He could only hope that Miss Capel would not again leave him to the mercy of his own reflections, now that she saw how badly he employed his leisure. He scarcely knew how to palliate his offence, for he was aware of the importance of a lady's bouquet.
Margaret, smiling archly, received the remains of her bouquet with a very good grace, and said that she suspected Mr. Gage had a better right to dispose of the flowers than she had.
He replied by a gracious bow and smile, and begged her with much humility to allow him to conduct her to the refreshment room.
There they found Harriet and the Spanish Count, standing eating ice and wafers. Harriet laughing and talking, the Conde keeping his eyes fixed upon her with that watchful admiration, that is very nearly allied to a more tender feeling.
Harriet turned quickly round to Margaret, leaned close to her ear, and exclaimed:
"My dear Margaret, such a discovery! Did you notice a large woman, superbly dressed, who came in during the Mazourka?"
"Yes," replied Margaret.
"Mrs. Maxwell Dorset, my dear!" said Harriet enforcing her words with a tap of her fan.
Margaret's face expressed, in a slight degree, her unspeakable surprise at this piece of news.
"A fact, my dear," resumed Harriet. "I am going to ask George to introduce me to her."
Margaret caught her friend by the arm as she was pressing forward.
"Harriet! you cannot be in earnest," she exclaimed, "you must be jesting—such a character. I am sure no friend of yours would present you."
"What a very innocent little soul!" said Harriet, drawing back, with a touch of scorn in her voice. "The lady's character is as fair as yours or mine. You may impeach her taste, Margaret, but not her virtue, for there stands her guarantee—her husband, good easy man! She merely takes presents of value from her admirers, instead of bouquets, like you and I. 'Men's eyes were made to gaze,' ma mie, and a beautiful woman may be admired, I hope, without being sent to Coventry for the offence."
"But after all that has past, Harriet," said Margaret, imploringly, "indeed, it would be very wrong to ask Mr. Gage."
"My dear, let 'bygones be bygones,'" said Harriet with an air of decision. "I wish Mr. Gage you would introduce me to that lady opposite—Mrs. Maxwell Dorset. I have a great inclination to become ac quainted with her." Harriet spoke with unusual suavity of manner.
Mr. Gage raised his eyebrows and looked at her for a moment with astonishment, and then without losing his self-possession, as she had hoped, he replied that he very much regretted it was entirely out of his power to comply with Miss Conway's request.
Harriet's eyes flashed fire; she turned away and went back to the ball-room, where she directly engaged Margaret to dance with the Conde de F– who was still in attendance upon her, and then after looking round on every side for some means of annoyance, she said calmly as if to herself, "I shall dance with Sir Hawarth Fane when he comes to ask me."
Mr. Gage, who well knew that this speech was pointed at him, remarked coldly, that he believed he had heard Sir Evan express a very decided opinion upon that subject.
Harriet looking every moment more resolute, repeated, "I shall dance with Sir Hawarth Fane."
Now the fact was, that Sir Hawarth Fane was one of the worst characters in the county, but he was a single man of large property, and therefore very well received in most families. He had given some decided proofs of admiration for Harriet; but Sir Evan had always required her to receive them as coldly as possible. Even Mr. Singleton had often begged her "for God's sake never to dance with that fellow Hawarth Fane."
Harriet received his homage as her due, had it been ten times more marked; treated him with the easy neglect she generally assumed towards her admirers, and never danced with him, for the single reason that he was forty years old, and had a red face.
Margaret could only hope that he would not make his appearance, but soon a stout figure was seen to emerge from the door-way, and with his glass in his eye, to look eagerly about for some one. Mr. Gage looked as resolute as Harriet, and both turned their eyes in the direction of the advancing Baronet. Margaret was breathless. Harriet drew her handkerchief through the jewelled ring hanging to her bouquetiére, and settled herself as if she meant to prepare for the next dance. It was quite clear, both to Mr. Gage and Margaret, that she had made up her mind. Mr. Gage looked like Creon, and Harriet like Antigone—neither spoke. Sir Hawarth who had been blundering about the room with his eye-glass, very much like a person who had sat a good deal too long after dinner, now caught sight of Harriet, and steered his course in her direction. Mr. Gage leaned over Margaret, and whispered to her:
"Miss Capel, the man is a thorough blackguard; he shall not dance with Harriet. If you cannot prevent it—I will."
