Kitabı oku: «Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One», sayfa 9
“Sing Heigh – Sing Ho!”
Trevor’s letter was sent off by one of the grooms by eight o’clock; for, accustomed to late watches and short nights at sea, the master of Penreife was down betimes, eagerly inspecting his stables and horses, and ending by making inquiries for Humphrey Lloyd, to find that he was away somewhere or another to look after the game.
Donning a wideawake, and looking about as unlike a naval officer as could be, he summoned the butler, to name half-past nine as the breakfast hour, and then, with little Polly watching him from one of the windows, he strode off across the lawn.
Polly sighed as she looked after him, and then she started, for a couple of hands were laid upon her shoulder, and turning hastily, it was to confront Mrs Lloyd, whose harsh countenance wore quite a smile as she gazed fixedly in the girl’s blushing face, and then kissed her on the forehead.
“He’s a fine, handsome-looking man, isn’t he, child?” said the housekeeper. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, aunt,” said the girl, naïvely; “I was thinking so as I saw him go across the lawn.”
Which was the simple truth, though, all the same, Miss Polly had been comparing him, somewhat to his disadvantage, with Humphrey.
“Good girl,” said Mrs Lloyd. “You must get yourself a silk dress, child – a nice light one.”
“Thank you, aunt,” said the girl, flushing with pleasure.
“Yes, he’s a fine young fellow, and as good and noble as he is high.”
“I’m sure he must be, aunt,” said the girl. “He spoke so nicely to me.”
“When? – where?” said Mrs Lloyd, eagerly.
“Yesterday, aunt, when I took in that silver cup.”
“Ah?” said Mrs Lloyd. “Yes, she’ll be a lucky girl who wins him.”
“Yes, that she will, aunt,” said the girl, enthusiastically. “He’s very rich, isn’t he?”
“Very, my dear; and his wife will be the finest lady in the county, with dresses, and carriages, and parties, and a town-house, I daresay.”
“I hope he’ll marry some one who loves him very much,” said the girl, simply.
“Of course he will, child. Why, any girl could love him. She ought to jump at the chance of having such a man. And now I must go, child. I was rather cross to you last night. I was worried with the preparations, and it did not look well for me to come and see that fellow with his hands through the window; but that won’t happen again. A little flirting’s all very well for once in a girl’s life, but there must be no more of it, and I know I shan’t have to speak any more.”
She hurried out of the room before the girl could reply, leaving her with her little forehead wrinkled by the puzzling, troubled thoughts which buzzed through her brain.
“Aunt must mean something,” she said to herself. “I wonder what she really does mean. She can’t really – oh, nonsense, what a little goose I am!”
Polly’s pretty little face puckered with a smile, and she took up her work, waiting to be called for breakfast, and sat wondering the while what Humphrey was doing.
Humphrey was away down by the disputed piece of land, and Trevor soon forgot all about him; for, crossing a field and leaping a stile, he stood in one of the winding lanes of the neighbourhood; then crossing it, and leaping another stile, he began to make his way along the side of a steep valley, when he stopped short; for, from amongst the trees in front, rang out, clear and musical —
“There came a lady along the strand,
Her fair hair bound with a golden band,
Sing heigh!”
And a second voice —
“Sing ho!”
Then the two, sweetly blended together, repeated the refrain, “Oh, Tiny!” cried the voice, “here’s one pretty enough to make even Aunt Matty look pleasant. Oh, my gracious!” she exclaimed, dropping her little trowel, for Trevor had come into sight.
“Don’t be alarmed, pray!” he said, laughing. “But really I did not know we had such sweet song-birds in the woods.”
“It was very rude to listen, Mr Trevor; and it isn’t nice to pay compliments to strangers,” said Fin, nodding her saucy head.
“Then,” said Trevor, taking the hand slightly withheld, “I shall be rude again only in one thing – listening; for we must be strangers no more, seeing that we are such near neighbours. Miss Rea,” he said, taking Tiny’s hand in turn, and looking earnestly in her timid eyes, “you were not hurt yesterday?”
