"Why did you stop me just now when I was dropping that hint about Mr.
Blake?"
"Because I thought the hint premature, my dear," he returned drily, "and because it is not our place to warn Mr. Blake off the premises; he is not the first young man, and I do not expect he will be the last, to admire Audrey."
"But, Percy, I am quite sure that Mr. Blake is too handsome and too attractive altogether to be a harmless admirer."
"Pooh! nonsense, my love. Don"t let your imagination run away with you.
Audrey is too sensible a girl to let herself fall in love with a young fellow like Blake. Now shall I go on with our book?" For that day Geraldine was considered an invalid, and as her husband thought fit to indulge and make much of her, she was not so sure she disliked her pa.s.sing indisposition, any more than Mr. Harcourt disliked playing Darby to his handsome Joan.
The dinner-party pa.s.sed off well, and Mrs. Blake looked so lovely in her new gown that she made quite a sensation, and the Vicar observed to his wife afterwards "that she was the nicest and most agreeable woman he had met for a long time."
Mrs. Boyle received this eulogium a little coldly. She was a fat, dumpy little person, with a round, good-natured face that had once been pretty. "Bernard might admire Mrs. Blake," she said to herself,--"she was the sort of woman men always raved about; but for her part she was not sure she admired her style," but she had the rare magnanimity to keep her opinions to herself. Mrs. Boyle never contradicted her husband after the peevish manner of some wives.
The term was drawing to a close now, and Mollie"s face lengthened a little every day. Audrey had mooted the scheme to her father during a walk they had together, and Dr. Ross, who was one of the most benevolent and kindly of men, had at once given his consent, and had promised to speak to Michael, who carried it through with a high hand.
Great was the rejoicing in the Blake household. Poor Kester had turned red and white by turns, and could hardly speak a word, so intense was his surprise; but Audrey, who saw the lad"s agony of embarra.s.sment, a.s.sured him that there was no need for him to speak, and that everything was settled.
Cyril was almost as embarra.s.sed when he came in to thank them that evening.
"I have never heard of such kindness in my life," he said eagerly, when he found Audrey alone; for the others were all in the garden, as she told him. "I will go to them directly. Of course I must speak to Captain Burnett. I hear it is his thought. Am I interrupting you?" looking at her open desk. "May I stay a moment?"
"Certainly, if you like."
But Audrey did not resume her seat. She stood by the lamp, its crimson shade casting ruddy gleams over her white dress. She had coiled her hair loosely--Audrey was given to dressing herself hurriedly--and one long plait had become unfastened. It looked so smooth and brown against her white neck. At such moments Audrey certainly looked pretty. Perhaps Cyril thought so, for he looked at her long and earnestly.
"I hardly know how to thank you all," he went on almost abruptly. "My mother feels the same. It is such a weight off my mind. You know, I am going to Cornwall myself; one of our Keble men has invited me. His father has a nice place near Truro."
"That will be a pleasant change for you," she observed sympathetically.
"Oh, I always turn up trumps," he replied brightly. "Last Christmas, and again at Easter, I had heaps of invitations. I was only bothering myself about Kester: he looked so seedy, you know, and it seemed such hard lines for him, poor boy! to see me go off and enjoy myself."
"Well, you see, Kester means to enjoy himself too."
"Don"t I know that? He is a lucky fellow!" and Cyril sighed--a good honest sigh it was, too, for Audrey heard it. "Just fancy seven weeks in paradise!"
"Well, it is very lovely there," she answered demurely; and then she discovered the stray lock, and pinned it up hastily.
"Oh, I was not meaning the place--though, of course, everyone knows Braemar has its advantages. I think one"s happiness depends more on the society one has. Don"t you think so too, Miss Ross?"
"I daresay you are right. Well, we shall have my sister and her husband, and Kester and Captain Burnett; so we shall be a nice party."
"Oh yes, of course Captain Burnett is going?" returned Cyril, in a dubious tone.
"Yes; and I suppose you think he is lucky too?" and there was a gleam of fun in Audrey"s eyes.
"Not more so than usual; the gate of paradise is never shut on Captain Burnett."
But though Cyril laughed as he made this little speech, there was no expression of mirth in his eyes. But Audrey chose to consider it a joke.
"If you talk in this manner, I shall think you envy Kester his treat."
"I am afraid I do envy him, Miss Ross. If Kester and I could only change places----"
He checked himself as though he had said too much, and turned to the window.
