CHAPTER XIV
Her words were like a stream of honey fleeting,
The which doth softly trickle from the hive,
Able to melt the hearer's heart unweeting
And eke to make the dead again alive.
Much like an angel in all form and fashion.SPENSER.
Margaret was welcomed to Ashdale with such sincere pleasure by Mr. Grey and her Italian greyhound, that she could not find it in her heart to regret the social circle she left behind. Seated in a low chair by her uncle's side, with Gessina on her lap, she spent the evening alternately in playing with her beautiful pet, and of giving him a history of her week's visit.
Mr. Grey, like many people who live very retired, delighted in this species of gossip. He was pleased to hear the names of the people who dined at Captain Gage's during her stay, and the dresses which Margaret had worn on each day. And if, during her narrative, she happened to mention a name that was familiar to him, he would interrupt her to remark that he had known a person of that name many years ago, who was of such a county; and to wonder whether the one Margaret had met, was related or not, to his old acquaintance.
These episodes were sometimes interrupted by the perverseness of Gessina, who would creep under the sofas, or the heavy chairs, and had to be fished out from these hiding places by the united industry of Mr. Haveloc and Margaret.
These little pursuits seemed to bring them still more acquainted, so that sometimes she ventured to appeal to him during her recollections to confirm her statements.
"And so she lost the ball at last, poor child," said Mr. Grey drawing her towards him. "What a pity that was!"
"Oh, yes uncle! I was very sorry at first. But I had such a head-ache. Do you ever smoke cigars, Mr. Haveloc?"
"I have done such a thing," said he smiling. "But it is not a practice of mine."
"And how did you spend that evening, my love?" said Mr. Grey, who had not perceived the connexion between the ball and the cigars.
"I sat talking with Harriet Conway until I went to bed. Do you know Harriet, Sir?"
"I have not seen her, my dear, since she was a child," said Mr. Grey.
"Oh! She is so handsome, Sir. Is she not, Mr. Haveloc? I think she was the handsomest girl in the party, except Bessy, I hardly know which to say."
"Which do you decide for, Claude?" asked Mr. Grey.
Mr. Haveloc paused a little, glanced at Margaret with a smile, and said that he should not have considered either of those ladies the beauty of the party. He had hardly noticed Miss Harriet Conway, but if he recollected her, she had fine eyes.
Margaret felt embarrassed for a moment, but feeling sure that his remark could not have referred to her in any way, she let the subject pass, and continued her account.
"The flower-show was very delightful, Sir. There was a band of music, and such a beautiful display of plants. Captain Gage's gardener had a prize for hyacinths. Do you know, Sir, that four of my hyacinths are blown in my dressing-room? I think I shall bring them down into the drawing-room."
"Do, my love," said Mr. Grey.
"Bessy knew a great many people there, Sir; but Mr. Gage said he was bored. I wished he had not come with us. And Mr. Hubert frightened me, for he declared he was going to steal a cluster of the flowers for Harriet and I; and there would have been such a scene!"
"And what did Miss Harriet say to that?" asked Mr. Grey.
"Oh! she laughed, and encouraged him," said Margaret. "But I think it was only to put me in a fright; and just then, Bessy came up, and asked if we would go, because Mr. Gage was so tired of it all."
"And did you have any more visitors afterwards?" asked Mr. Grey.
"Yes. Two foreigners, the Marquis de–, (a very long name that I cannot remember), and his son. They talked Spanish with Harriet, and French with the others. Mr. Hubert used always to contrive that I should sit next one of them, that I might be obliged to speak French."
"Hubert is rather mischievous, is he not?" said Mr. Grey.
"Oh! yes, Sir; but very good-natured; and so is Captain Gage. We went every day to see something or other. Once we went to hear service in the Cathedral. I was so glad that Mr. Gage was not of the party that morning. I wish, Mr. Haveloc, you would go on reading."
"I will, indeed," said he, taking up his book. "Only I have some curiosity to know first, why you do not like George Gage?"
"You should not listen, Mr. Haveloc. One cannot like every body in the world—though I did not say I disliked him."