“Oh no, not in the least,” was the reply.
“We are indebted to your friends, too, for taking compassion upon us in our misfortune.”
“Don’t name that,” he said, hastily. “I am glad the carriage came up in time. By the way, Miss Rea, I am glad we have met, I want to clear up a little unpleasantly that occurred yesterday.”
“Oh, of course,” said Fin. “Why, we ought to have cut you this morning.”
“No, no,” said Trevor, laughing, “that would be too cruel I am really very, very sorry about it all; and I have sent a letter over to Sir Hampton this morning, apologising for my hasty words.”
“Oh, have you?” said Fin, clapping her hands, and making a bound off the moss; “how nice! I mean,” she added, demurely, “how correct.”
Fin whispered her sister, who was growing flushed and troubled by the eager and impressive way in which Trevor spoke to her.
“It would be such a pity,” he said, walking on by her side, “if any little trifle like that in dispute should be allowed to disturb the peace, and break what would, I am sure, be a charming intimacy!”
“Why, the great, handsome wretch is making love to her,” said Fin to herself. “Oh, what a shame! I hate him already.”
“I know – I feel sure papa will only be too glad – too ready to make amends,” said Tiny, who was growing more confused; for every time she spoke and ventured to glance at her companion, it was to meet his eyes gazing into hers with a depth of tenderness that pleased while it troubled her, and made her little heart behave in the most absurdly fluttering fashion. He looked so frank and handsome – so different in his brown tweeds and carelessly put-on hat to the carefully dressed dandies, their companions of the day before.
“I have told Sir Hampton that I mean to call this afternoon to ask him to shake hands with me. Do you think I may?” he said, with another look.
“I don’t know – I think so – oh yes! pray call,” said Tiny, confused, and blushing more than ever.
“Thank you, I will,” he said, earnestly, “and you will be at home?”
“I forbid thee – no, thou must not come,” said Fin, in a mock-serious tone, “And why not?” said Trevor, turning upon her.
“Because Aunt Matty hates the sight of young men, and papa will be ready to eat you.”
“Why, bless your bright, merry little face,” cried Trevor, enthusiastically, and catching Fin’s hands in his. “Do you know what I feel as if I could do?”
“No, of course not,” cried Fin, trying to frown, and looking bewitching.
“Why, catch you up and kiss you a dozen times for a merry little woodland fay,” cried Trevor.
“Oh, gracious!” cried Fin, snatching away her hands, and retreating behind her sister.
“Don’t be alarmed, little maiden,” said Trevor, laughing; “I won’t do so.”
“I should think not,” cried Fin.
“Sailors’ manners,” said Trevor, laughing, as he walked on by their side.
“Do you know how old I am, sir?” said Fin, austerely.
“I should say nearly sixteen,” said Trevor, glancing at her sister.
“Seventeen and a half, sir,” said Fin, with dignity on her forehead, and a laugh at each corner of her little mouth.
“Then it will be a sin if Nature ever lets you get a day older,” said Trevor, laughing.
“Thank you, sir,” said Fin, with a mock curtsey.
“Is she always as merry as this?” said Trevor to Tiny, who glanced at him again, to once more lower her eyes in confusion, he looked at her so earnestly.
“Yes; but you must not heed what she says,” was the reply.
“I’m very wicked in my remarks, Mr Trevor,” said Fin; “and now, sir, if you please, we are going this way to dig up ferns – so good morning.”
“That is my direction,” said Trevor, quietly; “and as I am only your neighbour, surely you need not treat me as a stranger.”
“Tiny, it’s all your fault,” said Fin, maliciously; “so if Aunt Matty scolds, you may take the blame. I would make him carry the basket, though.”
“Yes, pray let me,” said Trevor, holding out his hand.
“Thank you, no,” said Tiny, recovering herself, and speaking with a very sweet assumption of maidenly dignity. “If Mr Trevor will excuse us, I think we will return now to breakfast. I feel sure that papa will gladly receive you this afternoon.”
