blake unexpectedly some little way from the town. She was just turning down a lane where one of herprotégées, a little lame seamstress, lived, when Zack suddenly bounded round the corner and jumped on her, with one of his delighted barks, and the next moment she saw a lady in black walking very quickly towards her. She wore a large shady hat that completely hid her face, but there was no mistaking that graceful figure. Mrs. Blake had a peculiar walk: it was rapid, decided, and had a light skimming movement, that reminded Audrey of some bird flying very near the ground; and she had a singular habit as she walked of turning her head from side to side, as though scanning distant objects, which deepened this resemblance.
'What a charming surprise!' she exclaimed, quickening her pace until it became a little run; 'who would have thought of meeting you, my dear Miss Ross, in this out-of-the-way corner? Some errand of mercy has brought you, of course,' with a glance at Audrey's basket. 'That dainty little white cloth reminds me of Red Riding Hood; I would wager anything that under it there are new-laid eggs and butter. Down, Zack! you are sniffing at it just as though you were that wicked wolf himself.'
'I am going to see Rhoda Williams,' returned Audrey; 'she is lame, poor girl! and has miserable health besides, but she works beautifully. Geraldine and I employ her as much as possible. I suppose you and Zack have been having a walk.
'My dear Miss Ross,' with extreme gravity, 'I am not taking an ordinary constitutional—I have come out in the hope of preserving my reason. I have been enacting a new version of Hood's "Song of the Shirt"; for the last two days it has been "Stitch, stitch, stitch,"—how do the words run on?—until I was on the brink of delirium. An hour ago I said to Mollie: "If you have any love for your mother, carry away that basket and hide it; do not let me see it again for twenty-four hours—nature is exhausted;" and then I put on my hat, and, at the risk of spoiling my complexion, came out into this blessed sunshine.'
Audrey laughed; there was something so droll, so mirth-provoking in Mrs. Blake's tone. Any other woman would have said, in a matter-of-fact way: 'I was tired of work, and so I put on my bonnet;' but Mrs. Blake liked to drape her sentences effectively.
'It is very fortunate that we have met,' returned Audrey, when she had finished her laugh, 'for I want to ask you a great favour;' and she detailed her little scheme for Mollie.
Mrs. Blake was evidently surprised, but she testified her gratitude in her usual impulsive way.
'How good, how kind of you, my dear Miss Ross! Indeed, I do not know how to thank you; no one has ever taken so much notice of my poor Mollie before, except that droll old creature Miss Foster; but she could not bear me—a compliment I reciprocated; so we always quarrelled when we met.'
'And you will spare Mollie to me for an hour or so twice a week?'
'Will I not! Do you suppose I am such an unnatural mother that I could refuse such a generous offer? I really am ashamed to tell you, Miss Ross, that I do not know a note of music. When I was a girl I was very perverse, and refused to learn, because I said I had no ear; but in reality I hated the trouble of all those scales and exercises. Of course I am sorry for it now: Cyril is so musical, and has such a delightful voice, and even poor little Mollie has picked up her notes as cleverly as possible.'
'I am so glad you have not refused me. I am sure I shall enjoy teaching Mollie. I think we had better begin as soon as possible. Let me see: this is Friday; will you ask her to come to me on Monday morning? I will be ready for her by half-past eleven.'
'Thank you a thousand times! I will certainly give heryour message. What a blessing that new cambric is finished! Cyril will be so pleased when I tell him about your kindness. He worries dreadfully about Mollie sometimes: he says her education is so desultory; but I tell him he cannot alter his mother's nature. I never was methodical; it drives me crazy to do things by rule. Mollie sometimes says to me: "Mamma, I do so wish I had a fixed hour for lessons, that I knew exactly when you could read with me;" and my invariable answer is, "Good gracious, Mollie! don't you know me by this time? am I that sort of person?" I wish for my children's sake that I were different; but they must just put up with me as I am. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.'
'My dear Mrs. Blake, what an odd comparison!'
'Oh, it just came into my head, you know; it is rather strong, but it is very expressive. By the bye, I was going to ask you something. Have you any idea on which day your mother and sister intend to call on me?'
'I believe Geraldine said Tuesday or Wednesday; I really forget which—Wednesday, I think.'
'But it might be Tuesday. Thanks. I would not willingly be out, so I will keep in those two days. Now, I positively must not keep you standing under this hedge any longer; but I feel all the better for this nice little talk.' And after a few more parting words Mrs. Blake went on her way, and Audrey unlocked the gate of Mrs. Williams' cottage.
The short interview with Mrs. Blake had been satisfactory; her request had been granted without demur or difficulty. Mrs. Blake had shown herself in a sensible light. Audrey's benevolence had now a new object; she would spare no pains or trouble with this poor neglected child. To meditate fresh acts of kindness always stirred Audrey's pulses as though she had imbibed new wine. Her sympathetic temperament felt warmed, vivified, exhilarated, as she stooped to enter the low room where Rhoda Williams was expecting her.
Audrey looked forward rather anxiously to her mother and Geraldine's visit. She watched them set out with secret perturbation. They were to call at one or two places besides, but Mrs. Ross assured her very seriously that they would be back to tea; and as Geraldine seemed to consider this as a matter of course, Audrey got over her own business as soon as possible, so as to be back at Woodcote at the same time.
Michael had gone up to town for two or three days, and was not expected home until Monday. Dr. Ross rarely madehis appearance in his wife's drawing-room until late in the evening, and, as no casual visitors dropped in, Audrey would be able to cross-examine them to her heart's content. But she knew her mother well enough to be sure that no questions would be needed. Even if Geraldine were inclined to be reserved, to keep her opinions for her husband's ear, Mrs. Ross would be sure to discourse very readily on her own and Geraldine's doings.
'Well, my dear,' she said in her cheery way, as she entered the room, 'here we are, as punctual as possible, and quite ready for a nice cup of tea. Of course Mrs. Fortescue was out—she always is—and Mrs. Cardell was just going out, so we would not detain her; and Mrs. Charrington had her room full of visitors, so we would not stay long there.'
'Of course, as Lady Mountjoy was there, no one else had a chance of getting a word with Mrs. Charrington,' observed Geraldine, with rather a discontented air.
'My love, I am sure Mrs. Charrington was as nice as possible to you; you know what a favourite you are with her. But a person like Lady Mountjoy is always so embarrassing to a hostess. She is so very big, Audrey, and seems to take up so much more room than other people; and, then, she is such a talker!'
'So she is, mother. I don't wonder poor Mrs. Charrington found herself unable to talk to Gage.'
