Into the Highways and Hedges, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  The world is very odd, we see; We do not comprehend it. But in one fact we all agree,-- God won't and we can't mend it.

  Being common-sense it can't be sin To take it as I find it: The pleasure--to take pleasure in; The pain--try not to mind it.

  --_A. H. Clough._

  Dover was unusually gay in the year when Barnabas Thorpe held hisrevival meetings there. Mr. Deane gave a large ball at Ravenshill, allthe county magnates attended, and the guests danced in the old picturegallery.

  It was a remarkably pretty entertainment, and the host and his threedaughters were worthy descendants of the ruffled and powdered Deanes wholooked down on them from the walls.

  They were a stately family. Mrs. Russelthorpe herself was a mostdignified woman, and Kate and Margaret had inherited her grace ofbearing.

  Margaret in her gold and white dress, with pearls on her white neck, wasa good deal admired, but her attention kept wandering from her partnersto her father, who was talking and laughing merrily, but who coughedevery now and then rather ominously. Consumption, that scourge of somany English families, was terribly familiar in this one.

  Meg had been immensely excited about the ball before-hand, and had takenintense interest in all the preparations for it, including her own newdress; but, at the last, something had occurred to change the current ofher thoughts, she might be arrayed in sackcloth now for all she cared.

  "Margaret's character comes out even in small things," Mrs. Russelthorpeobserved cuttingly. "She is unstable as water. One can never depend onher in the least. Where do you think I found her this afternoon? Justemerging from a vulgar crowd on Dover sands, where she had been staringat a singing minstrel or a play-actor or a buffoon of some kind! Shecame in with her head full of nothing else, and wanted to tease herfather into going back with her to listen too."

  "Ah! I heard that fellow on the beach; his buffoonery takes the form ofpreaching," said the lawyer to whom she had made the remark, and who wasrather a favourite with Mrs. Russelthorpe. He glanced at Margaret, whowas standing a little way off, but was quite unconscious of hisobservation.

  "It is a curious question whether that sort of canter is most knave orfool," he said. "I incline to the former hypothesis; Deane, to thelatter. Miss Deane sees him as a sort of inspired prophet, I suppose. Agood deal depends on the colour of one's own glasses, you know. Afterall, hers are the prettiest!"

  Mrs. Russelthorpe shrugged her shoulders with a short laugh as sheturned away.

  "I did not know you had such an innocent taste for bread and butter,"she said.

  Mr. Sauls looked after her with some amusement; it was not the firsttime that he had noticed that there was no love lost between Mr. Deane'sfavourite daughter and her aunt, and he had occasionally felt sorry forthe girl, as evidently the weaker of the two.

  "If it isn't possible to serve two masters, two mistresses must be adegree more hopeless," he remarked to himself. "I really don't know thatI can do without Mrs. Russelthorpe yet--but I'll risk it!" And he walkedacross the room, and asked Miss Deane to dance.

  Meg stared with uncomplimentary surprise; she had always considered thatMr. Sauls "flattered Aunt Russelthorpe," and had despised himaccordingly with sweeping girlish severity. She would have refused todance if she had had sufficient presence of mind, but he (who was neverwanting in that quality) took her momentary hesitation for acceptance,and she found herself engaged to him, she hardly knew how.

  She could not have discovered a partner more entirely unlike herself ifshe had ransacked England for her opposite; and her father laughed, butwith a little sense of chagrin, when he saw Mr. Sauls offer her his arm.

  The Saulses usually came to Dover for a few months in the year. Thecounty people had turned their aristocratic backs on them, till Mr.Deane, in a moment of generous enthusiasm, had ridden full tilt against"pernicious prejudices," and had introduced young Sauls as his dearfriend right and left.

  This had occurred some time before. County exclusiveness was no longerthe subject on which Mr. Deane was hottest, and, to tell the truth,George Sauls was no longer his dear friend; but the young man amusedMrs. Russelthorpe, and had kept his footing in the house.

  Nature had not been kind to Mr. Sauls in the matter of looks, but hadmade it up in brains; he knew his own worth in that respect, and meantto get full market value for his capabilities. He had an assured beliefin himself, of which time proved him justified.

  When the plums of his profession began to fall to his share, peoplecalled him uncommonly lucky; but fortune only pretends to be blind, Ifancy, and seldom favours fools.