“And you will be at home?” said Trevor, earnestly.
“I cannot say,” said Tiny, quietly; “but I hope the little unpleasantly will be removed.”
“You do hope that?” said downright Trevor.
“Yes – of course,” said Tiny, ingenuously opening her soft eyes, and meeting his this time without a blush. “It would be so unpleasant – so unneighbourly for there to be dissension between us,” and she held out her hand. “Good morning, Mr Trevor.”
If he might only have kissed it! But it would have been enough to stamp him as a boor, and he contented himself with pressing it tenderly as he bent over it.
“Good morning, Mr Trevor,” said Fin, holding out her hand in turn, and she gazed at him out of her laughing, mischievous eyes, till a dull red glow spread over his bronzed cheeks, and he squeezed her fingers so that she winced with pain.
“Good morning,” he said. “Eh – what is it?”
“Oh, dear!” cried Fin, shutting her eyes, “here’s that horrid, solemn-looking little man coming, just in the way we want to go.”
“Then, let me introduce you,” said Trevor, laughing, as Pratt came sauntering along, whistling and cutting off fern leaves with his stick, till he saw the group in front, when he became preternaturally solemn.
“Pratt, let me introduce you to my neighbours. Miss Rea – Miss Finetta Rea – my old friend, Frank Pratt.”
“Pratt! What a disgusting name!” said Fin to herself, as, with a tender display of respect that his friend did not fail to notice, Trevor performed the little ceremony out there amid the gleaming sunbeams; and then they parted.
“Oh, Tiny, isn’t he delicious?” cried Fin, as soon as they were out of hearing. “Isn’t he grand?”
“Hush, Fin! How can you?” said her sister.
“How can I? So,” said Fin, throwing her arms round her sister, and kissing her. “He’s head over heels in love with you. What fun! And I hate him for it like poison, because I want him myself.”
“Fin, dear, don’t, pray. Suppose any one heard you.”
“Don’t care if they did. Ugh! I’m as jealous as an Eastern sultana I shall stab you some night with a bodkin. But, I say, isn’t the solemn man fun?”
“I don’t see it,” said Tiny, glad of a diversion.
“I think he’s a regular little cad.”
“Slang again, Fin!”
“Yes, it’s because I’m cross and want my breakfast,” and she hurried her sister along.
“Ahem!” said Pratt, as soon as they were alone in the lane.
“Franky,” cried Trevor, clutching his friend by the arm, “did you ever see a sweeter girl in your life?”
“What, than that little Miss who laughed at me?” said Frank.
“No, no; the other. I declare she’s a perfect angel. I never saw so much sweetness in my life before. I – ”
“Phew – phew – phew – phew – phew – phew – phew – phew!” whistled Pratt.
“Don’t be a fool, Franky.”
“But ’tis my nature to,” said Pratt.
“Listen, man; I really do believe that there is something true about fellows falling in love at first sight, and that sort of thing; I do indeed.”
“So do I,” said Pratt.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come now, that’s rich. To go and get hooked like that, before you’ve been at home a month! Well, that comes of going to sea, and being out of the way of civilised beings from year’s end to year’s end. I say, there’s a romance beginning here – tyrannical heavy father, and the rest of it.”
“Nonsense!” cried Trevor. “Come along, old boy; I’m as hungry as a hunter. By Jove, though, I came out on purpose to find Humphrey.”
“And only met a goddess in the dell,” said Pratt.
And the two young men returned to breakfast.
A Ceremonious Call
“How could I be such an ass as to ask them down?” said Trevor, aloud, as he stood at the dining-room window directly after lunch.
“And then such an ass as to say so out loud?” said a voice behind him; Frank Pratt having returned to the room, and his footsteps being inaudible on the thick Turkey carpet.
“Ah, Frank?” said Trevor, turning sharply, “you there!”