Margaret looked up at him with such a glance of quick intelligence, as he could not have believed her to possess.
"Harriet!" she said, as Sir Hawarth neared them, "if you dance with that man, I will leave Singleton Manor to-morrow morning."
"You!" said Harriet, turning quickly upon her.
"I will," returned Margaret.
"I dare say," said Harriet laughing scornfully, "but I won't let you. I will lock you up in the store-room among the apricots."
"I am in earnest," said Margaret, "take your choice."
"The pleasure of dancing the next quadrille with you, Miss Conway," said Sir Hawarth Fane, evidently rather intoxicated.
"Engaged, Sir Hawarth," replied Harriet in some confusion, her colour rose, her breath grew short, she was evidently in much agitation.
"Engaged! I am deucedly sorry for that," said Sir Hawarth in a thick voice, "I'll wait till after this quadrille, and perhaps I may prevail on you to galop with me afterwards."
He certainly looked in a charming condition for a galop. Harriet replied that she was really sorry, but that they were to leave the ball-room after the next dance.
Sir Hawarth muttered something about his being in confounded ill-luck; and that there was not another woman in the room worth dancing with.
"And pray," he whispered, "could not you be off your engagement? Is it any very particular person? Who is it, if I may be so bold?"
The dancers were collecting; Harriet, not knowing how to answer, and aware that he was not quite composed in his mind, glanced uneasily round the room. Mr. Gage coming forward in the most natural manner, said easily:
"Now, Miss Conway, if you will do me the honour—"
Harriet took his arm, and joined the dancers.
"Oh!" said Sir Hawarth, satisfied that her plea of an engagement was genuine.
Harriet's anger was magnificent. She felt that for once she had lost her self-command, when she excused herself on the plea of being engaged; she, who never hesitated to refuse a partner upon the most trivial reason, and frequently upon no reason at all; and whose right to do so was tolerably well established. She to commit herself! To put herself in the power of Mr. Gage—to be obliged to dance with him to cover a blunder of her own. It was insupportable.
Mr. Gage moved through the figure as carelessly as possible. Harriet never danced a step, hardly vouchsafed her fingers' ends, when it was requisite to give her hand, and never directed to him a single glance from those stormy, dark eyes, that seemed to burn beneath her haughty brows. She never uttered a word even to those about her, but employed herself in opening and shutting her emblazoned fan with the jerk peculiar to Spanish women, which movement completely diverted the eyes of the Conde from his partner to herself. It brought his country more completely home to him than even the pure Castilian in which she had been so ably conversing.
As soon as the quadrille was over, and before the dancers had time to disperse, Harriet turned from her partner without the slightest gesture of acknowledgment, and making a sign to Margaret, walked into the cloak-room, followed by seven or eight gentlemen, more or less in despair at her early departure. She suffered the Conde to put on her shawl, and hand her into the carriage, and parted from him with a smile, and a verse from Calderon. Mr. Humphries and Mr. Gage both attended Margaret, and then got into their own conveyance.
There was a profound silence for a short time. Mr. Singleton felt that something was wrong, and was really so much under the dominion of his niece, that he hardly ventured to make a remark. At last he made bold to say that it was a very good ball.
"Very," replied Margaret.
Harriet said nothing.
Mr. Singleton then complimented Margaret upon the number of hearts she had won, and said he expected to be besieged the next day by her different suitors.
Margaret said that Mr. Singleton was very flattering, and thought no more of the effect she was said to have produced.
"Well, Harriet," said Mr. Singleton after he had cleared his throat two or three times, "you were rather in a hurry to come away this evening."
"Yes, Sir," returned Harriet, in a short decided tone.
"How was that, eh?" asked her uncle.
"I was bored," returned Harriet as shortly as before.
