CHAPTER XI
Theo. To this man, my fortune,
My more than purblind fortune, gave my faith,
Drawn to it by as many shows of service
And signs of truth, as ever false tongue uttered:
Heaven pardon all.
LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE.
There was no public breakfast at Wardenscourt. People took that meal in their several rooms. Margaret was just giving Mason her simple directions, when in swam Mrs. Thompson, with Mrs. Gage's compliments, and "would Miss Capel breakfast with her in the Oratory?"
Miss Capel was pleased to renew her acquaintance with Mrs. Thompson, who rustled about in a smarter silk, and finer cap then ever was seen before. She accepted the invitation, and sent the lady's-maid on to say so.
The Oratory was a little octagon room, adjoining Harriet's bed-room, which she used as a boudoir. She could not help smiling at her friend's pertinacity; for there, reclining on a sofa, was Everard Gage, while Harriet looked triumphant from behind the urn. Mr. Gage was reading the paper by the window.
"Come, Margaret, lose no time," said Harriet, with a distinct glance at Everard.
Margaret took her speech literally, glided into a chair, and drew her plate towards her. Mr. Gage came to help her.
"Everard!" said Harriet, "have you found the head we all think so like Miss Capel?"
"No," said he, looking up from the 'Book of Beauty,' which he was turning over; "there is nothing here pretty enough."
"Brava!" exclaimed Harriet; "we shall do."
"Where do you think of going to-day?" said Mr. Gage to Margaret.
She could not bring herself to mention the church at Tynebrook, but Harriet saved her the trouble.
"Lucy thought of going to see Mr. Haveloc's new church," said Harriet. "I don't know whether it is settled, because if he is out, we shall have to find the beadle, or the sexton, or somebody, to show it us. But, to be sure, we can take Everard with us, to run about and find the proper people. I wonder when you will grow good enough to build churches, Everard?"
"I don't know. I must grow rich enough first," he said.
Mr. Gage did not despise Mr. Haveloc for this fancy; he only pitied him. If he had spent so much that he had not enough left to buy a proper number of horses and carriages, then it would have been something to despise. But, as he had not deprived himself of any luxuries in the prosecution of his whim, he contented himself with the softer emotion of pity.
"I suppose we shall not have you with us, George," said Harriet.
"No."
Mr. Gage confessed he saw nothing very attractive in a damp country church, full of workmen. And he happened to be engaged to go somewhere with the Deacons.
"And you, Everard?"
"No." The day was so hot, he thought he should stay at home.
Harriet looked for a moment undecided whether she should permit this act of rebellion to pass unnoticed; but seeing Margaret about to leave the room, she joined her, and they went down stairs together.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick declined being of the party to the church. She would wait till Mr. Haveloc returned from town; and then he should be her cicerone. She was not so very fond of architecture for its own sake—but Margaret was. She had no doubt the expedition would delight Margaret.
So they set off—Lady Raymond, Harriet and Margaret—through a most beautiful country, and a great many steep, uneven, narrow roads. At last, the church, low in a valley, and buried among old trees, came in sight.
"I never was so glad to see a steeple before," said Harriet. "Why it is twelve miles off! I am knocked up, and so are you, child. How pale you look!"
A low, heavy oaken gate admitted them into the church-yard. They left the carriage without, and stood looking at the building. It was a beautiful church. The pencil of Cattermole might almost weary in recording the elaborate carving of the stonework about the windows, and the deep porch. The doors were open, for the workmen were about some of the pillars and scaffolds, and tools still announced their occupation within.
The organ was pealing, and the rich sound swelled into the quiet church-yard.
"They have a blind organist here," said Lucy. "He plays admirably. Listen—Mozart's mass in C."
"Beautiful! how fine the Gloria sounds," said Harriet. "What a movement!"
"I wish the Protestant Church was musical," said Lucy, as they walked up the aisle.
"Is that you, Lady Raymond?" asked the player, coming to the front of the gallery. It was Mr. Haveloc.
Margaret's start—the mist that rushed before her eyes, were unobserved by her companions.
Lucy went on. "We were praising your playing so much, Mr. Haveloc. We thought it was your organist."
"I will come down to you," he said, and disappearing from the gallery, he joined them in the aisle.
"So, you have found your way here at last, Lady Raymond," he said as he shook hands with her. "Confess that the road was very tolerable, after all."
"Bearable," said Lucy. "Mrs. Gage and Miss Capel are behind."
He advanced to Harriet, bowed to Margaret in passing, and went on speaking to Harriet.