  "You are wishing me at Jericho," he remarked, as Meg unwillingly tookhis arm. "But your father's daughter ought to be liberal above allthings--ought not she?"

  Meg, whose generosity was easily wakened, coloured and then smiled,pleased at the implied compliment to Mr. Deane.

  "I know that my father is always fair to every one," she said. "I didnot mean to be rude to you, but _he_ promised me this dance, and I am sodisappointed that he has not come. Of course, it is nicer to dance withfather than with anybody."

  "Of course," assented Mr. Sauls. He would have disbelieved thatstatement if any other girl had ventured on it; but he was intelligentenough to appreciate Meg's truthfulness. Indeed, the very essence ofGeorge Sauls' cleverness lay in the capability of rightly estimatingmany diverse sorts of characters.

  He persevered in his efforts to interest her, partly because he was inthe habit of persevering in anything he undertook, partly because it hadoccurred to him that Miss Deane was an heiress, and partly because shereally attracted him, perhaps by the law of contraries.

  He was more than ten years Meg's senior in age, and twenty inexperience; therefore he listened to her opinions with respect, and tookcare not to appear to patronise her. Meg was interested very easily.

  Her shyness wore off, and she let him draw out wonderful theoriesimbibed from her father about Universal Brotherhood, and the Rights ofthe People, and the New School of Poetry, and heaven knows what besides.

  Mr. Sauls led her on, and hid his occasional amusement fairly well.

  Miss Deane was a "very transparent little girl," he thought; but yet shetouched him.

  He felt sorry for any one so crammed with illusions, so terriblysensitive, and so remarkably unpractical--besides, she was remarkablypretty too!

  Meg thought him very ugly at first, and first impressions were vivid(though not always lasting) with her. Meg had no "indifference" in her;she always liked or disliked emphatically--and his was not the kind offace to take her fancy.

  Mr. Sauls was a heavy-looking man, thick, and rather round-shouldered.He was dark-complexioned, with a coarse clever mouth, and a goodforehead.

  Eyeglasses happened to be an affectation of the year among younglawyers. Mr. Sauls had a trick of dropping his when he was amused orexcited, and opening his eyes, which would brighten as suddenly as anowl's when it startles you by lifting the dull film, and transfixing youby an uncomfortably "wide-awake" gaze.

  He was perfectly aware that Meg had disliked him, and that he waschanging her opinion, and entertaining her pretty successfully.

  The more trouble he took, the more determined he became to make friendswith this quixotic maiden, who fancied herself wildly democratic, andwho was rather more fastidious in reality than any one he had met,saving the father she occasionally reminded him of.

  He led the conversation away from abstract subjects after a time, andfell into two or three small errors, but had wit to see and cover them.

  For example, he made a sharp remark at the expense of Mrs. Russelthorpe,whom he felt convinced Meg disliked. Meg raised her eyebrows, drewherself up, and snubbed the witticism.

  "All these Deanes are d----d thin-skinned," he reflected, for more thanonce his own coarser nature had rasped and offended Meg's father, but hedid not make that mistake again, and he admired the girl none the lessfor the rebuff.

  He l
iked her pride, which was quite unconscious, and her inconsistenciesamused him.

  They looked down upon the waltz (which had only just come in, and whichmany people saw for the first time that night) from the picture gallerywhich runs round the great hall.

  Mr. Sauls was content with that arrangement, Meg stood tapping her smallfoot in time to the music.

  "Father does not like to see me dance anything but squares, unless it iswith him," she said; and Mr. Sauls, following the direction of herwistful eyes, observed that "Mr. Deane approved waltzing only for otherpeople's daughters," but, taught by experience, refrained from makinghis comment aloud.

  He earned his partner's warm gratitude by relinquishing his claim totake her to supper, when (that fast innovation having whirled to itsclose) Meg's father actually remembered her; but later in the evening hediscovered that she had had nothing to eat, and insisted on carrying heroff and supplying her with chicken and ice cream as compensation for hisformer abnegation.

  Supper was really over, and they were almost alone in the bigdining-room.

  Meg had a bright colour in her cheeks now, her eyes and lips bothlaughed, her spirits had gone up like quick-silver. Mr. Sauls had neverseen any one change so quickly and completely; she was radiant for themoment, and joy is a great beautifier.