"The Gages are all handsome," said Mr. Grey, musing. "George called on me one day last week. I think it must have been the day you went to the Cathedral. He said the ladies were out sight-seeing. I was very glad to see him; and I took it kind, his coming to a dull house like this, to pay a visit to a poor invalid."
"Kind, indeed!" exclaimed Margaret, her beautiful face all in a glow. "I think he ought to feel much pleasure in seeing an old friend again. I recollect Mr. Hubert came directly to see you, and he often talks of your kindness to him when a boy."
Mr. Grey laughed, and patted her on the head. "Well, you like Hubert the best it seems," he said. "But now tell me how you passed your evenings when you were alone."
"That was the pleasantest time, Sir. After dinner we went into Bessy's sitting-room; and one day, Harriet showed me how to make wreaths and trimmings of natural flowers. Bessy had a large basket gathered for us, and I wore them that evening; and then, Harriet is so clever, she used to give us descriptions of the people who live near Singleton Manor, and make us die of laughing. She can talk like the poor people in Somersetshire. And then Mr. Hubert used to come in before tea-time, and sometimes he would roast chestnuts on the bars of the grate—and we ate them, Harriet and I. Bessy could never persuade him to have them done by the housekeeper. And after tea, we had always plenty of music, for Captain Gage likes music so much. And one evening Mr. Hubert would have a twelfth cake, because he had not been at home for so many Twelfth Nights; and Bessy was obliged to get one made on purpose at S–. And I was the Queen, uncle! Captain Gage drew the King, and would not give it up to Mr. Hubert. You should have seen Mr. Gage, uncle. He was obliged to join in it all, half against his will; and Harriet laughed at him so much for being grand."
"And so you passed a merry time of it;" said Mr. Grey.
"Very, Sir. But I was very glad to drive up the old avenue again, and see you and Gessina. Do you know, Sir, Mason said that as soon as Gessina heard the carriage she was wild to get down stairs."
"Was she, my love?" said Mr. Grey. There was a pause.
Mr. Grey fell asleep, Margaret caressed her dog, and Mr. Haveloc made a sketch of her attitude in the fly-leaf of his book.
At last Margaret looked up.
"Oh! Mr. Haveloc, you have been to Italy. Do you not allow Gessina to be a beauty? Blanche Somerton said I ought to have had a white greyhound."
"She is a very pretty creature," said Mr. Haveloc, coming over to her side of the fire. "I believe the white ones are more expensive, which is quite sufficient to account for some people's preference."
"Oh! I do not care about that. I like this fawn colour. I declare I never saw such a beautiful head. Bessy says that the next time I go to Chirke Weston, I am to be sure and take her with me."
"Miss Gage is always considerate," said Mr. Haveloc.
"I know you think very highly of her," said Margaret colouring, "because you once advised me to consult her; and I think, in that affair, her opinion was very like yours."
Mr. Haveloc smiled, and remained silent, watching Margaret, whose attitudes rivalled those of her greyhound in beauty.
"Mr. Haveloc," said Margaret, looking up again, and blushing, "what were you drawing just now?"
"So, you have some curiosity," he said, smiling.
"Because," she said timidly, "I should not wonder if you were drawing Gessina—and—I wish you would show it to me—if you were."
"With pleasure. I will just put a few more touches. You will not be satisfied if it is not a very flattering likeness."
"Have you done, Mr. Haveloc?"
"Not quite."
"Will you show it me presently, Mr. Haveloc? Will you show it me now?"
"You do not give me time to do my best," said he, as he handed her a sheet of note paper, on which he had just made a pretty little sketch of the greyhound.
"Oh, how exactly like! How very pretty! May I keep it, Mr. Haveloc?"
"If you please—I shall be too happy."
"I wish my uncle was awake," said Margaret looking towards him. "I should like to show it to him. I wonder if he would know it directly. I dare say he would!"
"Not a doubt of it," said Mr. Haveloc, "all Italian greyhounds are alike. Any picture of an Italian greyhound would do for your dog. Do you wish me to wake Mr. Grey, that he may decide the question?"
"Oh, no! what are you thinking of? People should never be wakened."
"Will you tell me now, why you do not like George Gage?"
"What, have you not forgotten that yet? Well I will tell you one reason. Because he stares so much."