"And you did not come on horseback, Mrs. Gage? I thought from Lady Raymond's account, you were never out of the saddle."
"It is so very warm to-day," said Harriet, "how nice and cool the church feels. But, how very odd! What a mint of money this must have cost!"
"Aye. But one never cares what one spends upon a fancy. I am not so satisfied with the bills my gardener brings me in for plants. I dare say, now, you did not grudge what you gave for your favourite horse."
"My chestnut was a present from Uncle Singleton," said Harriet, "but it is shocking to think what he cost."
"I always think it very extravagant to spend much upon horses," said Lady Raymond, "they are such uncertain things. They fall lame, or die; or, something—"
"Not more uncertain than Blenheim spaniels," said Harriet, laughing.
"Ah! true, Lady Raymond; recollect the fifty guineas for Flora," said Mr. Haveloc.
"You certainly saved her life that day," said Lucy. "Raymond did not know what on earth to do for her, poor little love!"
"You will stand up for the cold water cure after that," said Mr. Haveloc.
"I shall, indeed," said Lady Raymond, "I sing your praises every where."
"But I am dying to see the tomb of the Danish sea-king," said Harriet. "Where is it?"
"It was in the chancel," Mr. Haveloc said. "He would show them the way."
Margaret gathered from this trifling conversation, on what an intimate footing he was at Wardenscourt. She felt sick to death. She never lifted her eyes from the pavement, and scarcely knew where she was going, nor what her companions were talking about. She was occupied with one feeling, that he must think it strange and indelicate that she was of the party, and that she wished that some one would tell him that they believed him to be in London.
But they were too much engrossed with the strange old tomb.
"This granite chest—look, Lucy! how curious!" exclaimed Harriet. "And what a sword—immense! can you lift it, Mr. Haveloc?"
He raised it a little off the lid.
"It is chained down, you see," he said, "because it was once stolen. And my ancestor had more trouble than it was worth in getting it back again."
"What time was that?" asked Lady Raymond.
"In the reign of William the Third," he replied.
"Has this tomb ever been opened?" asked Harriet.
"Yes. In my father's time."
"And what did they find within?"
"A good deal of armour, and a few bones."
"Delightful! If I were you, Mr. Haveloc, I would make a point of being buried in it myself," said Harriet, laughing. Those persons who think little of preparing for death, are always the most cheerful and ready in talking about it.
"I would not intrude upon him," said Mr. Haveloc. "I should be very scrupulous of usurping the last home of any man."
"Oh! you are quite a saint, I hear, Mr. Haveloc," said Harriet, gaily.
"Very good hearing," said Mr. Haveloc; "but, saint, or not, I have no idea of squeezing into this tomb along with the old Dane!"
Margaret, feeling more and more sick and faint, held by the altar rail while they were talking. His neglect of herself; his easy intimacy with the others, struck her to the heart. She had no reason to expect that he would meet her with any emotion, but still this coldness, all the keener from being perfectly unstudied, affected her more than she could have anticipated.
Now, the fact was, he had not recognised her; being extremely near-sighted, and not at all expecting to see her, he had imagined Lady Raymond had said "Miss Campbell," when she named Margaret; a young lady whom he had met at her house, but of whose person he had not a more distinct idea than of that of the Empress of China.
The first thing that started her from her reverie, was a laugh from Mr. Haveloc.
"Look at Mrs. Gage, with all those orange and green panes upon her face," he exclaimed.
Lucy laughed heartily; Harriet started on one side: "Do go back again, Harriet," she cried; "you have no idea how droll it looked."
"Thank you; take your turn, if you please," said Harriet.
"How vain she is!" cried Lucy; "do you stand there, Mr. Haveloc?"
He complied with her request; and both sisters were extremely amused by the effect produced. Any trifle would serve to set them laughing; they were always in high spirits.
"Oh! but we have not seen the altar-cloth," said Lucy, recovering herself.
It was covered with brown Holland, and Mr. Haveloc went to the rail, where Margaret was standing, to go up to the altar and take off the cover.
"Permit me," he said politely to Margaret, as he passed her.
The tears rushed to her eyes, but she bravely forced them back, and tried to still her agitation.
"Good gracious!" said Harriet, far more struck with this finery, than the exquisite architecture of the church; "where did you get this beautiful work?"
"At Bruges," he replied.
"Oh, Heavens! done by Roman Catholic fingers. How horribly wicked you are—and yet it is so exquisite, that I really—"
"What day will you dine with us, Mr. Haveloc?" said Lucy, leaning over the rail.