“Yes, sir,” said Pratt, solemnly, “I am here – for the present. Will you have the goodness to order a carriage, or a cart, or something, to convey my portmanteau to Saint Kitt’s, and I’ll be off by the night train.”
“Be off – night train – what the deuce do you mean?”
“Mean? Why, that you were just accusing yourself of being a fool for firing me down; and – ”
“Don’t, Franky – don’t be a donkey I’m worried and bothered, old man. Help me: don’t get in my way.”
“I that moment proposed getting out of it,” said Pratt, quietly.
“Tut, tut, tut! – you know I didn’t mean you. Look here, Frank, I want to go out this afternoon – to make a call.”
Pratt made a grimace, and an attempt to feel his friend’s pulse.
“No, no; don’t play the fool now,” said Trevor. “You know I’ve only just got those two down, and it would be so rude to leave them.”
“And you don’t want to take them – with you?”
“No, certainly not,” exclaimed Trevor, hastily.
“But they have been introduced,” said Pratt.
“To whom – where?” said Trevor.
“Oh, my dear, transparent, young sea deity,” said Pratt, laying his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “It is so easy to see through you. Of course you don’t want to go straight off to Sir Hampton Court’s this afternoon.”
“Well, and if I do, what then?”
“Nothing, whatever,” said Pratt. “She really is nice; I own it.”
“Don’t humbug, Frank. Of course I want to call there. I want to patch up that unpleasantly. I want to be on good terms with my neighbours.”
“Hadn’t you better have only a week’s holiday down here, and then be off again to sea?”
“Will you help me, Franky, or won’t you?”
“I will. Now, then, what is it? Get up something to amuse Van and Flick till you come back?”
“Yes, that’s it. Do that for me, there’s a dear old fellow.”
“What should you think the hour or so worth to you?”
“Worth? I don’t understand you.”
“Would you stand a five-pound note for the freedom?”
“Half a dozen, you mercenary little limb of the law.”
“Hold hard, there! or, in your nautical parlance, avast there! I don’t want the money – only to lose. If I play billiards with Van he’s sure to beat me, and he knows it; therefore, he won’t play me without he thinks he can win some money. Give me a fiver to lose to him, and I’ll warrant he won’t leave the billiard-room till he has got every shilling.”
“Here – take ten pounds,” said Trevor, hastily; “and go on, there’s a good fellow.”
“No; five will do for him,” said Frank. “And now I shall have to play my best, to make it last.”
“Frank, old boy, you’re a trump. I don’t know what I should have done without you.”
“I always was a young man who could make himself generally useful,” said Pratt. “Good luck to you, old boy!”
He sighed, though, and looked rather gloomy as he went out to seek the friends whom he had left in the smoking-room, where Vanleigh was in anything but a good humour, and had been pouring a host of complaints into Sir Felix’s ear. It was foolish of them to come down to such an out-of-the-way place; they should be eaten up with ennui. Why didn’t Trevor order horses round? The wines weren’t good; and he hadn’t smoked such bad weeds for years.
“Must make the best of a bad bargain,” said Sir Felix. “Must stay – week.”
“Oh! we’ll stay a month now we are here,” said Vanleigh; “let’s punish him somehow. What do you say to having a smoke outside?”
“I’m ’greeable,” said Sir Felix; and they passed out through the window.
Five minutes after Pratt entered the room, with —
“Now, Vanleigh, I’ll play a – Hallo! where the deuce are they?”
He walked hastily into the billiard-room, expecting to find a game begun; but, of course, they were not there.
“Gone to write letters,” he muttered; and he went into the library.
Then he entered the drawing-room, the dining-room, the conservatory. Ran up and knocked at their bedroom doors, and then ran down again.
“Having a weed in the garden,” said Pratt, “of course. How provoking!”
He took a hat and ran out to the summer-house, garden chairs being set out beneath the various favourite trees, and at last caught sight of a couple of figures in the distance, evidently making for the sea.
“That must be them,” he said; and he started off in full chase.