Mr. Haveloc laughed. "I really did not think," he said, "that ladies resented that offence, so strongly. Fortunately I cannot offend in that way, since I am half blind."
"I wish Mr. Gage was near-sighted," said Margaret laughing, "he is quite mistaken if he thinks ladies like to be stared at; even Harriet, who does not care for many things, told him one evening that it made her quite nervous to have him opposite when she was singing, looking into her mouth like a dentist."
"And when do you mean to ride out?" said Mr. Haveloc.
"Oh! do you know I had quite forgotten my horse," exclaimed Margaret, "Uncle Grey!—There I have waked him at last."
"What is it, my love?" said Mr. Grey looking up.
"Miss Capel is so dismayed at having waked you," said Mr. Haveloc laughing.
"Oh! I was not asleep," said Mr. Grey rubbing his eyes, "I have been listening to all you have been saying."
Mr. Haveloc and Margaret exchanged smiles.
"Will you let me ride out to-morrow, dear uncle?"
"Yes, my love; you are quite sure of the horse, Claude. If somebody would go out first, just to try him; or if you have no engagement to-morrow, Claude, perhaps you would go with Margaret and Evans, just to see that all is right for the first time. Evans is a very steady man; afterwards I could trust him with comfort."
No one could mistake the delight that was visible on Mr. Haveloc's countenance at this proposition. He could not have asked to ride out with her, but here was a reason—a sufficient cause. "Nothing could give him more pleasure," he said, "he begged to know what time would suit Miss Capel, that he might be in the way."
Anybody but Mr. Grey would have noticed the impatience with which Mr. Haveloc looked forward to this ride: any one else would have been aware that it was some strong feeling that could make so ordinary an occurrence a matter of so much importance to him.
Margaret never spent the morning in the library with them; and Mr. Haveloc settled to nothing; he neither read nor wrote, but wandered about the room, sometimes watching the weather, and sometimes glancing over the newspaper. But Mr. Grey having provided for Margaret's safety, forgot the subject altogether, and spent his time in puzzling over his steward's accounts, and cutting the leaves of a new review without taking any note of his companion's idleness. And when Margaret did make her appearance, looking beautiful with excitement, and he hastened to meet her, Mr. Grey followed him to the hall door giving him a string of cautions, which any third person could have told him was quite unnecessary in the present instance. He was quite eager enough to examine the girths and the curb, and to prevent her horse from going too fast.
It was a beautiful day; the trees were just out and the young leaves trembled in the bright sunshine. There was that peculiar fragrance in the air, which results from the opening buds in shrubs and hedges; and in some places, the sweet breath of violets seemed to linger on the soft wind, mingled with the fresh scent of dewy tufts of moss.
Margaret had no fear, and the paces of her horse were so easy, that she felt no fatigue. Mr. Haveloc took the greatest care of her, and exerted himself to amuse her so effectually, that she was really sorry when her ride was concluded. Whether she would have enjoyed it quite as much with the groom, for her sole attendant, is a question that she had no present opportunity of solving; for Mr. Haveloc told Mr. Grey that he thought her horse went best in company, and that while he remained at Ashdale, he was entirely at the service of Miss Capel whenever she chose to ride out.
CHAPTER XV
But who can tell what cause had that fair maid
To use him so that loved her so well?
Or who with blame can justly her upbraid
For loving not? For who can love compel?
SPENSER.
It was customary with Mr. Grey to pass his mornings in the library unless some very particular business caused him to take refuge in his study. He was fond of desultory reading, and was accomplished in the knowledge of several modern languages. Mr. Haveloc usually employed himself at the other end of the room, without any reference to Mr. Grey's occupations; reading with as much eagerness upon any subject that happened to engage his attention, as if he were still a candidate for academic honours.
They seldom exchanged a remark during these hours, unless Mr. Grey suddenly became alarmed at the steadfastness of his young friend's application, when he would favour him with some of those cautions, which he was in the habit of addressing to Margaret, regarding the injurious effect of too much study.
One morning a letter was brought to Mr. Grey, which he opened and looked at with some surprise, glanced at the signature, and exclaimed, "From Hubert Gage! How extraordinary! Why could not the silly fellow come and say what he wanted, instead of writing it?"