'No; so we did not stay long. What was the use? Well, my dear, I daresay you wonder how we got on at the Gray Cottage? We had a very pleasant visit, on the whole—an exceedingly pleasant visit.'
Audrey's face brightened; this was better than she expected.
'Mrs. Blake was in. I think, from her manner, that she was expecting us.'
'Yes; certainly we were expected,' put in Geraldine, in rather a decided voice.
'She was in the drawing-room, and everything was as nice as possible; and the old servant is very respectable-looking. Mrs. Blake was doing some lovely embroidery in a frame. How exquisitely she works, Audrey! and she selects her own shades, too. That dear little Mollie was reading to her—French history, I think. They did look so comfortable! You are certainly right, my dear: Mrs. Blake is a most charming woman; she has very taking manners, and is altogether so bright and expressive.'
'She is certainly very handsome,' observed Geraldine—'amost striking-looking person, as Edith says. Mother and I agreed that her son is very like her; but, for my own part, I prefer Mr. Blake's quiet manners.'
'But you like her, Gage?' and Audrey looked a little anxiously at her sister.
'I am not quite sure,' was the cautious answer. 'Mother liked her; but, then, mother likes everyone. She was friendly and pleasant—pointedly so; but, in my opinion, she is too impulsive, too outspoken altogether. It is not quite good form. A grown-up person should have more reticence. To me, Mrs. Blake is wanting in dignity.'
'I think you are rather severe on her, Gage. You and Mrs. Blake are very different people.'
'You need not tell me that. Mrs. Blake and I are at the antipodes as far as temperament and sympathy are concerned. You are very impulsive yourself, Audrey, and often speak without thought; but I do not think you are quite so outspoken as Mrs. Blake.'
'Well, perhaps not.'
'It was so unnecessary for her to tell mother, for example, that she was too poor to indulge her social tastes, and that she hoped her Rutherford neighbours would be very sparing of their invitations. It was not as though we had led up to it. Nothing of the sort had been said to prompt such an extraordinary statement. I am sure Percival would have called that bad form.'
'How I do hate that expression!' exclaimed Audrey, rather pettishly. She thought Geraldine more than usually trying this afternoon.
'Still, I am sure you would have agreed with me that it was most uncalled for. Mother was quite taken aback for a moment. She told me so afterwards—did you not, mother?'
'Yes, dear; and, of course, it put me in a difficult position. I am sure I do not know what we were talking about, Audrey. I think I was saying something about Rutherford being a sociable little place.'
'Yes; and then she interrupted you, mother, and said, in an abrupt sort of way, that its sociability would matter very little to her, for, dearly as she loved gaiety, she could not afford to indulge in it. "So I hope no kind neighbours will ask me to dinner, or to any kind of evening entertainment, for I should be obliged to refuse." Now, do you call that quite in good taste, Audrey?'
'I think that it was, at any rate, very honest. I can see none of that pretentiousness that Edith Bryce led us to expect.'
'I don't know,' rather doubtfully. 'Mrs. Blake is certainly not a humble person; she thinks a great deal of herself. At times her manner was almost patronising. She talks a great deal too much about her son. Of course she has a right to be proud of him; but it was a pity to be quite so gushing.'
'It is useless to talk to you, Gage,' returned Audrey impatiently. 'Edith Bryce has prejudiced you too much. You are judging Mrs. Blake very unfairly.'
'I hope not. I do not wish to be unfair to anyone; but I must own that I am sorry that you have such an infatuation for her.'
'I don't know about that; but I am certainly very much interested in the whole family.'
'Yes; and I could not help observing to mother that I thought it a great pity. They evidently look upon you as a close friend. It was "dear Miss Ross" every minute from one or other of them.'
'Audrey has been so good to them, you see,' returned Mrs. Ross, whose soft heart had been much touched by her daughter's praises. 'I am quite sure, Geraldine, that Mrs. Blake meant every word she said; there were tears in her eyes once when she mentioned how unused they were to such kindness. Audrey, my dear, I have asked Mrs. Blake to waive ceremony and come to us on Monday, and I assure you she was quite pleased. She said it was such a treat to her to watch tennis, and that she loved to see her son play. And now, of course, we must ask Mr. Blake.'
'Oh yes, I suppose so.' Audrey spoke with studied indifference. 'It is a pity you are engaged'—turning to her sister—'for we shall have quite a large party.'
'Yes, I am thoroughly vexed about it,' returned Geraldine, 'for Mrs. Charrington is coming too. I wish Mrs. Sheppard would not always fix Monday;' and then, after a little more talk about the arrangements for the tennis-party, she took her leave—Audrey, as usual, accompanying her to the gate.
'I suppose Michael will be back for it?' was her parting question.
Audrey supposed so too, but she was not quite certain of Michael's movements. He had said something about his intention of coming back on Monday, but he might alter his mind before that. Michael had not seemed quite like himselfthe day before he went to town; she was sure something had harassed him. Geraldine hoped fervently that this was not the case; she never liked dear old Michael to be troubled about anything. And then the two sisters kissed each other very affectionately. Audrey always forgave Geraldine her little vexing proprieties and tiresome habit of managing everyone when she felt her loving kiss on her cheek.
'After all, there are only we two,' she thought, as she walked back to the house. 'I must not magnify Gage's little faults, for she is a dear woman.'
And Geraldine's thoughts were quite as affectionate.
'I hope I have not vexed her too much about this newprotégéeof hers,' she said to herself, 'but one cannot pretend to like a person. Audrey is a darling, and I would not hurt her for the world. After all, she is a much better Christian than I am;' and then she had a long, comfortable talk with her husband, in which she indemnified herself for any previous restraint.
'It is so nice to be able to tell you everything, Percy dear!' she exclaimed, as the dressing gong warned her to close the conversation.
'That is the good of having a husband,' he replied, as he put his books together and prepared to follow her.
Michael did not return in time for the tennis-party, but Audrey could only give him a regretful thought—so many people were coming that her hands were quite full. She was busy until luncheon time, and Geraldine good-naturedly came down from Hillside to offer her help, and had to submit to an anxious lecture from her mother on her imprudence in coming out in the heat. Audrey had scarcely time to change her dress before the first guest arrived. Mrs. Blake came early; her son was still engaged with his scholastic duties, and would make his appearance later; but he had not allowed her to wait for him. Audrey saw her coming through the gate, and went at once to meet her.
'Well, Miss Ross, I am making my début,' she said gaily; 'have I come too early? Do tell me which is the schoolroom window; I want to know where my boy sits; he said he should look out for me.'
