"Buying a flat iron for a farthing."
"Well, you've gone it hard to-night, old fellow," said Damer, as we drove away from the Towers. "You and Miss Chislett will be county talk for six months to come."
"Nonsense," said I, "we knew each other years ago, and had a good deal to talk about."
But to Polly, as we parted for the night in the corridor, I said, "My dear child, to add to all the family complications, I'm head over ears in love with the future Lady Damer."
It was true. My theories and my disappointment went to the winds. We had few common acquaintances or social interests to talk about, and yet the time we spent together never seemed long enough for our fluent conversation. We had always a thousand things to say when we met, and feeling as if we had been together all our lives, I felt also utterly restless and wretched when I was not with her. Of course, I learnt her history. She and her sister were the little ladies I had seen in my childhood. The St. John family were their cousins, and as the boy, of whom mention has been made, did die in Madeira, the property eventually came to Frances Chislett and her sister. The estate was sold, and they were co-heiresses. Adeline, the other sister, soon came to the Towers. She was more like her old self than Frances. The exquisitely, strangely fair hair, the pale-blue eyes, the gentle helpless look, all were the same. She was very lovely, but Frances was like no other woman I had ever seen before, or have ever met with since. I resolved to ask Lionel Damer how matters really stood between them, and, if he were not engaged to her, to try my luck. One day when she was with us at the Hall I decided upon this. I was told that Lionel was in the library, and went to seek him. As I opened the door I saw him standing in front of Polly, who was standing also. He was speaking with an energy rare with him, and in a tone of voice quite strange to me.
"It's not like you to say what's not true," he was saying. "You are not well, you are not happy. You may deceive every one else, Polly, but you can never deceive me. All these years, ever since I first knew you—"
I stole out, shut the door, and went to seek Frances. I found her by Rubens' grave, and there we plighted our troth.
It was in the evening of the same day that Polly and I met in the hall, on our way to attempt the difficult task of dressing for dinner in five minutes. The grey-eyed lady of my love had just left me for the same purpose, and I was singing, I don't know what, at the top of my voice in pure blitheness of heart. Polly and I fairly rushed into each other's arms.
"My dear child!" said I, swinging her madly round, "I am delirious with delight, and so is Sweep, for she kissed his nose."
Poor Polly buried her head on my shoulder, saying,
"And, oh, Regie! I am so happy!"
It was thus that my father and Aunt Maria found us. Fate, spiteful at our happiness, had sent my father, stiff with an irreproachable neckcloth, and Aunt Maria, rustling in amber silk and black laces, towards the drawing-room, five minutes too early for dinner, but just in time to catch us in the most sentimental of attitudes, and to hear dear, candid, simple-hearted Polly's outspoken confession—"I am so happy!"
"And how long are you going to keep your happiness to yourselves, young people?" said my father, whose face beamed with a satisfaction more sedately reflected in Aunt Maria's countenance. "Do you grudge the old folks a share? Eh, sir? eh?"
And the old gentleman pinched my shoulder, and clapped me on the back. He was positively playful.
"Stop, my dear father," said I, "you're mistaken."
"Eh, what?" said my father, and Aunt Maria drew her laces round her and prepared for war.
"Polly and I are not engaged, sir, if that's what you think," said I, desperately.
My father and Aunt Maria both opened their mouths at once.
"Dinner's on the table, sir," the butler announced. My father lacked a subject for his vexation, and turned upon old Bowles:
"Take the dinner to ——"
"—the kitchen," said I, "and keep it warm for ten minutes; we are not ready. Now, my dear father, come to my room, for I have something to tell you."
There was no need for Polly to ask Aunt Maria to go with her. That lady drove her daughter before her to her bedroom, with a severity of aspect which puzzled and alarmed poor Leo, whom they passed in the corridor. A blind man could have told by the rustle of her dress that Mrs. Ascott would have a full explanation before she broke bread again at our table.