Mr. Haveloc looked up at the unwonted interruption, and seeing Mr. Grey reading his letter with many sounds of impatience and vexation, he could not avoid "hoping that there was no bad news from Chirke Weston."
"No; not bad news," said Mr. Grey laying down his letter and his reading glasses upon it, and leaning back in his chair, as if quite tired out: "not exactly bad news."
This remark was, perhaps, rather calculated to excite than to gratify his curiosity; but Mr. Haveloc resumed his reading without farther inquiry, and Mr. Grey remained for some time in deep thought.
At last Mr. Grey looked up, and turned round to his companion.
"A very strange thing, Claude," said he. "I am sure, as far as I am concerned, the most unlooked-for occurrence. Here is Hubert Gage proposing for my little niece, Margaret—a mere baby!"
Mr. Haveloc started from his chair, made a step or two towards Mr. Grey, and then returned quietly to his seat, and made a great show of finding the place in his book again.
"Yes, it is very remarkable," said Mr. Grey, who had interpreted Mr. Haveloc's sudden movement into an expression of surprise; "I could never have foreseen it. And really, Hubert Gage, a mere boy! Of course the connexion is highly honourable, impossible to be better; but at their age. Not that anything can be more fair and manly than his letter; but if he has Captain Gage's consent to fetter himself by an engagement of this kind before he is one and twenty years old—why his father has not half the sense I gave him credit for."
Mr. Haveloc was silent.
"Yet poor young fellow," said Mr. Grey, taking up his letter, "if he is in love as he says he is, perhaps all this impatience is more natural in him than in an older man. And although this love is very often a source of great inconvenience, yet we all look back to that period, whether successful or not, as to the most spiritual, and the happiest portion of our lives. Faith, I will do all I can for him in the business."
"And Miss Capel," said Mr. Haveloc, speaking with effort.
"Oh! for her, poor little girl, I dare say she fancies herself attached to him. For I have often remarked, Claude, that when a handsome and agreeable young man pays a great deal of attention to an inexperienced girl, it generally ends in this way; first impressions are everything. And you heard her telling me the other night that Hubert used to roast chestnuts for her, and all that sort of thing. I dare say it is all for the best."
Mr. Haveloc made no reply. A dark frown settled on his face, and he leaned his head on his hands, seeming to be immersed in the folio volume that stood on a desk before him.
"If," he thought, "the love of a creature like Margaret can hinge upon such wretched trifles, why let it go. If she can love him, why should I regret her?"
Yet he felt that all he was worth would be too little to purchase such affection as hers would be, where it was freely given.
Both parties were silent for some time. Mr. Grey forgot the presence of Mr. Haveloc, so entirely was he engrossed with the subject on his mind; and he was employing himself in making a mental estimate of the amount of Margaret's and Hubert's property, and the sum he meant to add to it, when he heard her voice and step in the drawing-room, half-dancing, half-singing, as she came near the library. The sounds ceased as she turned the handle of the door, and she entered with the most demure expression in the world.
"Uncle Grey, may I have the carriage after luncheon, if you please, to go to S—," said she advancing to him, "for I have broken my guitar string—this silver one, and I cannot play till I have got another."
"Yes, my love, certainly," said Mr. Grey, drawing her towards him, "are you busy now?"
"No; this is the last piece of business I have done," said Margaret laughing, and showing him the string, which she was twining round her fingers, "a very bad business; you cannot think how it startled me when it snapped."
"Have you learned that song which Hubert Gage gave you?" asked Mr. Grey.
"The Neapolitan one? Oh, yes! it is very easy;" said Margaret, singing one or two bars in a low tone, "Mr. Hubert thinks himself so fine because he can play that air on the guitar. It is the only tune he can play."
"Well, my love," said her uncle, "I have had a letter from Hubert Gage this morning. You may read it, if you will."