"Whenever you please to command me, Lady Raymond," he replied.
"Raymond would be so pleased if we brought you back with us; he thinks you still in town," said Lady Raymond.
Poor Margaret! the idea of driving back with him in the same carriage.
"I cannot make it out to-day, I have so many things to do," he said.
"You will like to come," said Harriet, "because Everard is staying with us, and you knew all the Gages, did you not?"
"You are staying there, Mrs. Gage, is not that sufficient?"
"Oh, if I was but single," exclaimed Harriet, who never hesitated saying what was uppermost in her mind, "how I would try to catch you!"
"Why did you never do me that honour when you had it in your power, Mrs. Gage?" said Mr. Haveloc, laughing.
"Because, Mr. Haveloc, I had not then seen your altar-cloth."
"Your sister uses me very ill," said he, turning to Lady Raymond; "she would have me believe that all my merits lie in that altar-cloth."
"What did it cost, Mr. Haveloc?" said Harriet.
"Will you confess to the cost of your chestnut, if I tell you?"
"Agreed."
"Three hundred guineas."
"You don't say so!"
"And the chestnut?"
"The very sum."
"But my cloth will outlast your horse."
"Well, I allow that," said Harriet; "but it does not follow that you are the less extravagant of the two."
"You are both horridly extravagant," said Lucy, "but say when you will dine with us."
"Mr. Haveloc," said Harriet, beckoning him close to her, "another attraction, Mrs. Fitzpatrick is with us."
His agitation quite satisfied Harriet; he started, coloured, tried to speak very calmly, and turned to Lady Raymond.
"Will your ladyship allow me to say to-morrow?"
"By all means," she said, "if you cannot really come to-day."
"I wish I could," he replied.
Another confirmation for Margaret, if she had needed it. The whole chancel seemed swimming round.
She asked Harriet in a low voice if she knew how late it was.
"No, ma mie, enlighten me," said Harriet.
Margaret showed her watch.
"The fact is, you are quite tired child," said Harriet, looking attentively at her face.
"Quite—the heat—" faltered Margaret.
"Then we will go at once," said Mrs. Gage with her usual decision.
Mr. Haveloc was trying to persuade Lady Raymond to go on to Tynebrook, to see some Vandykes, and taste some particular black grapes.
Lucy was hesitating.
"No, no, no!" said Harriet, coming between them, "you will be late, I tell you; and you know that half a hundred formal people are coming to dinner. You will get into sad disgrace."
Lucy decided at once to go home, and Mr. Haveloc gave her his arm, and walked with them through the church-yard to the carriage.
"Mr. Haveloc," said Harriet, "we are going to act a French vaudeville; the parts are not all filled. Will you take one?"
"I regret that my genius does not lie that way;" he said, "what is the play?"
"'La Demoiselle á marier.' Lucy is too idle to act—her forte is in tableaux. I am going to be the mother; Lord James Deacon, the friend; the father is to be forthcoming when we want him, and as Lady James won't take the lover, which is a shame, for she has an excellent figure for it; I don't very well see how you can be off—"
"I should put you out. I have no turn for the stage; and, besides, I am not familiar with French," he said, "if it had been Italian now—"
"Oh! you speak it as well as we do, I dare say," said Lucy, "you had better take it, I think."
"We will talk it over to-morrow," said Harriet as he put her into the carriage.
"And who plays the 'Demoiselle á marier?'" he asked.
"We want to persuade Miss Campbell," said Lucy, "because she sings well, and speaks French beautifully; better, I believe than any Englishwoman ever did."
"Ah!" said Mr. Haveloc, turning with a smile to Margaret, "and are you so very difficult then to persuade?"
He was handing her into the carriage as he spoke; as she seated herself her face was directly before him, pale as a marble statue—dim—reproachful.
"Spectre-smitten!" said Harriet as the carriage swept away, "what was the matter, Margaret?"
"The—matter—" said Margaret, speaking with difficulty.
"I am sure we will not let him off acting, after that start," continued Harriet. "Hamlet is nothing to him. I wonder which of us is so very horribly ugly," she continued, laughing, "depend upon it, the man has murdered somebody in his day."
"Harriet! what horrid ideas you have," said Lucy, leaning back very comfortably, "the notion of poor Mr. Haveloc having murdered any one. Don't you think, Miss Capel, it is a beautiful church?"
"Very," said Margaret.