This was conclusive, and an ominous silence prevailed. Margaret feared that Harriet was mortally offended with her, and began to think that her threat of leaving Singleton Manor the next day might come to be put in practice. She felt constrained—distressed. There was not light enough to see Harriet's face, and she hardly knew how to end her suspense. At last she timidly put her hand into that of her wilful friend. Harriet snatched hold of it, and pressed it suddenly to her lips. Margaret was almost affected to tears by this little incident. She hoped that the storm had blown over, but she was satisfied that, at least, Harriet's displeasure did not extend to her.
As soon as the carriage door was opened, Harriet sprang out without waiting for the steps to be let down, and dashed through the hall into the drawing-room. Mr. Singleton saying something about "a storm brewing," handed Margaret out and followed his niece.
She took up her night-candle, nodded to her uncle and beckoned Margaret to follow her. As soon as she reached her dressing-room, she began in silence to take off her ornaments from her dress and hair. Then she held out her hand at a little distance, and watched it for a few moments with great attention. It trembled.
"Margaret, ma mie," said she, raising her head. "I am going to be ill; will you mind sleeping with me for once?"
Margaret willingly gave her consent. Harriet stooped over her desk, and hastily wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper.
"If I am hors-de-combat to-morrow, Margaret," she said, "give this to Mr. Gage."
A stamp of her slender foot, as she pronounced his name, was the only indication of feeling that she betrayed.
Margaret really did not know if it was a cartel of defiance, but she thought it better to promise compliance.
"Then kiss me, ma mie, and go to sleep," said Harriet, "we will talk over our adventures to-morrow."
CHAPTER VI
Mar. Yes, a letter.
She brings no challenge sure.
THE MAID IN THE MILL.
Val. He must not then be angry
That loses her.
Gom. Oh! that were Sir, unworthy.
Mir. A little sorrow he may find.
Val. 'Tis manly.
THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.
The next morning Harriet was in a high fever. Mr. Singleton said she had nobody to thank for it but herself. She had no business at a ball when she was suffering from a severe cold, unless she had chosen to go in a fur cloak. That he wondered how any ladies escaped without catching their death at such places; and that he hoped the servant who was gone for the doctor would not be an hour on the road. Margaret seriously alarmed about her friend, had been making the breakfast in silence, until Mr. Singleton's attack upon Harriet led her to say, with tearful eyes, that she believed Harriet had gone to the ball entirely on her account, and that she felt so very sorry she had not more decidedly opposed it.
Mr. Gage, who had said nothing upon the subject in any way, and who had hardly seemed to know Harriet was not at table, now begged Margaret not to allow herself to feel any concern on that point, for that he believed Miss Conway had been always rather remarkable for her imprudences. Margaret always disliked his polite phrases, and the persuasive interest of his manner, but now they seemed more than ever out of place. The slip of paper that Harriet had entrusted to her was lying folded by her side—she had no idea what it might contain; but now, seeing Mr. Humphries standing at the window with Mr. Singleton, she took it up timidly, and said with a little hesitation:—"Harriet desired me to give you this paper, Mr. Gage."
He took it up very politely, glanced at it, and handed it back to her. It contained only two words:—"Go away."
He drew his chair nearer to Margaret, glanced at the window, and then said in a low voice:—"Perhaps you will tell Miss Conway, that my respect for Mr. and Mrs. Singleton will not admit of my complying immediately with her demand."
"I will," said Margaret.
She felt pleased with his reply, and with his straightforward manner; and she hoped that she was not considered a party concerned in so abrupt a missive. And yet she could hardly help laughing, it appeared to her so very ridiculous.
Mr. Gage took up the paper and looked at it again. "I think I need hardly write an answer," he said.
He seemed as little inclined to be grave as Margaret. She assured him that she would deliver his message faithfully. He twisted up the paper, and seemed about to burn it, when he drew it back, said it was really worth preserving, and added something, as if to himself, about its being "so like a spoilt child."
Like most men, who think a spoilt child the perfection of womankind, until they have her, when their opinion changes inconveniently fast.
Then turning to Margaret, who was about to leave the room, he said "that he could not avoid expressing his thanks for her skilful interference last night; that it was most kind in her to undertake so difficult and unpleasing a task; and for himself, he was grateful to her for preventing what might have been annoying to all parties."