As he spoke, he put the letter into her hands. He entirely forgot that Mr. Haveloc was in the room; and even had he recollected it, he would have taken it for granted, that sitting at such a distance, and engaged in reading so closely, his presence would have been no drawback to the conversation he wished to hold with his niece. Margaret, standing with her back to him, never perceived him at all; and for Mr. Haveloc, he never imagined that Mr. Grey would have done more than give Margaret the letter, and recommend her to read it at her leisure. He could not leave the room, except by passing Margaret; and he thought the sight of him would embarrass her while conversing on such a subject, therefore he remained where he was. And an intense curiosity to learn how she would receive such tidings, held him, breathless and motionless, until she left the room.
Margaret read the letter through attentively, and steadily, the crimson deepening every moment all over her face, and then looking up straight to her uncle as she returned it, she said:
"I am glad you will have to answer this letter, uncle, instead of me, since I have no practice in these matters; and it is unpleasant to be obliged to say—no."
"But, my dear child," said Mr. Grey, quite puzzled at receiving a reply so totally different to what he had expected, "what objection have you in the world to such a fine fellow as Hubert Gage?"
"He does not love me, uncle, that is one objection," said Margaret with a slight smile; "and I am sure I do not love him."
"Why, my child," said Mr. Grey, "what, do you suppose can induce a man to make you an offer, if he is not in love with you?"
"A great many reasons, uncle. I will not suppose that all the married people in the world who are so indifferent, or unhappy, have once loved each other. In my case, I can acquit Mr. Hubert of any interested motives. It is a passing fancy of his."
"But, my dear—time—you do not know how attached you might become to him. You would not like to give pain to the poor young man."
"Uncle," said Margaret, looking steadily into his face. "I must love a person a little, before I would suffer pain myself, rather than occasion it to him. I would do so for you, or Elizabeth, but not for Mr. Hubert Gage, I tell you frankly. If I thought he really loved me, I should be grieved and pained at the necessity of wounding his feelings; but, as it is, I am only ashamed, that he should have singled me out as the object of so trifling, so fleeting a regard."
"But, my dear little girl," persisted Mr. Grey, "what on earth can have put it into your head, that he does not love you?"
"Little things, uncle, that it would not be easy to put into words. It may seem vain, Sir, but at one time I was afraid he meant to pay me particular attention. A very little observation set me at rest on that point. I am young, and do not know much; but this is a matter of feeling, and not of knowledge. I am old enough to feel that he has made a mistake."
"Well, my love," said Mr. Grey, "I do not understand it:" he folded and unfolded the letter in his hand for some moments, and at last went on.
"You must reflect a little, my dear. This young man is of good family; highly connected, and, in the event of your marrying him, you would find yourself in as good a circle of connexions and acquaintances as you could possibly desire. He has something, and so have you. I would come forward, and I have no doubt his father would come forward; and you could be able to keep a carriage, and have every comfort about you."
"I am afraid, uncle," said Margaret, smiling, "that I am not old enough to appreciate these advantages."
Her uncle paused again. "He will not be satisfied, my dear, with my reply. What do you say to seeing him yourself?"
"I had rather not, uncle," said Margaret blushing still more deeply. "It is rather embarrassing—it is not agreeable to discuss this subject, even with you, Sir."
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Grey, "we will see about it; but I can tell you the young man will not give it up so quietly, if you have not another attachment."
"I can understand that such a question concerns him," said Margaret, with a faltering in her voice; "and, therefore, if you please, you can tell him I am free in that respect; but if I am free, uncle, I need not choose a person whom I do not like."
"The idea of not liking Hubert Gage!" said Mr. Grey.
"I do like him, uncle, as an acquaintance, and shall do so, if he does not teaze me; but, as a suitor—why, Uncle Grey," said Margaret brightening up, "he will forget all about me now, before I forget him, though he does profess a regard for me that I cannot return."
"Well, my love," said Mr. Grey, "you shall act exactly as your feelings dictate; but it is an awkward business I can tell you, all this proposing and rejecting."
"Thank you, dear uncle," said Margaret leaning forward, and kissing him on the forehead. "But—I may have the carriage all the same, Sir, may I not, to go for my guitar string?"
"Oh! poor Hubert Gage," said Mr. Grey leaning back, as Margaret left the room, and looking very much exhausted. "If she can think of her guitar string at such a time, I am afraid there is a remarkably small chance for the young gentleman."