Audrey suggested rather gravely that they should walk along the terrace: her mother was on the lawn with Mrs. Charrington. She thought Mrs. Blake looked exceedingly nice in her thin black dress and little close bonnet; nothingcould be simpler, and perhaps nothing would have suited her half so well. Audrey felt sure that everyone would admire her; and she was right. Mrs. Charrington fell in love with her at first sight, and to Audrey's great amusement her father paid her the most marked attention.
'My dear, do tell me who that lady in black is,' inquired Gertrude Fortescue, catching hold of Audrey's arm; 'she is perfectly lovely. What magnificent hair she has, and what a sweet smile! Papa is talking to her now, and Mrs. Charrington is on her other side.'
'Oh, that is Mrs. Blake—you know her son, Gertrude.'
'Mr. Blake's mother! why, she looks quite young enough to be his sister. I wish you would introduce me, Audrey; I have quite lost my heart to her.'
'I have brought you another admirer, Mrs. Blake,' observed Audrey mischievously, while Gertrude Fortescue turned red and looked foolish. Mrs. Blake received the young lady with one of her charming smiles.
'Everyone is so kind,' she murmured; 'I am having such a happy afternoon, Miss Ross. I won't tell you what I think of Dr. Ross—I positively dare not; and Mrs. Charrington, too, has been as nice as possible.'
'And now Gertrude means to be nice, too,' returned Audrey brightly. 'Good-bye for the present; I have to play with Mr. Blake, and he is waiting for me;' and she hurried away.
What a successful afternoon it was! Mrs. Blake was certainly making her mark among the Rutherford people; no one in their senses could have found fault with her manners. She was perfectly good-humoured and at her ease; she had a pleasant word and smile for everybody.
'One would have imagined that all these strangers would have made her nervous,' thought Audrey; but it needed a close observer to detect any mark of uneasiness in Mrs. Blake's voice or manner. Now and then there might be a slight flush, an involuntary movement of the well-gloved hands, a quick start or turn of the head, if anyone suddenly addressed her; but no one would have noticed these little symptoms.
'Your mother seems to be enjoying herself,' observed Audrey, as she joined Cyril and they walked across the lawn together.
'Yes,' he returned, with a pleased look; 'she is quite happy.'
'Let us sit where we can see my son and Miss Ross play!'exclaimed Mrs. Blake, rising as she spoke. 'Look! there are chairs on that side of the lawn. What a well-matched couple they are!—both play so well. Miss Ross is not as handsome as her sister—Mrs. Harcourt is an exceedingly fine young woman, and one seldom sees such a complexion in the present day—but, in my humble opinion, Miss Ross is far more charming.'
'Do you think so? We are all very fond of Geraldine, and—oh yes, Audrey is very nice too,' returned Miss Fortescue a little absently. She was considered handsome herself, and it struck her with some degree of wonderment that the afternoon was half over and Mr. Blake had not asked her to play tennis.
'Thou must not be hurt at a well-meaning friend, though he shake thee somewhat roughly by the shoulder to awake thee.'Quentin Durward.
'Thou must not be hurt at a well-meaning friend, though he shake thee somewhat roughly by the shoulder to awake thee.'
Quentin Durward.
Half an hour later Audrey had finished her game, and had resisted all her partner's pleadings to give their opponents their revenge. She might feel tempted—Mr. Blake played so splendidly—but she knew her duty to her guests better than that.
'You must get another partner,' she said, with something of her sister's decision. 'Here is Miss Fortescue; she has been sitting out a long time, and she is a very good player. Gertrude'—raising her voice—'Mr. Blake wants a partner. I am sure you will take pity on him.' And in this manner Gertrude obtained her wish.
Perhaps she would rather have had her desire gratified in a different manner—if Mr. Blake had asked her himself, for example. She was not quite pleased at the tone in which he professed himself delighted to play with Miss Fortescue; he fetched her racket a little reluctantly, when Audrey pointed it out, and there was certainly no enthusiasm visible in his manner as he suggested that Miss Cardell and her partner were waiting for them.
'Do you know where my mother and Miss Ross have gone?' he asked, as they took their place.
'Mrs. Blake asked Miss Ross to show her the pond. They are waiting for you to serve, Mr. Blake;' and then Cyril did consent to throw himself into the game. Miss Fortescue was a good-looking girl, and played well, but she was not Miss Ross; nevertheless, Cyril had no intention of accepting a beating, and he was soon playing as brilliantly as ever.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Blake was talking after her usual rapid fashion.
'What beautiful grounds! and so tastefully laid out, too. I have never seen such a garden. I do love this succession of terraces, and those trees with white leaves just striped with pink—what do you call them, Miss Ross?'
Audrey told her they were white maple.
'Dear me! Did Dr. Ross plant them? They do look so well against that dark background of trees. Everything is in such perfect taste and order, and Cyril says it is the same in the house. The Bryces' establishment was not half so well regulated. He declares Dr. Ross has a master-mind, and, now I have talked to him, I am quite sure Cyril is right.'
'You must not expect me to contradict you. I think there is no one like my father.'
'I daresay not. He is charming—positively charming! So this is the pond Kester and Mollie rave about? What a sweet little place—so still and so retired! But of course you can see the house from it. Is not that your cousin, Captain Burnett?'—as they came in sight of the bench. 'It is very much like him.'
'Yes, of course it is Michael!' and Audrey quickened her steps in surprise. 'My dear Michael, when did you get back? No one knows of your arrival.'
'I daresay not,' he returned somewhat gravely, as he shook hands with her and bowed to Mrs. Blake. 'I only got in half an hour ago, and, having no mind to mingle with the crowd, I sat here to get cool.'
'Have you had some tea, Michael?'
'Oh yes; Parker brought me some. Never mind me. How have you been getting on?' looking at her attentively.
'Oh, very well.' But Audrey blushed a little uneasily under that kind look. 'Mrs. Blake, I believe you have not met my cousin before?'
'I think we have met, Audrey.'
'To be sure we have!' responded Mrs. Blake, with her brightest smile. 'I am so glad of this opportunity of speaking to you, Captain Burnett. I hope Miss Ross gave you my message?'
'I don't believe I have had any message—have I, Audrey?' And Audrey laughed a little guiltily; she did not always remember people's messages.
Mrs. Blake shook her head at her.
'Oh, you traitress!' she exclaimed playfully. 'And I thought you, of all people, were to be trusted. Captain Burnett, I must give my own message. I want to thank you for your kindness to my poor boy.'
'He is not poor at all,' he replied lightly; but his keen blue eyes seemed to take the measure, mental and physical, of the graceful-looking woman before him. 'He is a very clever fellow, and will make his mark. I can assure you I quite envy him his brains.'