Meanwhile Trevor had hurried off; and as he left the house, Mrs Lloyd came into the hall, and then watched him from a side window.
“Yes!” she said; “he’s gone that way again – I thought he would. He’s sure to meet her.”
Mrs Lloyd was quite right; for a quarter of a mile out of the grounds, and down the principal lane, he saw a white dress, and his heart gave a bound, but only to calm down in its throbbing as he saw that it was little Polly, who advanced to meet him with a very warm blush on her face.
“Hallo! little maid,” he said, heartily – “out for a walk?”
“Yes, sir,” said Polly, all in a flutter. “I’ve been – ”
“I see, picking wild flowers,” said Trevor. “Well, come, give me one for my coat.”
The girl hesitated, and then took a cornflower from her little bouquet.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “But I shan’t pay you for it with a kiss. I ought to, though, oughtn’t I?”
“Oh, no – please no!” said the girl, with a frightened look, and she glanced round.
“What?” said Trevor, “is there some one coming? There, run away; and tell your aunt to take care of you.”
The girl hurried away, and Trevor walked on, to come suddenly upon Humphrey, leaning upon his thistle staff, at a turn of the road.
“Ah, Humphrey,” he said, “going your rounds? I want to have a talk to you to-morrow.”
There was a hard, stern look on the young man’s face as he involuntarily saluted his master; but Trevor did not notice it, and turning down the lane which led to Tolcarne, he began to tap his teeth with the stick he carried, and run over in his own mind what he should say, till he reached the new gates, walked up to the house, and was shown into the presence of the knight’s sister.
Miss Matilda Rea did not like Cornwall, principally for theological reasons. She preferred her brother’s town-house in Russell Square, because she was within reach of the minister she “sat under” – a gentleman who, she said, “was the only one in London to awaken her stagnant belief.”
The fact was that Aunt Matty was a lady who required a zest with her worship – she liked pickles with her prayers, and her friend the minister furnished them – verbal pickles, of course, and very hot.
But there were other reasons why she did not like Cornwall; there were no flagstones; the people did not take to her visitations; her prospects of getting a suitable companion grew less; and lastly, Cornwall did not agree with her dog.
Aunt Matty was dividing her time between nursing Pepine, who was very shivery about the hind legs, and reading small pieces out of a “serious” book – tiny bits which she took like lozenges, and then closed her eyes, and mentally sucked them, so as to get the goodness by degrees. In fact, she was so economical with her “goody” books, that one would last her for years.
“Mr Trevor!” said the servant, loudly, and then – “I’ll tell Sir Hampton, sir, that you are here.”
Aunt Matty raised her eyes, and Pepine barked virulently at the stranger, as her mistress half rose and then pointed rather severely to a chair.
“He can’t be nice,” said Aunt Matty to herself, “or Pepine would not bark.” Then aloud – “Sir Hampton will, I have no doubt, soon be here.”
“Have I the pleasure of addressing Lady Rea?” said Trevor, with a smile.
Pepine barked again.
“What an insult!” thought Aunt Matty. “Did she look like the mother of two great girls?”
In truth, she really did not.
“I am Sir Hampton’s sister,” she said, stiffly – “Miss Matilda Rea.”
A Friendly Call
There was a pause of the kind that may be called cold for a few moments in Sir Hampton’s drawing-room. Then Trevor spoke —
“I beg pardon, I’m sure,” he said, frankly; “I hope my name is not unknown to you.”
“I think I have heard my brother mention it,” said Aunt Matty, stiffly. “Hush, Pepine I don’t bark!” when, as a matter of course, the dog barked more furiously than before.
“I’ve just come back from sea,” said Trevor, to break the chill.
“Indeed,” said Aunt Matty, freezing a little harder; and added to herself, “A most objectionable person.” Then aloud, “Pepine must not bark so, hush! hush!”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Matty, do send that cross little wretch away,” cried Lady Rea, bursting into the room. “Mr Richard Trevor, is it?” she said, her plump countenance breaking into a pleasant smile as she gazed up at her visitor. “I’m very glad to see you,” she continued, holding out both hands, “and I hope we shall be very good neighbours.”