I fancy she was not severe upon the future Lady Damer, when Polly's tale was told.
As to my father, he was certainly vexed and put out at first. But day by day my lady-love won more and more of his heart. One evening, a week later, he disappeared mysteriously after dinner, and then returned to the dining-room, carrying some old morocco cases.
"My dear boy," he said, in an almost faltering voice, "I never dared to hope my dear wife's diamonds would be so worthily worn by yours. Your choice has made an old man very happy, sir. For a thoroughly high-bred tone, for intelligence, indeed, I may say, brilliancy of mind, and for every womanly grace and virtue, I have seen no one to approach her since your mother's death. I should have loved little Polly very much, but your choice has been a higher one—more refined—more refined. For, strictly between ourselves, my dear boy, our dear little Polly has, now and then, just a thought too much of your Aunt Maria about her."
The Rector and Maria were made happy. My father "carried it through," by my desire. Uncle Ascott was delighted, and became a benefactor to the parish; but it took Aunt Maria some years to forget that the patronised curate had scorned the wife she had provided for him, only to marry her own daughter.
When I bade farewell to Adeline on our wedding day, she gave me her cheek to kiss with a pretty grace, saying,
"You see, Regie, I am your sister after all!"
The day my wife and I returned from our wedding trip to Dacrefield was a very happy one. We had a triumphal welcome from the tenants, my dear father was beaming, the Rector no less so, and good old Nurse Bundle showered blessings on the head of my bride.
Frances was a great favourite with her. She was devoted to the old woman, and her delicate tact made her adapt herself to all Mrs. Bundle's peculiarities. She sat with her in the nursery that night till nearly dinner-time.
"I must take her away, Nursey," said I, coming in; "she'll be late for dinner."
"Go with your husband, my dear," said Nurse Bundle, "and the Lord bless you both."
"I'll come back, Nursey," said Frances; "you'll soon see me again."
"Turn your face, my dear," said Nurse Bundle. "Hold up the candle, Master Reginald. Ay, ay, that'll do, my deary. I'll see you again."
We were still at dessert with my father, when Bowles came hastily into the room with a pale face, and went up to my wife.
"Did you send for Mrs. Bundle, ma'am, since you came down to dinner?" he asked.
"Oh, dear no," said my wife.
"Cook was going upstairs, and met Missis Bundle a little way out of her room," Bowles explained; "and Missis Bundle she says, 'Don't stop me,' says she, 'Mrs. Dacre wants me,' she says, and on she goes; and cook waits and waits in her room for her, and at last she comes down to me, and she says—"
"But where is Mrs. Bundle?" cried my father.
"That's circumstantially what nobody knows, sir," said Bowles with a distracted air.
We all three rushed upstairs. Mrs. Bundle was not to be found. My father was frantic; my wife with tears lamented that some chance word of hers might have led the half-childish old lady to fancy that she wanted her.
But a sudden conviction had seized upon me.
"You need not trouble yourself, my darling," said I; "you are not the Mrs. Dacre Nurse Bundle went to seek."
I ran to my father's dressing-room. It was as I thought.
Below my mother's portrait, on the spot where years before she had held me in her arms with tears, I, weeping also, held her now in mine—quite dead.
Small Crown 8vo. With 8 Coloured Plates and Decorated Title-Page, Covers, and End-Papers.
2s. 6d. net each.
COUSIN PHILLIS.
By Mrs. Gaskell. Illustrated by Miss M. V. Wheelhouse. With an introduction by Thomas Seccombe.
SIX TO SIXTEEN.
By Mrs. Ewing. Illustrated by Miss M. V. Wheelhouse.
A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.
By Mrs. Ewing. Illustrated by Miss M. V. Wheelhouse. [Nov. 1908.
JAN OF THE WINDMILL.
By Mrs. Ewing. Illustrated by Miss M. V. Wheelhouse. [Jan. 1909.
Others to follow.