  Her excitement was contagious. It did credit to the man's self-commandthat he managed to keep his admiration to himself; Meg would be hard towin he knew; he smiled, thinking how exceedingly astonished she wouldhave been if she could have read his mind, and seen that he had set ithard on winning her.

  On one point he did allow himself a slightly incautious question.

  "Miss Deane," he said suddenly, "I haven't the faintest shadow of rightto ask, but--have you come in for a million of money? Or is your worstenemy dead? Or what good fortune has befallen you since the beginning ofthis evening? There, I am quite at your mercy! I had no earthly businessto inquire, only--I should so uncommonly like to know."

  Meg laughed ruefully.

  "How very bad I must be at keeping my own counsel," she said; "or else_you_ must be very clever. Don't tell any one else, please, for it isn'tquite settled yet. I asked my father to let me go with him. He is goingabroad after the wedding. I want him to let me live with him altogether.It is so difficult to find father alone in the daytime, and that was whyI was so very anxious to dance with him to-night. It is impossible toask a favour with my--with some one else looking on." She paused amoment; then the pleasure of telling good news brought a still happiercurve to her parted lips.

  "Isn't it good of him?" she cried. "He has said yes."

  "No! how remarkably kind!" said Mr. Sauls, a little drily; but thistime Meg was quite unconscious of the possibility of sarcasm.

  She enjoyed all the rest of the night with the keen power of enjoyment,that is perhaps some compensation for a keen susceptibility to pain; andwhen the guests had departed and the lights were all out in the hall,she ran up to her own room humming a dance as she ran.

  "Meg is gay to-night," said her father, lifting her face by the chin,and kissing her on the landing. "Good-night, Peg-top; don't dance inyour sleep! I wish you would always keep that colour."

  "So I will when you take me to live with you," whispered Meg.

  She put out her candle, and throwing open her window sat looking outdown the moonlit road, spinning fancies as beautiful as moonbeams.

  There was no touch of sentiment about them, for the habit she had ofcomparing the men she met to her father was always to theirdisadvantage. How very much handsomer, cleverer, and incomparably betterhe was than all the rest of his sex put together! How charming to keephouse for him! How delightful to help him carry out all his ideas! Howgood she would be, even to Aunt Russelthorpe, when she entered intopossession of her castle in the air! Her mood grew graver as she satthere like a ghost in the dark, watching the white clouds chase eachother across the deep night sky. She remembered the preacher on thesands again and shivered, half frightened to think how his words hadtaken hold of her. "Thou who wast poor among men, and travel-stained andweary, shalt be our King."

  What would the preacher have thought of them all to-night? What sort ofdiscipleship was this? Meg involuntarily fingered the gleaming gold andwhite dress, which certainly seemed in pretty strong opposition to theascetic side of religion.

  "But when I live with father, he will explain everything and make thingsright," she repeated to herself. "Father" had no leisure to listen toher difficulties at present, but in the good time coming it would all bequite different; and in the meanwhile where he saw no harm of coursethere could be none. It is really such a great comfort to have a pope,that it is no wonder some women keep their eyes shut so long as theypossibly can. "I shall read all the books he likes and become veryclever, but not at all a 'blue-stocking,' because he doesn't like womenwho think they know as much as men," reflected Meg. "I shall be able tochoose my own dresses, and I think I shall wear sky-blue, for it is hisfavourite colour. We'll spend very little on eating or drinking, becausehe doesn't really approve of luxury, and----Oh! what was that?"

  She jumped up, rather startled and guilty. Had Aunt Russelthorpe divinedher thoughts, and come to knock down her towering palace?

  No; it was only Laura, in a dressing-gown, looking comfortablysubstantial and cheerful. Meg was surprised to see her, for the sistersdid not often seek her society.

  "I thought I should find you awake, Meg," said she. "Do, for goodness'sake! shut your window. What an uncomfortable child you are! Why, youhave not even taken off your ball-room dress, and you have no candle!Don't look at me as if I were a ghost, please. I know it's an odd timeof the night to choose, but I hardly ever see you alone in the day, andsomehow I wanted to talk to you. Kate likes to have me to herself, yousee."

  "Yes, I know," said Meg rather sadly; for Kate was jealous of any claimon Laura's affection.