"She has a head-ache; don't talk to her," said Harriet, decidedly.
Lady Raymond was shocked and concerned; and offered Margaret her vinaigrette and her Eau de Cologne, and reproached herself for undertaking so long a drive in the heat.
Margaret tried to smile and thank her, and by the use of the flaçon to still the trembling of her nerves.
"Oh! I see, Margaret," said Harriet, suddenly, "he took you for Miss Campbell, and when he was putting you into the carriage he found his mistake; that made him look so èbahi; but I should not have fancied him to be such a shy person."
"Never was anybody less shy," said Lucy.
"He did look thunderstruck, to be sure," said Harriet. "Margaret, why did you not speak to him before?"
Margaret roused herself. "I believe I am shy Harriet," she said.
"Do you think him handsome, Harriet?" asked Lucy playing with the fringe of her parasol.
"Of course not," said Harriet, "he is as dark as a Moor."
"I don't think that an objection," said Lucy. "I rather like that sort of expressive face. I fancy a painter would never be tired of watching him."
"We must get him for Alphonse;" said Harriet musing, "he looks foreign; and he is graceful in his gestures. Then, if Margaret prefers Everard, what a chance for Miss Campbell. Lucy! Ah! stop the carriage! Thompson, a glass of water—there is a cottage—run—Miss Capel has fainted!"
CHAPTER XII
Org. Time can never
On the white table of unguilty faith
Write counterfeit dishonour.
FORD.
"It was the heat, Harriet, indeed. Mrs. Fitzpatrick will tell you that I cannot bear hot weather," said Margaret earnestly.
"Mrs. Fitzpatrick is not in the room, ma mie," said Harriet, taking a chair just opposite to Margaret. "I certainly never knew such a heroine as you are. Going down to dinner after an obstinate fainting fit; divinely dressed, and looking like a very pale angel. Now I have said a generous thing, because I see your white dress is more prettily made than mine; but I make a great exertion and forgive you."
Margaret smiled.
"Well now, Margaret, what was it? This is the second time of asking. Beware of the third."
"I have told you, dear Harriet," said Margaret. "I was not well when I came. I felt wretchedly all yesterday, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick thought the journey had been too much for one day; she means to divide it when we go back."
"When you go back! That will not be while I am here, I can tell you," said Harriet. "Oh! I do wish Margaret that you were married. I hate single women!"
"I really cannot help that, Harriet," said Margaret.
"I told you all about my affair with George;" said Harriet with emphasis.
"True, dear Harriet, but I was not a married woman!" said Margaret, trying to rally her spirits.
"If you think I should repeat any-thing to George, you are quite mistaken," said Harriet, "he may think himself very well off if I confide to him my own affairs."
"But, indeed, dear Harriet, I have no affairs to confide;" persisted poor Margaret.
"You cannot be in love with Mr. Haveloc;" said Harriet musing, and trying to recall what happened at Chirke Weston, the only time she saw them both together.
"In love with him—no!" said Margaret drawing herself up, and speaking with energy.
"Brava! you handsome little creature;" cried Harriet catching her in her arms, and covering her with kisses, "but come, it is a dull party to-day, but we will make up for it to-morrow."
If it was a dull party, it was at least a very large one. The drawing-room was full. Lady Raymond, with jewels in her dress and hair, was standing by a vase of flowers, showing something choice to one of the guests. Lord Raymond came in quietly, spoke to the company, went up to his wife and looked at her dress, took hold of one of her ornaments, with some curiosity, and then stood on the hearth-rug until dinner was ready.
Margaret was assigned to Everard Gage, who never talked if he could help it; and she felt the luxury of repose and silence during this grand, tedious dinner.
When they were again in the drawing-room, the ladies divided into little knots according to their tastes and degrees of intimacy. Mrs. Fitzpatrick was seated in one of the windows; Margaret at a stand near her, looking over some prints; Harriet was discussing, with Miss Campbell and Lady James Deacon, the French vaudeville they meant to act.
Lady Raymond, whose feelings, though not very deep, were kindly, seated herself beside Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"We met a very old friend of yours to-day, quite unexpectedly," she said in a low voice.
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick with great interest. "Was it Mr. Haveloc? Is he at Tynebrook?"
"He is just arrived," said Lucy, "and he dines with us to-morrow. I thought you would like to know."
"Thank you; I shall be truly glad to see him;" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a sigh.