'It makes me so proud to hear you say that. I often wonder why my children are so clever; their father'—she checked herself, and then went on in a more subdued key—'my poor husband had only average talents, and as for me——' She left her sentence unfinished in a most expressive way.
'Mollie says you are clever too, Mrs. Blake.'
'My dear Miss Ross, then Mollie—bless her little heart!—is wrong. Is it my fault if those foolish children choose to swear by their mother? Cleverness does not consist in chattering a little French and Italian—does it, Captain Burnett? You and I know better than that, and it will always be a lasting wonder to me why I have a son like my Cyril.'
'You have two sons, Mrs. Blake.'
Something indefinable in Michael's tone made Mrs. Blake redden for a moment; then she recovered herself.
'Yes, thank God! I have; but a widow's eldest son is always her prop. Kester is a mere boy; he cannot help his mother much yet.'
'Kester is nearly sixteen, and will soon be a man; he is already very thoughtful for his age. I am sure you will permit me to say that I already take great interest in him; he has a wonderful thirst for knowledge. I showed one of his translations to Dr. Ross, and he was quite struck by it. You know, Dr. Ross is a fine Greek scholar.'
Mrs. Blake seemed much impressed; she was evidently taken aback. She was generally so absorbed in her eldest son that she failed to give Kester his due. The boy was shy and retiring with her; very likely he felt himself unappreciated. Anyhow, it was certain that he sought sympathy from everyone but his mother; and yet, in her own way, she was kind to him.
Audrey was a little disappointed to find Michael so grave in his manner to her charming friend—for such she already considered Mrs. Blake. Michael was generally so nice and genial with people; he did not seem in the least aware that he wastalking to a pretty woman. In Audrey's opinion, he seemed disposed to pick holes in Mrs. Blake's words and to find matter for argument. Not that this would be apparent to anyone but herself; but then she knew Michael so well. She could always tell in a moment if he approved or disapproved of anyone. One thing was clear enough to her, that Mrs. Blake was not at her ease. She lost her gay fluency, and hesitated for a word now and then; and when they left the lake and walked towards the tennis-ground, and Cyril intercepted them, she gave him an appealing look to draw him to her side. But for once Cyril was blind to his mother's wishes. He shook hands with Captain Burnett, and then fell behind to speak to Audrey.
'Do you mean to say that you have finished your game already?' she asked, in some surprise.
'No, indeed; only Mrs. Fortescue discovered that it was late, and took her daughter away, and, of course, I could not beat them single-handed—Wheeler is a crack player—so we made up our mind to consider it a drawn game. You ought not to have thrown me over, Miss Ross,' dropping his voice; 'it was hardly kind, was it?'
'Would you have me play with you and neglect all my other guests?' she returned, smiling. 'I think you owe me some gratitude for providing you with a partner like Gertrude Fortescue. She is one of our best players.'
'I would rather have kept the partner I had,' he replied, with unwonted obstinacy; 'even in tennis one prefers one's own selection. I played the first set far better.'
'I believe you are a little cross with me, Mr. Blake.'
'I!' startled by this accusation, although it was playfully made, and reddening to his temples; 'I have no right to take such a liberty. No man in his senses could be cross with you for a moment.'
'You are wrong. Michael is often cross with me.'
'Is he?' slackening his pace, and so compelling her to do the same, until there were several yards between them and the couple in front. 'Captain Burnett seems to me far too good-natured; I should have said there was not a spark of temper about him. I am rather hasty myself.'
'I am so glad you have warned me in time, Mr. Blake.'
'Why, do you meditate any special provocation?' Then, catching sight of her dimple, his own face relaxed. 'I see you are laughing at me. I am afraid I was not properly gracious to Miss Fortescue. I will make up for it on Thursday at theCharringtons', and ask her to play. You will be there?' with a note of anxiety in his voice.
'Oh yes; I shall be there, of course.'
'We must have one set together; you will promise me that?' and Cyril's dark eyes looked full into hers.
'Yes, certainly.' But Audrey blushed a little. She felt a sudden desire to hurry after the others; but her companion evidently held a different opinion.
'Do you know Mrs. Charrington has asked my mother to come too?'
'No, indeed; but I am so glad to hear it.'
'She was most kind about it: she has promised to call on her to-morrow. My mother is so pleased. Does she not look happy, Miss Ross? She is so fond of this sort of thing—a dull life never suits her. She nearly moped herself to death at Headingly; we were all uncomfortable there.'
'I think she will get on with the Rutherford people.'
'Indeed I hope so. Miss Ross, do you know, I am so vexed about something my mother said the other afternoon, when Mrs. Ross and Mrs. Harcourt were calling on her.' And as Audrey looked mystified, he went on slowly: 'She actually told them that she would accept no evening engagements, and that she hoped no one would invite her to dinner.'
'Oh yes, I remember.'
'I am afraid they must have thought it very strange. I tell my mother that she is far too frank and outspoken for our civilised age, and that there is not the slightest need to flaunt our poverty in our neighbours' faces.'
Cyril spoke with an air of unmistakable annoyance, and Audrey good-naturedly hastened to soothe him. Her fine instinct told her that his stronger and more reticent nature must often be wounded by his mother's indiscreet tongue.
'I am afraid you are a little worldly-minded, Mr. Blake. I consider your mother was far more honest.'
'Thank you,' in a low tone; 'but all the same,' returning to his usual manner, 'it was premature and absurd to make such a statement. My mother has to do as I like,' throwing back his handsome head with a sort of wilfulness that Audrey thought very becoming, 'and I intend her to go out. Miss Ross, I am going to ask you a very odd question, but there is no other lady to whom I can put such an inquiry. Does it cost so very much—I mean, how much does it cost—for a lady to be properly dressed for the evening?'
Audrey did not dare to laugh, Cyril was so evidently in earnest; her nice tact guarded her from making such a grievous mistake.
'Your question is a little vague, Mr. Blake; I hardly know what I am to understand by it. Do you mean evening dress for one dinner-party or a succession of dinner-parties? You know they are perpetual in Rutherford; every house invites every other house to dinner. In Rutherford we are terribly given to dining out.'
'Oh, I see; and relays of gowns would be required,' returned Cyril in a dejected voice. 'I am afraid I must give it up, then. My mother would certainly not be able to afford that for the present.'
'But when one wears black, a change of dress is not so necessary,' interrupted Audrey eagerly. 'If I were poor, I should not allow poverty to debar me from the society of my fellow-creatures, just because I could not make as great a display as other people. No, indeed; I would not be the slave of my clothes.'