  Laura sat down on the bed, resting her hands on her knees, and turningout her elbows. The attitude made her look squarer than ever; but therewas an air of purpose about her set little figure that tickled Meg'sfancy,--Meg's sighs and smiles were always near together!

  "Oh!" she cried, laughing. "Even your shadow on the wall looks as if ithad something to say, and meant to say it."

  "We settled about the wedding to-night," said Laura, not noticing thisirrelevant remark. "Kate and I are going to be married on the sameday,--this day month!"

  "So soon!" said Meg. "Oh, Laura," she hesitated a moment, being alwaysshy with her sisters, "I hope you will--will like it." "Will be happy"was what she meant, but Laura was apt to snub any expression of feeling.

  "I shouldn't do it if I didn't!" said Laura; "if by 'it' you meanmatrimony. The sooner we get the wedding over the better, I think. AuntRusselthorpe is arranging it all, and settling who are to be thebridesmaids. I don't mean to interfere. It is the very last chance sheshall ever have of putting a finger into any pie of mine, so she may aswell make the most of it; but I came to talk about you, not aboutmyself. Follow my example, Meg, and get away from this house as soon asyou can, for if you and Aunt Russelthorpe are left together here, youwill drive each other perfectly crazy."

  "I spoke to father to-night," said Meg. "I begged him to let me livewith him, and he nearly promised that----"

  "That which he'll never perform," said Laura. "Oh, Meg, what a baby youare! Can't you _see_ that it's no good depending on father? Oh! youneedn't look so angry. He can't help it,--it's not his fault, of course.Aunt Russelthorpe is stronger than he is, that's all, and she isjealous of you. My dear, you think you understand him better than shedoes, because you sympathise with all his fine ideas, and she doesn't;but she knew him before you were heard of; she can make up his mind forhim, and save him trouble, and make him comfortable. On the whole, you'dmuch better study a man's weaknesses than his nobilities, if you want tohave a hold over him; but _you'll_ never take in that bit of wisdom ifyou live to a hundred, and I expect she was born with it."

  "Father hasn't got weakne
sses--at least, I don't want to discover them.For shame, Laura, to talk so of him!" cried Meg. And Laura laughed andnodded.

  "Just so! That's where Aunt Russelthorpe has the pull over you," sheretorted. "Don't quarrel with her, Meg. You'll get the worst of it. Tryand keep the peace till you are independent of her. Don't fight for thepossession of father, for it's a losing game, but take what offers, andwhen you are clear of her authority snub her as much as you like. Shan'tI enjoy it if she tries to interfere with me after I am married? I hopeshe will," said Laura, with a twinkle of fun; "but I am afraid shewon't. She is too clever for that. Really, I've a great admiration formy aunt."

  "Have you?" said Meg. "I hate her! but I shouldn't want to snub her if Iwere free of her. I only want never to be in the same place, or world,with her again. I shiver when I hear her voice."

  "Exactly!" said Laura. "And that is so silly of you, Meg. What is theuse of a hate like that? It only gives her another advantage. However, Isuppose it's something in the way you are made that makes you takethings so. You always did; and you'll go on getting more and moremiserable, and you will aggravate her more and more, till she wears youout altogether, unless you get away; and you can't go alone, and youmay wait till you are grey or till my aunt is dead before father takesthings into his own hands; and I really don't see how I can have you,because----"

  "I wouldn't trouble you," said Meg proudly. She stood very upright, andlooked at her sister with wondering eyes. What were all these gloomyprognostications leading to?

  "Well then, because you would not trouble me," said Laura. "And thatleaves one way out of the difficulty. Marry as soon as you can, Meg,because you are too unhappy here! It was bad enough before; but now thatyou've thrown down your gauntlet (how could you be such a little fool?),and tried to get father away from Aunt Russelthorpe, it will be tentimes worse. If it were I it wouldn't matter. I never care twopence whatshe says; but you'll suffer a martyrdom like St. Sebastian. All herspiteful little arrows will stick. I declare on my honour, Meg, I wouldgive a thousand pounds, as well as my blessing, to hear you were goingto marry _any_ decently rich man who would be good to you!"

  "Oh Laura!" cried Meg, half amused, half aghast.