"I know it all," said Lucy in a sympathising tone. "Raymond told me he was engaged to my poor cousin." For Lady Raymond having adopted Mrs. Fitzpatrick to that degree of relationship, extended the kindred to her lost daughter.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick was truth itself; there was no occasion to enter into detail; but she could not avoid correcting an erroneous statement of facts.
"He is a very intimate and tried friend of mine," she said; "but he was not engaged, nor even attached to my daughter in the common sense of the word. He did not form our acquaintance until after Aveline had too clearly shown a tendency to the complaint which destroyed her. There could have been no thought of marriage between them; but being in my neighbourhood, during the latter part of her illness, he paid me such frequent visits, that, had there been any gossip in that solitary place, I dare say it would have ascribed such a reason for his conduct. I am sure he was like a son to me, at a time when I was deeply in need of support. And it is possible that under other circumstances, if his heart was disengaged, of which I am entirely ignorant, the regard and respect that he felt for my daughter might have ripened into a permanent attachment."
"Of course it would; it is just the same thing. How melancholy!" said Lucy, with the usual amount of pity in her voice. "And so after all, my dear Mrs. Fitzpatrick, you are to be the future mistress of Tynebrook."
"Do be reasonable, my dear Lady Raymond," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, laughing. "I have always heard it considered hazardous for ladies to think of single men as their brothers: but I never heard that the same danger existed when they looked upon them as sons."
The prints fell from Margaret's hands. She sat listening—breathless—with parted lips, and eyes fixed, to every word that Mrs. Fitzpatrick uttered.
At first she could not think; she seemed turned to stone. Her next feeling was a sense of oppression, which made her find the crowded room intolerable. She looked cautiously round, and seeing every one engaged in their own pursuits, she made her escape through one of the open windows into the shrubbery.
And all this she might have known easily before. She must often have been within a hair's breadth of knowing, when any-thing moved Mrs. Fitzpatrick to some distant allusion to her daughter.
And two years had passed, during which she had been guilty of such injustice, such baseness; for had she loved nobly, would she have believed appearances against him? She, who was so slow to believe evil of the most casual acquaintance. All her sorrow, all her agony had been nothing to this corroding sense of shame to which she was now delivered.
When she had believed herself sinned against, she knew where to seek for alleviation; but how shield her heart from the intolerable sting of believing herself to be the one in fault? To have ruined her happiness for life through a narrowness of soul that refused to trust implicitly the heart and honour of the man she had chosen!
To her high generosity of feeling the anguish that these reflections brought with them was intolerable.
Sinking on a seat, she remained motionless—tearless; endeavouring to still by the pressure of her hands, the wild beating of her heart. And few people, after committing some deadly crime, would have felt more conscience-stricken, more self-debased, than Margaret, when she reproached herself for the ungenerous want of a romantic confidence.
How long she sat there she knew not; but she was roused by the clear voice of Harriet, among the shrubs exclaiming:
"Run, Everard! Why don't you run? How can you expect to find any one at this snail's pace?"
"I do run," was the faint reply.
Margaret, thinking it better to declare herself, called to Harriet, who was presently at her side. Everard Gage creeping slowly after.
Harriet turned to look at him.
"Come, make haste, and give Miss Capel your arm—or, no; run as fast as you can to the house, and bring out a shawl."
Everard turned, and disappeared slowly down the walk.
"Well, now, ma mie," said Harriet, sitting down beside her; "was the room too hot?"
"Yes; but it was rather the sound of so many voices that disturbed me," said Margaret.
"Well, then, little one, go to bed," said Harriet. "If you sleep soundly, you will be well to-morrow. I can't think what is come to the child; her hands are as cold as ice."
Margaret took Harriet's arm, and returned to the house. At the portico, they met Everard Gage, who had just succeeded in finding a shawl. Harriet rallied him upon the haste he had made, attempted to push him out of her path with the points of her slender fingers, and led Margaret up the great staircase.
She helped to undress her with great care and quickness, brought her some coffee, saw her drink it, and then desired her to go to sleep.
Strange to say, she had not long been out of the room, before Margaret obeyed her directions, and fell into a profound slumber.
Yielding to the advice of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, it was late in the morning before she went down stairs.
As the day was very hot, the ladies had all agreed not to go out. The evening was the gay time at Wardenscourt; and it was good policy not to look fagged, when there were so many people always to dinner.
Margaret found the ladies assembled, all at their worsted work, except Harriet, who was playing with Lady James Deacon's little boy, and enticing him to do all sorts of mischief to the ladies' work-baskets.