Margaret thought he could not have been more glad than she was to prevent a scene; she made some quiet remark to his compliment, and went back to her friend's room.
For three days, Margaret was a voluntary prisoner with Harriet. Every morning after breakfast, when she was locking up the tea-chest, Mr. Humphries made it a point to sidle up to her, and ask "if she could not make him of any use; if he should not drive over to G–, and get any thing for Miss Conway." He likewise, at the same period, warned Miss Capel against the dangers of attending too closely upon her sick friend.
"It is all very well for a day, you know," he said, "but how any body can stand being shut up in a sick room for so long, I can't imagine; and I really think, Miss Capel, I–" and here Mr. Humphries looked round, as if he was anxious to hide behind some of the furniture, "I think, indeed, you are beginning to look pale."
"Oh! I shall do very well," said Margaret, smiling, "Harriet will soon be down stairs, I hope."
"And in the meantime," said Mr. Gage, with deep anxiety, "I fear you are injuring your health by your kind exertions."
Margaret thought he might as well expend a little of his interest upon Harriet's health, which at that time was in rather a more precarious state than hers, but she said "it was a pleasure to her to sit with Harriet, for she well knew how long the days appeared in illness."
"That is very—I mean it is just what I—you are all goodness, I am sure," faltered Mr. Humphries.
Mr. Gage could not but feel the most sovereign contempt for the manner in which Mr. Humphries attempted to show his interest for Margaret: instead of whispering a well-turned phrase into her long tresses, to stand blushing and stammering like an idiot. So after staring haughtily at both for a moment, he loitered away to the stable.
Margaret had a note to write for Harriet, and as during this process her eyes were fixed on the paper, Mr. Humphries found it less difficult to keep up a conversation with her.
"Does Miss Conway make a good invalid?" he said.
"Yes, indeed," said Margaret, "she is very patient."
"You would be very patient," said Mr. Humphries, with his usual gesture of attempting to hide under the table.
"I hope so," said Margaret, gently; "but sickness is a great trial to every body, Mr. Humphries."
"I don't think," began Mr. Humphries, looking fixedly at the beautiful fingers that were engaged in folding the note:—"that is, I think—if you were to nurse people, they would not need to be much pitied."
This sentence, which was spoken very fast, and accompanied by strong signs of bashfulness, was received by Margaret as one of the ordinary civilities which young men are in the habit of paying. She carefully traced the direction, and, pausing at the last word, said calmly:—
"Let me see, is Lockwood in Worcestershire or Somersetshire, Mr. Humphries?"
"In Worcestershire," said Mr. Humphries, relieved by finding that his speech had produced no greater effect,—for he had grown extremely red in the face, and felt like a person who had fired a train, and expected some terrible explosion to take place.
However, he had composure enough left to light her a taper, and find the sealing wax, but before Margaret could make use of it, Harriet's maid rushed into the room, and with signs of great agitation informed her that her mistress was much worse, and as she thought, light-headed.
Margaret hastily left the note for Mr. Humphries to seal and dispatch, and ran up stairs. Harriet was much worse; quite delirious, and holding forth to Mrs. Singleton with great eagerness; while she, poor lady, perfectly unable to hear a word she uttered, had no idea of the real state of the case. Margaret saw it directly, took Mrs. Singleton aside, and informed her of Harriet's condition, sent off a servant for a medical man, and took her place firmly by her friend's bedside.
Before night, Harriet was very ill,—was worse—was in danger. Margaret would not go down to dinner; but the kind Mrs. Singleton would not allow her to remain in the room all the evening. She sent her into the drawing-room to make tea, and begged her to remain there till bed time.
Mr. Singleton was walking up and down the room, whistling discordantly. He came up to Margaret, thanked her repeatedly for her kindness to Harriet, and rang the bell for the urn.
Mr. Gage and Mr. Humphries joined her at the tea-table.
"I have not seen you since breakfast," said Mr. Gage, bending across the teacups, "how much I have regretted your absence."
Now Margaret was in very low spirits, feeling solitary and frightened, and perhaps his being a Gage inspired her with confidence, and made her feel a claim upon his sympathy, for she turned her eyes, filled with tears, upon him, and said:—
"Harriet is so ill, Mr. Gage!"