  "Oh Margaret!" cried her sister, mimicking her. "Yes; I know these arenot the right sentiments for a bride to express. If we had a mother Ishouldn't offer them; but I kept thinking about you this evening, and Ididn't like my thoughts. Don't you wait for impossibilities, Meg. I amsure you believe in an impossible sort of lover, if ever you condescendto think of one at all; half a knight and half a saint; some one who hasnever loved any other woman, and never will, and yet isn't a milksop;who drinks nothing but water, and doesn't care what he eats, but is asstrong as Goliath; who is full of high-flown ideas, and yet madly inlove; who is handsome as Adonis, and does not know it. Well! _don't_expect him; he doesn't exist, and, what's more, he would be a monster ofunnaturalness if he did! Take the man who'll fight your battles for you,even though he isn't beautiful. Don't bother too much about his ideals.If he is a good sort at home, and sticks to--well, his vulgar oldmother, we'll say--he'll probably stick to you. If he has brains, you'llgrow proud of him; if he is ambitious, that will suit you."

  She watched Meg while she spoke; but Meg was utterly unconscious: itnever occurred to her to put a name to Laura's hypothetical suitor; andLaura (whose shrewd eyes had seen a good deal that evening) could onlyhope her sage advice might bear fruit later.

  "Well, I've said my say," she remarked, taking up her candle and gettingoff the bed. "Don't forget it! Don't be wretched because you cannot havethe moon. Who can? Not one of us gets what he starts by wanting--not onein ten!" said Laura with a half-sigh. "But the people who eat theirhalf-loaves and make the most of makeshifts, are the happy ones--ashappiness goes. Good-night!"

  She got as far as the door, then turned, with a half comical, halfrueful face. "I might have been a better sister, I daresay," she said;"and half a pound of help is worth a pound of good advice, tho' mine'sexcellent; but, you see, there is Kate, and it doesn't pay to be fond oftoo many people,--there'd be nothing left for oneself."

  Meg made no answer. Laura paused a moment longer. It was odd how herheart softened to-night to the "little sister" she had never taken muchaccount of before.

  "Let's kiss each other for once!" she said. And Meg surprised, flungboth arms round her neck.

  "Oh Laura, you _do_ like me just a little then, don't you?" she cried."And you don't really believe all you've been saying? I do hate it so! Iwould rather be unhappy all my life, than think that _nobody_ ever getsanything but half-loaves and makeshifts. It is better to be miserablethan satisfied like that."

  "Oh Lord!" said Laura, who had a trick of strong language. "This comesof trying to put a modicum of common-sense into your head. Go your ownway and be miserable, then. Some people do prefer it, I believe!" AndMeg got into bed at last, and had a horrible nightmare, in which she wasdancing with an angel who discoursed of the regeneration of the world,till suddenly a horror fell on her, and she saw he was the devil indisguise, and fled shrieking to Laura and Uncle Russelthorpe, who werelooking on from a corner, and Uncle Russelthorpe chuckled andremarked:--

  "Yes; every one has the original old gentleman under his skin; scratchdeep enough, and you'll find the savage instinct at the bottom of allour refinements". A speech which Uncle Russelthorpe had really madeyears before, and which had puzzled Meg's childish brain at the time;but Laura shrugged her square shoulders, and said:--

  "My dear, make the best of him; it is what we all do in the end".

  Meg's sisters were married from Ravenshill in the pretty month of May.

  The bridal party walked through the garden to the chapel under archwaysof flowers and flags.

  Kate looked beautiful; Laura, very unmoved and like her ordinary self,only as they passed under the church door she slid her hand into hersister's and held it tight. Meg, following, saw the action. Kate hardlynoticed it; but that was an old story; indeed, it is a story that goeson from generation to generation.

  The sunshine shone between clouds, and there was a light spring shower,just sprinkling the procession as it wound between the beds of anemonesand daffodils. The drops clung to Meg's soft hair, and glistened therelike diamonds through the service.

  There were fourteen bridesmaids chosen by Aunt Russelthorpe, none ofthem personal friends of either bride. Fourteen maids in green andwhite,--a goodly company!

  Meg walked first, looking rather shy at finding herself in such unwontedprominence; but she forgot that in the solemnity of the occasion whenthey had entered the cool dark old church, and stood grouped under thestained glass window that was put up by a Deane of the sixteenth centuryin memory of a husband who died fighting.