Lady James had no objection that her darling should be amused at the expense of worsteds and floss silks, so long as he kept his hands out of her particular basket; and Harriet raced him round the room like a kitten, trailing after him half a dozen brilliant-coloured balls.
Miss Campbell, who was pretty, in spite of her red hair, and possessed all the mysterious powers of attracting the other sex, common to ladies of that hue, became an object of serious interest to Margaret.
She remembered Mr. Haveloc's smile, when he thought he was speaking to Miss Campbell; she recollected that he had not positively declined the part of Alphonse, and Miss Campbell seemed only to be uncertain about accepting Camille, until she knew definitely, who was to enact the lover.
As she reclined in a low arm-chair, displaying the most slender ancle conceivable, and a thin foot incomparably shod, with her delicate blue muslin dress, her exquisite collar, and piquante cap of blue gauze artfully commingled with lace, Margaret thought that no one could deny her the meed of remarkable elegance. True, that extreme slenderness of form was adverse to an evening toilet, the neck and arms gained considerably by being left to the imagination; but she was exceedingly clever—talked good nonsense, laughed prettily, and sang with great archness and point. She was certain of a crowd of gentlemen round the piano, whenever she went to it: and Margaret who had scarcely ever seen Mr. Haveloc in society, did not know at all the style of person he generally admired. Harriet called her a knitting pin, a javelin-woman, and every other term she could coin expressive of her distaste for that style of beauty; but Harriet was no guide in the present instance; no test of what Mr. Haveloc might like. And feeling sure that she was, by her own act, for ever divided from Mr. Haveloc, she was conscious of a feverish desire to know on whom his choice would fall.
The ladies dispersed to dress rather earlier than usual, there were three or four officers coming, and women seem aware that fine clothes are never wasted upon men in that profession.
Margaret whose dress was always simple, came down soon into the deserted drawing-room, and finding Mrs. Fitzpatrick reading at a table, she joined her, and read over her shoulder. It was the "Records of Woman." They looked as if grouped for a picture, and Harriet who was coming in at the door-way with Mr. Haveloc, who had just arrived, stopped him and bade him admire the attitude.
Margaret's face was turned from them, but her extended arm, as white and rounded as that of a statue, was passed over Mrs. Fitzpatrick's shoulder, tracing the lines with her finger. Mr. Haveloc stayed a moment, in obedience to Mrs. Gage, then came abruptly up to Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"My dear Mrs. Fitzpatrick!"
"Mr. Haveloc—this is a pleasure!"
Margaret withdrew her hand softly, and passing behind them, went to one of the sofas and sat down beside Harriet. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mr. Haveloc continued in earnest conversation. Directly after he had spoken to her, he looked round as if to address Margaret, but finding her gone, and people scattered between them, for the room was now filling, he turned back again.
Margaret tried to keep up a conversation with Harriet; she took up her fan, and asked Mrs. Gage to show her some of the Spanish movements with it. Harriet, full of fun, complied. She showed her how to say, "How are you—come, and see me," and other little sentences of the kind; but she warned her that this accomplishment did not depend solely on the dexterous handling of the fan, but required to be seconded by the expression of the lady's eye.
Lord James Deacon wished to share the lesson; but at the first trial, he endangered the ivory sticks, and Harriet took the fan from his hand. Lucy declined a trial, and Everard got to the farthest end of the room, behind the piano, because Harriet had already called to him for a footstool. Lord Raymond said gravely that he did not think the Spanish women could be much better than they should be; and that he thought these tricks with fans were as bad as sending about tulips, and cinders, and rubbish, as the women did in Turkey.
Lady Raymond laughed at him, and so did all the others. Miss Campbell was wild to learn, and Margaret surrendered her place to her; but dinner was announced before the lesson could proceed. Margaret, as usual, was assigned to Everard Gage, and as usual they went on very peaceably.
Mr. Haveloc was between Miss Campbell, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, but he appeared to devote all his attention to the latter lady. Lord James Deacon treated Margaret with his usual insolent neglect; staring hard at her when it suited him, and at other times neither addressing a word to her, nor helping her to what she wanted at table.
In the evening, Lady Raymond came up to Mr. Haveloc who was standing by Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and renewed her entreaties that he would take the part of Alphonse.
He declined, laughing—she pressed the point; she bought Lord Raymond to press the point—still he laughed it off.
Nothing he should like better than to play, if he could; but it was a weakness of his, that he could not overcome. He was too diffident to succeed on the boards.
Harriet accused him of being a Saint.