'I can believe that,' with an admiring glance.
'I would have one good black dress—and it should be as nice as my means would allow—and I would wear it everywhere, and I would not care a bit if people looked as though they recognised it. "You are noticing my gown!" I would say to them. "Yes, it is an old friend. Old friends are better than new, and I mean to cling to mine. By and by, when I am a little richer, I will buy another."'
'Miss Ross, if my mother could but hear you!'
'Tell her what I say, and bid her do the same. Black suits her so perfectly, too.'
'Oh, she never means to wear anything else but black,' he returned gravely.
'Let her get a soft silk—a Surah, for example—and if it be made prettily and in the newest fashion, it will look well for a long time. Yes'—reflectively—'Mrs. Blake would look well in Surah.'
'Would she? Do you mind telling me how to spell it?' and Cyril produced his pocket-book.
'S-u-r-a-h.'
'Thank you a thousand times, Miss Ross! And about the cost—would five pounds do?' looking at her anxiously.
'Oh yes, I should say that would do,' replied Audrey, who in reality knew very little about it.
Mr. Blake would have done better to have consulted Geraldine, she thought. Geraldine would have told him the price to a fraction of a shilling; she would have directed him to the best shop for making an excellent bargain. Geraldine had a genius for these practical things, whereas she—Audrey—was liable to make mistakes.
'I am sure five pounds will do,' she repeated, by way of encouragement; and again Cyril thanked her fervently.
There was no more opportunity for carrying on this interesting discussion, for the others were now standing quite still in the shrubbery walk, waiting for them to join them.
'My dearest boy, everyone has gone!' exclaimed Mrs. Blake, in a tone of dismay. 'The tennis-lawn is empty!'
'What does that matter?' replied Audrey, hastening up to her with a heightened colour, as she noticed a quick, observant look on Michael's part. 'We have no rule for our Mondays; people come when they like, and stay as long as they like.'
'But, still, to be the last to go, and this my first visit to Woodcote!' rejoined Mrs. Blake uneasily. 'Cyril, you ought to have taken me away long ago.'
'We will make our adieux now,' he returned carelessly, and not at all affected by his mother's discomposure. 'Come, mother, I see Mrs. Ross standing in the drawing-room window; she is evidently waiting for us.' And Cyril drew his mother's hand through his arm.
Audrey and Michael followed them to the gate. Mrs. Blake kissed Audrey with some effusion. Audrey, who, in spite of her large heart and wide sympathies, was not a demonstrative person, would willingly have dispensed with this little attention before the gentlemen. Mrs. Blake had never offered to embrace her before. She had an idea, too, that Cyril was not quite pleased.
'Come, come, mother,' he said impatiently, 'we are detaining Miss Ross;' and he hurried her away.
Audrey would have returned to the house at once, but Michael asked her to take another turn in the shrubbery.
'For I have not seen you for a whole week,' he grumbled; 'and it is hardly possible to get a word with you now.'
'Well, you have me now,' she returned with assumed gaiety; but all the time she wanted to be alone and think what Mr. Blake's parting look meant. 'It was so—so——' Audrey could not quite find the word. 'And now, Michael, I am ready.'Audrey was going to say, 'I am ready to hear your opinion of Mrs. Blake;' but just at that moment she saw her father coming to meet them.
Two is company, but three is none, as both Michael and Audrey felt at that moment. Dr. Ross, on the contrary, joined them with the air of a man who knows himself to be an acquisition. He tucked his daughter's hand under his arm, and began questioning Michael about his week in town.
As it happened, Michael had seen and done a good deal, and Audrey was soon interested in what he had to tell them. She knew all Michael's friends by name, and in this way could claim acquaintance with a large circle. She was soon busily questioning him in her turn. Had he seen that pretty little Mrs. Maddox? and was the baby christened? and who was the second godfather? and so on, until the gong warned them to disperse.
The conversation at dinner ran on the same topics, but just before they rose from the table Mrs. Ross asked Michael if he did not admire Mrs. Blake.
'Very much, indeed,' he returned, without a moment's hesitation. 'She has three very excellent points for a woman: she is pretty, lively, and amusing. I had quite a long talk with her.' And then he changed the subject—whether intentionally or unintentionally Audrey could not tell—and began telling them about a picture one of his friends was painting for the next Exhibition.
Michael was very much engaged the next few days. He had told Kester to come to him every morning that week, to make up for the lessons he had lost, and as a succession of garden-parties occupied Audrey's afternoons, she did not find time for one of those confidential chats with Michael which they both so much enjoyed. When Thursday came Michael escorted her to the Charringtons' garden-party. Mrs. Ross and her husband were to come later.
Audrey was amongst the tennis-players, but, as she passed to and fro with her various partners, she saw Michael more than once talking to Mrs. Blake. The first time he gave her a nod and a smile, but when she passed them again he seemed too much engrossed with Mrs. Blake's lively conversation to notice her.
Audrey had just finished her second game with Mr. Blake, and he was taking her to the house in search of refreshments. As Audrey ate her strawberries, she wondered a little over Michael's abstraction.
'He certainly seems to admire her,' she said to herself.
Michael and she were to dine at Hillside that evening, and as they walked home together in the summer moonlight Audrey bethought herself at last of asking that question.
'Michael, I want you to tell me what you think of Mrs. Blake? I am quite sure you like her very much indeed.'
'You are wrong, then. I wonder what put such a notion in your head—because I was talking to her so much this afternoon? That was more her fault than mine. No, Audrey; I am sorry to say it, but I do not like Mrs. Blake at all.'
'Michael!' and Audrey stood still in the road. This was a shock indeed! She was prepared for criticism: Michael always criticised her friends; he felt it a part of his duty; but this utter disapprobation was so unexpected; it was crushing—absolutely crushing! Michael, too, whose opinion she trusted so entirely! 'Oh, I hope you don't mean it—that you are only joking,' she said, so earnestly that he felt a little sorry for his abruptness; but it was too late to retract; besides, Michael never retracted.
'I am sorry you asked me the question; but I am bound to tell you the truth, you know.'
'And is it really the truth?' she asked a little piteously. 'It is very soon for you to have made up your mind that you do not like her; why, you have only spoken to her twice.'
'Yes; but I have had plenty of time to form my opinion of her. Look here, Audrey, you must not be vexed with me. I would not have found fault with your fair friend if you had not asked my opinion. Of course I admire her; one has seldom seen a prettier woman, and her style is so uncommon, too.'
'Don't, Michael; you will be praising her hair and complexion next, as Gertrude Fortescue did the other afternoon. It is the woman, Mrs. Blake herself, I want you to like.'