  How many Deanes had been christened and married within those old walls?George Sauls, standing far back in the aisle, wondered what visions werepassing through the chief bridesmaid's brain, and put in imagination awhite veil on her graceful bowed head.

  Aunt Russelthorpe nudged her suddenly. "Are you asleep, Margaret? TakeLaura's bouquet and gloves," she whispered in a sharp undertone; and Megblushed crimson, and hid her confusion in an armful of blossoms.

  "Meg's awkwardness was the only _contretemps_," as Mrs. Russelthorpesaid. "And that no one could provide against," she added.

  Everything else went off splendidly, and everything else was the resultof her generalship.

  Uncle Russelthorpe did not appear in church. "He is getting moreeccentric than ever," people whispered; but he was in the porch in capand slippers when the brides drove off.

  "Good-bye, Laura!" he said. "So you've got a husband instead of a sisterto take care of! Lord! Lord! how time flies! Twelve years since you allcame to us! I hope you'll be happy, my dear."

  "I'm sure I shall," said Laura cheerfully. "I _mean_ to be. Good-bye,uncle;" and she kissed him, for the first time in her life. AuntRusselthorpe had never approved of their kissing their uncle; and Megcould not help wondering whether it was affection or n
ew-bornindependence that prompted the embrace.

  Kate held out her hand coldly. She was ashamed of the queer figure theold man cut.

  Laura's face positively beamed when she bid farewell to her aunt.

  "Mind you come and see me," she insisted hospitably, and a littlepatronisingly, "I shall enjoy it!" She kissed Meg hurriedly, but clung amoment to Kate. Kate's face was wet as the two parted.

  So they drove off in a shower of rice, and Aunt Russelthorpe stoodwaving her handkerchief till they were out of sight. She had never feltmore kindly towards her nieces; and they, who had come to her aschildren, and left as women, were glad enough to go. Surely there wassomething a little tragic about the extreme cheerfulness of thatwedding; but no one thought it so, except perhaps their father, who saidwith a sigh:--

  "One wants the mother on these occasions". And when the last carriagehad departed and the last guest gone Mrs. Russelthorpe drew a longbreath of satisfaction as she reflected again that she certainly _had_"done well for those girls".

  She expressed as much to her brother, while they lingered together inthe great drawing-room before dinner. (Mr. Deane was the only member ofthe family who ever beguiled Mrs. Russelthorpe's restless spirit intodawdling.)

  He sighed rather heavily.

  "I am sure I don't understand how it is," he said, "but I seem to knowvery little of them. Laura has always been so reserved, and Kate socold; and yet I am very fond of my children, and Meg is fond of me. Iwon't have her marrying,--do you hear, sis? I can't spare poor littleMeg, and I really couldn't stand another son-in-law."

  "Margaret is neither poor nor little. I cannot imagine why you alwayscall her by baby names," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, with a hard ring in hervoice, which made him look up in surprise.

  "Parental foolishness, I suppose," he said. "I can't imagine why youshould mind if I do." And Mrs. Russelthorpe bit her lip, and repented ofher ebullition of impatience.

  Apparently her words had given him food for thought; for after a fewminutes' pause he said gravely:--

  "I am meditating taking her away with me. You have been wonderfullygood. I can't think what I should have done with my poor bairns if I hadnot had you to fall back on years ago; but, after all, Meg is quitegrown-up now,--at least, so she constantly assures me; and she does notseem over happy here, though I daresay that is not your fault, and sheis exceedingly anxious to come. In fact, I couldn't say her nay. I amafraid you will feel hurt, sis; but----"

  "On the contrary, I have no doubt it is a capital plan," said Mrs.Russelthorpe briskly; and he leant back with an air of relief. Afterall, Augusta was always sensible. Meg had imagined that her aunt wouldbe angry at the idea, but Meg was apt to take fancies.

  "Of course, you will give up wandering about the country when youconstitute yourself chaperon to a pretty daughter," said his sister,sitting down opposite him, to comfortably discuss the project. "Margaretis very attractive. In fact, to outsiders she is the most winning of thethree. I noticed that she excited a great deal of admiration at ourball. She is so innocent she needs very careful guarding. I never lether go anywhere alone, not even into Dover."