“I hope we shall, indeed,” said Trevor, shaking the little lady’s hands very heartily, and thinking what a homely, pleasant face it was.
“And aren’t you glad to get back? Did you enjoy yourself at sea? I hope you didn’t get wrecked!” said Lady Rea, in a breath.
“No; I reached home safe and sound,” said Trevor.
“We do have such storms on this coast sometimes. I’ve told Edward to look for his master. Hampy’s always about his grounds.”
“My sister means she has sent for Sir Hampton,” said Miss Matilda, frigidly. In fact, the cold was intense, and showed in her nose.
“Yes, I’ve sent for Sir Hampton,” said Lady Rea, feeling that she had made a slip. “The girls will be here, too, directly. You have met them?”
Miss Matilda darted a look of horror at her sister; but it missed her, and the little lady prattled on.
“They told me about meeting you twice; and, oh! – here, darlings! – Mr Trevor’s come to give us a neighbourly call.”
They came forward – Tiny to offer her hand in a quiet, unaffected manner, though a little blush would make its way into her cheek as her eyes met Trevor’s, and she felt the gentle pressure of his hand; Fin to screw up her face into a very prim expression, shake hands, and then retire, after the fashion taught by the mistress of deportment at her last school.
“I wish that old griffin would go,” thought Trevor, as the conversation went on about the sea, the country and its pursuits – a conversation which Aunt Matty thought to be flighty, and wanting in ballast – which she supplied.
But Aunt Matty did not mean to go, and dealt out more than one snub keen enough to have given offence to the young sailor, but for the genial looks of Lady Rea and the efforts of Fin, who, to her sister’s trouble, grew spiteful as soon as her aunt snubbed her ladyship, and became reckless in her speech.
Aunt Matty thought it was quite time for “the seafaring person,” as she mentally termed him, to go. She had never known a visit of ceremony last so long. On the contrary side, Trevor forgot all about its being a visit of ceremony: he was near his deity – for a warm attachment for the sweet, gentle girl was growing fast – and he liked the merry laughing eyes of Fin.
“By the way, Mr Trevor,” said Lady Rea. “I hear you’ve got beautiful horses.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Trevor. “I tried to get good ones.”
“I’m told they are lovely. The girls are just beginning riding – papa has had horses sent down for them.”
“I hope they are quiet and well broken,” said Trevor, with an anxious glance at Tiny.
“I don’t think, Fanny, that Mr Trevor can care to know about our simple domestic matters – our horses, for instance,” said Miss Matilda, now solid ice.
“Oh, sailors always love horses, aunty,” said Fin, colouring a little; and then mischievously, as she sent an arrow at Trevor, “because they can’t ride them.”
Aunt Matty’s lips parted, but no words came; and to calm her ruffled feelings she took a little dog – in strokes.
“Your daughter is right,” said Trevor, “I do love horses; and,” he said, laughing at Fin, “I do try to ride them.”
“I hope you’ll look at the girls’ horses, then, Mr Trevor,” said Lady Rea. “As you understand them, you’d be able to tell whether they are safe. I don’t half like the idea of the girls mounting such wild beasts as horses often are. As for me, I wouldn’t ride on one for the world.”
The idea of plump little Lady Rea in a riding-habit, mounted on a horse, like a long-draped pincushion, was too much. Tiny coloured. Aunt Matty looked horrified. Trevor grew hot and bit his lip, caught Fin’s eye, and then that young lady, who had held her handkerchief to her mouth, burst out laughing.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Lady Rea, good-humouredly. “What have I said now? – something very stupid, I’m sure. But you must not mind me, Mr Trevor, for I do make such foolish mistakes.”
Miss Matilda took hold of the two sides of the light shawl thrown over her angular shoulders, and gave it a sawing motion to work it higher up towards her neck, a shuddering sensation, like that caused by a cold current of air, having evidently attacked her spine.