'Ah, just so!'
'And now I am so disappointed. Somehow I never enjoy my friends quite so much if you do not care for them. I thought we always liked the same people, but now——' Here Audrey stopped. She felt vexed and mortified; she did want Michael to share her interest in the Blakes.
'And now you will look on me as a broken reed; but, after all, I am not so bad. I like Kester—he is a fine fellow; and I like your little friend Mollie—she is true as steel; and,' after a moment's pause, 'I like Mr. Blake.'
'Are you quite sure of that, Michael?'
'Yes, I am quite sure of it. If I know anything of human nature, Mr. Blake is worthy of my esteem: as far as any man is good, he is good. And then he has such splendid capabilities.'
Audrey felt vaguely that this was generous on Michael's part; and yet she could not have told herself why it was generous. If she had had an idea of the truth! But as yet she was only dimly conscious of the nobility of Michael's nature.
'Mr. Blake is clever,' he continued, 'but he does not think much of himself; it is rare to find such modesty in a young man of the present day. Still, he is very young; one can hardly tell what he may become.'
'Father says he is three-and-twenty, Michael.'
'Still, Audrey, a man's character is not always fully developed at three-and-twenty; at that age I was a conceited cub. I am seven-and-thirty now, and I feel my opinions are as settled as Dr. Ross's are.'
'I wish you would not always talk as though you were father's contemporary; it is so absurd, Michael, when everyone else thinks you a young man!'
'I am a very old young man,' he returned with a whimsical smile; 'I have aged prematurely, and my wisdom has developed at the same rapid rate. Amongst my other gifts I have that of second-sight.'
'Indeed!' with incredulous scorn. 'You are not very humble in your own estimation.'
'My dear, old young men are never humble. Well, my gift of second-sight has put me up to a thing or two. Do you know,' turning away and switching the hedgerows carelessly as he spoke, 'I should be very sorry if any girl in whom I took a deep interest were to be thrown too much into Mr. Blake's company.'
Audrey faced round on her cousin in extreme surprise.
'You are very incomprehensible to-night, Michael: at one moment you praise Mr. Blake, and say nice things about him, and the next minute you are warning people against becoming intimate with him—that is surely very inconsistent.'
'Oh, there is method in my madness,' he returned quietly. 'I have nothing to say against the young man himself. As far as I can tell, there is no harm in him; but he is so young, and is such a devoted son, that he is likely to be influenced by his mother.'
'And it is on her account that you would dislike any such intimacy? Oh, Michael,' very sorrowfully, 'I had no idea you would dislike her so!'
'It seems rather unreasonable—such a pretty woman, too. On the whole, I think I do like talking to her, she is so amusing. But, Audrey, I must say one thing: you are always talking about her frankness. Now, I do not agree with you.'
'I don't understand you, Michael. I have never known anyone so outspoken.'
'Outspoken—yes. Well, I will explain myself. You are frank, Audrey; you hide nothing, because there is nothing to hide; and if there were, you would not hide it. Now, Mrs. Blake has her reserves; with all her impulsiveness, she has thorough self-command, and would never say a word more than suited her own purposes. It is her pleasure to indulge in a wild, picturesque sort of talk; it is effective, and pleases people; and Mrs. Blake, in common with other pretty women, likes to please. There is no positive harm in it—perhaps not, but it detracts from reality.'
'But, Michael, I like to please people too.'
'Certainly you do. Have I not often called you a little hypocrite for pretending to like what other people like! How often have we fallen out on that point! But you and Mrs. Blake are very different people, my dear; with all your faults, your friends would not wish to see you changed.'
But the dark shade of the shrubbery walk they were just entering hid the strangely tender look that was in Michael's eyes as he said the last words.
'Thou art a girl of noble nature's crowning:A smile of thine is like an act of grace;Thou hast no noisome looks, no pretty frowning,Like daily beauties of a vulgar race.When thou dost smile, a light is on thy face,A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beamOf peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the streamOf human thought with beauteous glory,Not quite a waking truth, nor quite a dream:A visitation—bright though transitory.'
'Thou art a girl of noble nature's crowning:
A smile of thine is like an act of grace;
Thou hast no noisome looks, no pretty frowning,
Like daily beauties of a vulgar race.
When thou dost smile, a light is on thy face,
A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam
Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream
Of human thought with beauteous glory,
Not quite a waking truth, nor quite a dream:
A visitation—bright though transitory.'
Hartley Coleridge.
Hartley Coleridge.
Audrey was much disappointed by the result of her conversation with her cousin. It was true that Michael had tried to efface the severity of his own words by remarking that a third interview might somewhat alter his opinion of the fascinating widow—that he might even grow to like her in time. Audrey knew better. Michael had a certain genius of intuition; he made up his mind about people at once, and she had never known him to reverse his decision. As far as regarded the younger members of the Blake family, they would still be able to work happily together. Michael was certainly much interested in Kester; he had adopted him in the same manner as she had adopted Mollie. It was a comfort also that he approved of Mr. Blake. Michael had spoken of him with decided approval, and without any stint or limit of praise; nevertheless she was well aware that Michael would willingly have restricted their intimacy, and that he saw with some reluctance her father's growing partiality for the young master.
Audrey had only spoken the simple truth when she owned that Michael's approval was necessary to her perfect enjoyment of her friend. She might still maintain her own opinions of Mrs. Blake. Nevertheless, the first fine flavour of her pleasurehad been destroyed by Michael's severe criticism; the delicate bloom had been impaired. She would hold fast to her new friend; she would even be kinder to her, as though to make up for other people's hard speeches; but much of her enthusiasm must be locked in her own breast.
'What is the use of talking on a subject on which we should only disagree?' she said to him a week or two afterwards, when he had rebuked her playfully for not telling him something. 'It was only a trifling matter connected with Mrs. Blake.'
And when he heard that, Michael held his peace. He had been thrown constantly into Mrs. Blake's company since their first meeting, but as yet he had not seen fit to change his opinions.
But in spite of this little rift in her perfect harmony, Audrey thoroughly enjoyed the next month; she was almost sorry that the vacation was so near. It had been a very gay month. Relays of visitors—distant relations or mere friends—had been invited to Woodcote and Hillside. Mrs. Ross's garden-party had rivalled Mrs. Charrington's, and there had been a succession of picnics, driving parties, and small select dinners at all the Hill houses. But in spite of her many engagements—her afternoons on the cricket-field, the tennis tournament, in which she and Cyril Blake won, and various other gaieties—Audrey had not neglected Mollie. Twice a week she devoted an hour and a half to her pupil. When the music-lesson was over, Audrey would read French with her or correct her exercises. She was a very conscientious mistress, and would not allow Mollie to waste any of her time in idle gossip. When she was putting away her books, Mollie's voluble tongue would make amends for the enforced silence.