  "I had thought of showing her Italy," said Mr. Deane doubtfully;"but,--well, perhaps you are right there, sis. I couldn't be constantlyat her elbow, and she is very rash. I remember now that I meant to giveher a hint about Sauls, who is all very well, and an uncommonly cleverman, and excellent company; but the way he stuck to my daughterwas--well--" (with a laugh) "was like his impertinence."

  "A girl of Margaret's age cannot be expected to have much worldlywisdom. It really is hardly desirable that she should. I did not blamethe child," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, with a leniency which wouldconsiderably have astonished her niece. "But no doubt you will becautious for her. You can't be too careful. I suppose you will livehere? She is full young to be mistress of such a big establishment, isshe not? And at present she is extremely forgetful, and naturally has noidea whatever of housekeeping. But then you could manage things yourselfpractically, and there are several nice families whom you could inviteto the house. Bachelor parties would be out of the question, in thepeculiar circumstances; but Margaret needs young society. There are theRipleys of Ripley Court, and the Melluishes of St. Andrew's, forexample."

  "Oh no; we couldn't have them," said Mr. Deane hastily. "You know, sis,a very small dose of county magnates goes a long way with me. I don'tmind a ball for once, but I couldn't live in their set; besides, Megswears that she will be perfectly happy in a prolonged _tete-a-tete_."

  "Yes?" said his sister. She smiled, but a little doubtfully. "It wouldhardly be fair on her to take her at her word," she remarked. "And Iknow that you are not selfish, Charles, and don't mean it seriously whenyou say you don't wish her to marry. Meg isn't cut out for an old maid.Oh, you'll soon see that, in common justice to her, you must entertainthe county if you have the responsibility of bringing her out. As forher being happy alone with you, I do not for a moment doubt hertruthfulness; she is candour itself, but she is variable, and she takesher own moods seriously. Meg will be ready for a convent one day, and adance the next. You can never be sure of her. You are a charmingcompanion; perhaps if you amuse her a good deal she will not be mopedwith you. _I_ have found her fits of depression rather trying, but thenI always consider that they arise from delicacy of constitution. Youwill watch her health, won't you? Her chest is delicate, you know,and----"

  "My dear Augusta!" he cried, appalled. "What a fearful number ofinjunctions! I wonder whether I am equal to all these cares? Don't heapon any more, please!"

  "You'll find out the rest for yourself," said Mrs. Russelthorpecheerfully. "It is an excellent plan, as I said before, and you will notmind a little sacrifice of comfort. You'll stay here with Margaret, whenJoseph and I go back to town, then?"

  "Well--no--I am not quite prepared for that," he said, and dismayevidently filled his heart. "Especially if Meg hasn't any notion ofhousekeeping. I suppose it wouldn't do to take her to Florence with me,eh?--No--well, since she is so delicate, and, as you say, so pretty andattractive and guileless, perhaps I could hardly manage that; butshe'll be terribly disappointed. I tell you what! I will think it allover, and write to her about it all from abroad. We need not give up theidea of her coming to me some time. No doubt we can arrange something."

  Mrs. Russelthorpe acquiesced. "No doubt," she said; but she knew thatshe had won that game.

  Mr. Deane left England a few weeks later.

  As he rode through the village with rather a heavy heart, for to do himjustice Meg's wistful face haunted him, he came upon an excited group ofpeople, in the centre of which stood a delicate-looking youth, and a bigfair-bearded man, who was talking with a strong north-country drawl.

  "Why, that is Widow Penge's son, and he is walking without hiscrutches!" cried Mr. Deane, drawing rein. "And that other fellow must bethe preacher little Meg is so mad about."

  "I always thought Andrew Penge was a bit of an impostor," said Mrs.Russelthorpe, who accompanied him; "and now I know it! Come, Charles, myhorse won't stand, and you'll miss the coach."

  The preacher had made a step forward as she spoke.

  "Is that Mr. Deane of Ravenshill? I've something to deliver to one o'his family," he said; but Mr. Deane had ridden on.

  "He was going to give us a word in season," Mrs. Russelthorpe declaredcontemptuously. "Charles'" good-natured tolerance for all kinds ofenthusiasts irritated her.

  Mr. Deane laughed his light kindly laugh.

  "Meg wanted me to make acquaintance with him, and I half promised Iwould. I've lost my chance," he said. And his words were truer than hethought.