"I am sorry to hear it," he replied coldly.
This sudden check did not produce the effect upon Margaret that it might upon some people. She never cried upon such occasions: she forced back her tears, at once, and sat cold and silent.
Mr. Humphries handed her toast and cakes in vain.
Mr. Gage rose, and employed himself in altering the lamp.
"Does the doctor come again this evening, Miss Capel?" asked Mr. Singleton.
"Yes, Sir, the last thing," replied Margaret, "he asked when the house would be shut up, but Mrs. Singleton desired him to name his own time, and he appointed eleven."
"It is just ten now," said Mr. Singleton, looking at his watch.
Mr. Gage looked at his watch too, which did not seem at all necessary, and then altered the lamp again.
"Who sits up with Harriet to-night?" asked Mr. Singleton.
"Her maid, Sir; Mrs. Singleton would not hear of my sitting up."
"Perfectly right," said Mr. Gage, "if I were Mrs. Singleton, I should be inclined to forbid you the room altogether; you run a great risk of infection."
"I am sure," said Mr. Humphries, "I wish I could be of use; I only wish I could sit up, that's all."
Mr. Gage remarked with much disdain, "that his sitting up with a young lady would possess, at least, the charm of novelty;" and then he turned away and loitered to the fire-place.
Mr. Humphries drew his chair closer to Margaret.
"This is very dull for you, Miss Capel," he began.
"Very sad for me," said Margaret.
"You are not afraid of being with Miss Conway?"
"Not at all; I never was timid about infection."
"I think—(a long pause)—I think you are an angel, Miss Capel."
"Do you, Mr. Humphries," said Margaret unconsciously; her whole mind occupied with Harriet's illness, and the unkind indifference displayed by Mr. Gage.
For a little while Mr. Humphries had to endure a paroxysm of bashfulness; when he recovered, the first words he uttered were: "I like you very much!"
Margaret, who was fitting a steel pen into a mother of pearl handle, replied: "you are very good, Mr. Humphries. Is not this a pretty pen?"
He took it in his clumsy way, and then began to laugh.
"I—I meant," he began; but here his courage failed him, and he gave her back the pen, looking suspiciously at Mr. Singleton and George Gage, who were conversing in whispers at the other end of the room.
"Can you tell me what o'clock it is, Mr. Humphries?" asked Margaret.
"Twenty minutes to eleven."
"Thank you."
"I shall not hunt to-morrow, Miss Capel," said Mr. Humphries, "somehow—"
He wanted an interpreter; "somehow," meant that while Harriet was ill, he did not think he should quite enjoy a run with the hounds. Margaret understood his meaning and smiled.
Mr. Humphries returned her smile with his usual breadth of expression, revealing a perfect semicircle of dazzling teeth, and then said: "Coming home from hunting, last time—"
"Yes, Mr. Humphries."
"Gage, and I—"
"Yes, Mr. Humphries."
"I wish you would say yes always!"
Here a prodigious smile, and the usual symptoms of vanishing under the table.
"But it would not make sense always, Mr. Humphries," replied Margaret.
"You said that day, you did not believe that people could be in love twice."
"I thought you said so, and I agreed to it," said Margaret, still looking at the pen-holder.
"No, I didn't; you did."
"Oh! was that it? I think it must be near eleven."
Margaret laid down the pen, and rose to leave the room.
Mr. Humphries thought he had better make haste.
"Miss Capel, I say, were you ever in love?" he stammered in much confusion.
Margaret was certainly a little startled. She had been so engrossed by her own thoughts that she had not observed the progress her companion was making.
"If I ever have been," she said tranquilly, "as I am now single, Mr. Humphries, you must suppose it would be an unpleasant subject for me to touch upon."
He seemed struck by her calm, grave manner, but he stumbled on.
"Because, I was in love once—with a very nice girl—when I was at Christ Church; but, for all that, I feel as if—I should be in love again—"
Margaret held out her hand, and said gently, but coldly, "Good night, Mr. Humphries."
He took her hand, kissed it, seemed very much inclined to cry, but let her pass him without a word. He had perfectly understood her manner.