'Oh, Miss Ross,' she exclaimed one day, 'do you know, Cyril has given mamma such a beautiful present! You will never guess what it is!'
Audrey prudently refrained from any guesses; besides, she was still correcting Mollie's translation.
'It is a black silk dress—a real beauty, as mamma says. She has borrowed Miss Marshall's last copy of the Queen, and she means to make it up herself. Mamma is so clever! It is to have a long train; at least, a moderately long train, and an open bodice—open in front, you know—with tulle folds. Oh, I forget exactly; but mamma explained it to me so nicely!'
'It was very kind of your brother,' observed Audrey gravely.
For once Mollie was not checked.
'Yes; isn't he a darling for thinking of it? He went to Attenborough himself and chose it, and mamma thought he was on the cricket-field all the time. He got her a pair of long gloves, too. Cyril always thinks of everything. Mamma cried when she opened the parcel, she was so pleased; and then Cyril laughed at her. The worst of it is'—and here Mollie's face lengthened a little—'Kester will have to wait for his new suit, and the poor boy is so shabby! Cyril went up to his room to tell him so; because his leg was so painful, he had gone to bed early. Of course, Kester said he did not mind a bit, and he would much rather that mamma had her new gown and could go out and enjoy herself; but, all the same, it is a little hard for Kester, is it not?'
'I don't think boys care about their clothes quite so much as girls do.'
'Oh, but Kester does; he is almost as particular as Cyril. He does love to have everything nice, and I know he is ashamed of that old jacket. He has outgrown it, too, and the sleeves are so short; and now he is so much with Captain Burnett, he feels it all the more. Oh, do you know, Miss Ross'—interrupting herself—'Captain Burnett is going to drive Kester to Brail in his dogcart!'
'That will be very nice. But, Mollie, you really must leave off chattering; you have translated this sentence quite wrongly. This is not one bit the sense.' And Mollie did at last consent to hold her tongue.
Audrey took her mother into her confidence that afternoon as they were dining together, and told her the whole story about the black silk dress. Mrs. Ross was much interested.
'How very nice of him!' she said, in just the sympathetic tone that Audrey expected to hear. 'I said from the first that I liked Mr. Blake; I told your father so. He is a good son. I am not a bit surprised that his mother dotes on him. I am sure I should if he were my son;' and Mrs. Ross heaved a gentle little sigh under her lace mantle.
She knew her husband had ardently desired a son, and, until Michael's troubles had made him almost an inmate of the house, there had been a certain void and unfulfilled longing in Dr. Ross's breast. Not that he ever spoke of such things; but his wife knew him so well.
'Perhaps one day he will have a grandson,' she thought; for her motherly imagination loved to stretch itself into the future.
'Don't you think we might ask Mrs. Blake to dinner next week, when your cousin Rose is here?' she observed presently. 'Rosie will be charmed with her; and we could get the Cardells to meet her, and perhaps the Vicar and Mrs. Boyle. You know they have not been to dine with us for a long time.'
'Very well, mother. I have not the slightest objection,' returned Audrey, who had in fact been leading up to this. 'I suppose you will ask Gage too?'
'Oh, of course!' for Mrs. Ross never considered any party complete without the presence of her eldest daughter. 'We must find out which day will suit her best.'
'I do not believe Percival will let her come,' returned Audrey calmly. 'He says she is going out too much, and tiring herself dreadfully. I heard him tell her that he meant to be more strict with her for the future.'
'Dear Percival, how good he is to her! I always told your father that he would make her an excellent husband. Your father was not a bit enthusiastic at first—he liked Percival, and thought him an exceedingly able man; but he never did think anyone good enough for his girls. You will find him hard to please when your turn comes, Audrey.'
'My turn will be long in coming,' she replied lightly. 'Well, if Percival prove himself a tyrant, whom do you mean to have in Gage's place?' And then they resumed the subject of the dinner-party.
Things turned out as Audrey predicted: Mr. Harcourt would not allow his wife to accept her mother's invitation.
'She has been over-exerting herself, and must keep quiet,' he said to his mother-in-law when he next saw her at Hillside. 'I tell her that unless she is prudent, and takes things more quietly, she will not be fit for her journey to Scotland—and then all our plans will be upset.'
For a charming arrangement had been made for the summer vacation. Dr. Ross had taken a cottage in the Highlands for his family, and Mr. Harcourt had secured a smaller one, about half a mile off, for himself and his wife. Michael was to form part of the Ross household, and during the last week or two he and Audrey had been putting their heads together over a benevolent scheme for taking Kester. There was a spare room in their cottage, and Mrs. Ross had asked Audrey if she wouldlike one of her cousins to accompany them. Audrey had hesitated for the moment. Mollie had been in her thoughts, but when she had hinted at this to Michael, he had said somewhat decidedly that, in his opinion, Kester ought to be the one to have the treat.
'He would be company for me, too,' he added, 'when you and your father go on your fishing expeditions. And he will not be a bad third, either, when you honour us with your company.'
Audrey had a great wish to take Mollie. She thought how the girl would enjoy those long rambles across the purple moors, but she was open to reason: as Michael had pointed out to her, Kester certainly needed the change more than Mollie. It would be good for Michael to have a companion when she and her father and Percival went on one of their long expeditions. The boy had been drooping sadly of late—the heat tried him—and, as Audrey knew, Biddy's homely dishes seldom tempted his sickly appetite.
Mr. Harcourt was not aware of this little plan. When he uttered his marital protest Geraldine looked at her mother with a sort of resigned despair.
'You hear what Percy says, mother. I suppose you must ask someone else in my place.'
'But I am not going without you,' returned her husband good-naturedly. 'Your mother would not want me, my dear, under those circumstances. We will stay at home, like Darby and Joan, by our own ingle-side.'
'Oh, then you can ask the Drummonds,' went on Geraldine, in a relieved voice. 'Audrey ought to have reminded you of them, but she seems to think only of the Blakes. I suppose you will be obliged to ask Mr. Blake, too, mother?'
'Yes, certainly, my dear. Mrs. Blake would not like to come without her son. It will be a large party, but——'
'Well, it cannot be helped, I suppose; but Percy and I think it is rather a pity——' Here Geraldine gave a slight cough, warned by a look from her husband.
'What is a pity, my dear?'
'Oh, it does not matter—at least, Percy does not wish me to speak.'