“I think it was a foolish mistake, Fanny,” she said, in a voice acid enough to corrode any person’s temper, “to doubt Sir Hampton’s Judgment with respect to the horses he would choose for his daughters’ use.”
Fin began to bristle on the instant; her bright eyes flashed, and the laughing dimples fled as if in dismay, as she threw down her challenge to her aunt.
“Why, aunt,” said the girl, quickly, “one of the grooms said pa didn’t hardly know a horse’s head from its tail.”
“Oh, Fin, my dear!” cried mamma.
“Which of the grooms made use of that insolent remark?” cried Aunt Matty. “If I have any influence with your papa, that man will be discharged on the instant.”
“I think it was Thomas, aunt, who makes so much fuss over Pepine,” said Fin, maliciously.
“I’m quite sure that Thomas is too respectable and well-conducted a servant to say such a thing,” said Aunt Matty. “It was my doing that your papa engaged him; for he came with a letter of introduction from the Reverend Caius Carney, who spoke very highly indeed of his honesty and pious ways.”
“Oh, aunty,” cried Fin, “and he swears like a trooper!”
Aunt Matilda went into a semi-cataleptic state, so rigid did she grow; and her hand, with which she was taking a little more dog by friction, closed so sharply on the scruff of the little terrier’s neck, that it yelped aloud.
“You mustn’t say so, my dear, if he does,” said Lady Rea, rather sadly.
And to turn the conversation, Trevor asked her if she liked flowers.
“Oh yes, Mr Trevor,” she exclaimed, beaming once more. “And you’ve got some lovely gladioluses – li – oli,” she added, correcting herself, and glancing from one to the other like a tutored child, “in your grounds, of a colour we can’t get. May I beg a few?”
“The gardener shall send in as many as you wish for, Lady Rea – anything in my place is at your service.”
Poor Tiny! His eager, earnest words began to wake up such a curious little tremor in her breast. It was all so new – so strange. Now she told herself she was foolish, childish, and that she was giving way to silly, romantic fancies; only Fin was evidently thinking something too, and gave her all sorts of malicious looks. As for Aunt Matty, she sat now with her eyes closed, sucking a mental lozenge about patience; and Fin’s championship was in abeyance for the rest of the visit – the conversation being principally between Lady Rea and their visitor.
“It’s very kind of you to say so, I’m sure,” said Lady Rea. “We saw them, you know, when we went over your place, once or twice, for Mrs Lloyd was good enough to say we might. And a very beautiful place it is.”
“It’s a dear old home, Lady Rea, indeed,” said Trevor, enthusiastically.
“Though you must have found it very sad,” said Lady Rea.
“No,” said Trevor, frankly; “it would be mockery in me to say so. My parents died when I was so very young, that I never could feel their loss: I hardly knew what it was to have any one to love.”
“Let him look at her now, if he dare,” thought Fin, with her eyes sparkling.
But Trevor did not dare; he only gazed in Lady Rea’s pleasant face, and she made Aunt Matty shiver – firstly, by laying her hand in a soothing way upon the young man’s arm; secondly, by saying she would put herself under an obligation to this dreadful seafaring person, by accepting his offer of flowers; and thirdly, by the following terribly imprudent speech —
“I’m sure I don’t know where dear papa can be gone; but as he’s not here, Mr Trevor, you must let me say that whenever you feel dull and lonely, you must come up here and have a chat, and some music, or something of that sort. We shall always be delighted to see you.”
“Er-rum! Er-rum!” came from the garden.
“Oh! here’s papa!” cried Lady Rea. “I’m glad he’s come!”
“Er-rum!” came again, and then steps and voices were heard in the conservatory – voices which made Trevor rise and look annoyed.
The next moment Sir Hampton ushered two gentlemen into the drawing-room through the conservatory.
“Lady Rea – Tiny dear,” he said, loudly – “er-rum, let me make you known to my friends – Sir Felix Landells and Captain Vanleigh.”