'Geraldine is rather like the dog in the manger,' interrupted Mr. Harcourt. 'Because I will not let her come to your dinner-party, she would rather you did not have one at all. That is it, isn't it, Jerry?'
Mrs. Ross smiled benevolently at this little sally. She liked to hear her son-in-law's jokes. She never joked Geraldine herself, and so she seldom saw that girlish blush that was so becoming.
When she had taken her leave, Geraldine said to her husband:
'Why did you stop me just now when I was dropping that hint about Mr. Blake?'
'Because I thought the hint premature, my dear,' he returned drily, 'and because it is not our place to warn Mr. Blake off the premises; he is not the first young man, and I do not expect he will be the last, to admire Audrey.'
'But, Percy, I am quite sure that Mr. Blake is too handsome and too attractive altogether to be a harmless admirer.'
'Pooh! nonsense, my love. Don't let your imagination run away with you. Audrey is too sensible a girl to let herself fall in love with a young fellow like Blake. Now shall I go on with our book?' For that day Geraldine was considered an invalid, and as her husband thought fit to indulge and make much of her, she was not so sure she disliked her passing indisposition, any more than Mr. Harcourt disliked playing Darby to his handsome Joan.
The dinner-party passed off well, and Mrs. Blake looked so lovely in her new gown that she made quite a sensation, and the Vicar observed to his wife afterwards 'that she was the nicest and most agreeable woman he had met for a long time.'
Mrs. Boyle received this eulogium a little coldly. She was a fat, dumpy little person, with a round, good-natured face that had once been pretty. 'Bernard might admire Mrs. Blake,' she said to herself,—'she was the sort of woman men always raved about; but for her part she was not sure she admired her style,' but she had the rare magnanimity to keep her opinions to herself. Mrs. Boyle never contradicted her husband after the peevish manner of some wives.
The term was drawing to a close now, and Mollie's face lengthened a little every day. Audrey had mooted the scheme to her father during a walk they had together, and Dr. Ross, who was one of the most benevolent and kindly of men, had at once given his consent, and had promised to speak to Michael, who carried it through with a high hand.
Great was the rejoicing in the Blake household. Poor Kester had turned red and white by turns, and could hardly speak a word, so intense was his surprise; but Audrey, who sawthe lad's agony of embarrassment, assured him that there was no need for him to speak, and that everything was settled.
Cyril was almost as embarrassed when he came in to thank them that evening.
'I have never heard of such kindness in my life,' he said eagerly, when he found Audrey alone; for the others were all in the garden, as she told him. 'I will go to them directly. Of course I must speak to Captain Burnett. I hear it is his thought. Am I interrupting you?' looking at her open desk. 'May I stay a moment?'
'Certainly, if you like.'
But Audrey did not resume her seat. She stood by the lamp, its crimson shade casting ruddy gleams over her white dress. She had coiled her hair loosely—Audrey was given to dressing herself hurriedly—and one long plait had become unfastened. It looked so smooth and brown against her white neck. At such moments Audrey certainly looked pretty. Perhaps Cyril thought so, for he looked at her long and earnestly.
'I hardly know how to thank you all,' he went on almost abruptly. 'My mother feels the same. It is such a weight off my mind. You know, I am going to Cornwall myself; one of our Keble men has invited me. His father has a nice place near Truro.'
'That will be a pleasant change for you,' she observed sympathetically.
'Oh, I always turn up trumps,' he replied brightly. 'Last Christmas, and again at Easter, I had heaps of invitations. I was only bothering myself about Kester: he looked so seedy, you know, and it seemed such hard lines for him, poor boy! to see me go off and enjoy myself.'
'Well, you see, Kester means to enjoy himself too.'
'Don't I know that? He is a lucky fellow!' and Cyril sighed—a good honest sigh it was, too, for Audrey heard it. 'Just fancy seven weeks in paradise!'
'Well, it is very lovely there,' she answered demurely; and then she discovered the stray lock, and pinned it up hastily.
'Oh, I was not meaning the place—though, of course, everyone knows Braemar has its advantages. I think one's happiness depends more on the society one has. Don't you think so too, Miss Ross?'
'I daresay you are right. Well, we shall have my sister and her husband, and Kester and Captain Burnett; so we shall be a nice party.'
'Oh yes, of course Captain Burnett is going?' returned Cyril, in a dubious tone.
'Yes; and I suppose you think he is lucky too?' and there was a gleam of fun in Audrey's eyes.
'Not more so than usual; the gate of paradise is never shut on Captain Burnett.'
But though Cyril laughed as he made this little speech, there was no expression of mirth in his eyes. But Audrey chose to consider it a joke.
'If you talk in this manner, I shall think you envy Kester his treat.'
'I am afraid I do envy him, Miss Ross. If Kester and I could only change places——'
He checked himself as though he had said too much, and turned to the window.
'You will find them all on the circular bench,' she said, sitting down to her desk again. 'When I have finished my letter I will join you.' And Cyril took the hint.
'I wish he would not say such things; but, of course, he is only joking,' thought Audrey. But in her heart she knew he was not joking. Could she be ignorant that on all possible occasions Mr. Blake followed her like a shadow—a very quiet, unobtrusive shadow; but, nevertheless, he seemed always near. Could she be blind to the wistful looks that seemed to watch her on all occasions, and that interpreted her every wish? Perhaps no one else noticed them—Audrey fervently hoped not—unless it were his mother. And here Audrey reddened at the remembrance of certain vague hints and innuendoes that had latterly made her uncomfortable, and hindered her from going to the Gray Cottage.
'Perhaps I am too friendly with him. I do not check him sufficiently,' she thought. 'But he has never said such things before. He ought not; I must not allow it. What would Gage or Michael say? Dear old Michael! how excited he is about our Scotch trip! He says he shall be so pleased to have my undivided attention again. I wonder, have I been less nice to Michael lately? He has certainly seemed more dull than usual. I will make up for it—I will indeed! Michael shall never be dull if I can help it, I mean to devote myself to him.' And then Audrey took up her pen with a sigh. Was she really glad the term was so nearly over? It had been such a nice summer. Of course she would enjoy Scotland, with all her own people round her, and there would be Kester. Kester wouldwrite to his brother sometimes, and, of course, there would be letters in reply. That would be pleasant. Oh yes, everything was delightful! And with this final thought Audrey set herself resolutely to work, and finished her letter just in time to see Cyril take his leave. He had waited for her with the utmost impatience, but when Mrs. Ross complained of chilliness, and proposed to return to the house, he had no excuse for lingering any longer, and Michael, with some alacrity, had accompanied him to the gate.