"You will find them all on the circular bench," she said, sitting down to her desk again. "When I have finished my letter I will join you." And Cyril took the hint.
"I wish he would not say such things; but, of course, he is only joking," thought Audrey. But in her heart she knew he was not joking.
Could she be ignorant that on all possible occasions Mr. Blake followed her like a shadow--a very quiet, un.o.btrusive shadow; but, nevertheless, he seemed always near. Could she be blind to the wistful looks that seemed to watch her on all occasions, and that interpreted her every wish? Perhaps no one else noticed them--Audrey fervently hoped not--unless it were his mother. And here Audrey reddened at the remembrance of certain vague hints and innuendoes that had latterly made her uncomfortable, and hindered her from going to the Gray Cottage.
"Perhaps I am too friendly with him. I do not check him sufficiently,"
she thought. "But he has never said such things before. He ought not; I must not allow it. What would Gage or Michael say? Dear old Michael! how excited he is about our Scotch trip! He says he shall be so pleased to have my undivided attention again. I wonder, have I been less nice to Michael lately? He has certainly seemed more dull than usual. I will make up for it--I will indeed! Michael shall never be dull if I can help it, I mean to devote myself to him." And then Audrey took up her pen with a sigh. Was she really glad the term was so nearly over? It had been such a nice summer. Of course she would enjoy Scotland, with all her own people round her, and there would be Kester. Kester would write to his brother sometimes, and, of course, there would be letters in reply. That would be pleasant. Oh yes, everything was delightful! And with this final thought Audrey set herself resolutely to work, and finished her letter just in time to see Cyril take his leave. He had waited for her with the utmost impatience, but when Mrs. Ross complained of chilliness, and proposed to return to the house, he had no excuse for lingering any longer, and Michael, with some alacrity, had accompanied him to the gate.
CHAPTER XVI
MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG
"Nothing is true but love, nor aught of worth; Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth."
TRENCH.
"Oh dear, Miss Ross, what shall I do without you for seven whole weeks?"
was Mollie"s piteous lament one morning. Audrey was on her knees packing a huge travelling box, and Mollie, seated on the edge of a chair, was regarding her with round, melancholy eyes. It was the first day of the vacation, and Rutherford looked as empty and deserted as some forsaken city. Utter silence reigned in the lower school, from which the fifty boys had departed; and Mrs. Draper, the matron, had uttered more than once her usual formula of parting benediction as the last urchin drove off: "There, bless them! they are all packed off, bag and baggage, thank Heaven! and not a missing collar or sock among them"--an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n that Michael once declared was a homely Te Deum, sacred and peculiar to the race of Rutherford matrons.
Audrey straightened herself when she heard Mollie"s plaintive lament.
"Now, Mollie, I thought you promised me that you would make yourself as happy as possible."
"I said I would try," returned Mollie, her eyes filling with tears; "but how can I help missing you? I do mean to do my very best--I do indeed, Miss Ross."
"Come, that is bravely said. I know it is hard upon you, my dear, taking Kester away." But Mollie would not let her finish her sentence.
"Oh no; you must not say that. I am so glad for Kester to go. Do you know, he is so pleased and excited that he can hardly sleep when he goes to bed; and he wakes in the night to think about it. I do believe he loves Captain Burnett as much as I love you; he is always talking about him. After all"--here Mollie dried her eyes--"it is not so bad for me as it is for mamma: she is always wretched without Cyril; you can"t think how restless and unlike herself she is when he is away from her; she spends half her time writing to him or reading his letters. Cyril always writes such nice long letters."
"And Kester and I will write to you; you will be glad of letters, too, Mollie."
Evidently this charming idea had not occurred to Mollie, for she darted from her place and gave Audrey a grateful hug.
"Do you mean it? will you really write to me? Oh, you dear thing! how I do love you!" with another hug. "But you must not tire yourself, you know, or Kester either; they need not be long letters, but just nice little notes, that won"t trouble you."
"Oh, we will see about that," returned Audrey, smiling. She was touched by this thoughtfulness; it was so like Mollie"s sweet unselfishness: she never did seem to think of herself. "You have no idea how quickly the time will pa.s.s. Think of all the things you have promised to do for me!"
for Audrey had already made all sorts of nice little plans for her favourite. Mollie was to have the run of the house and grounds; she was to bring her mother to sit in the garden every afternoon if she liked--Mrs. Blake would enjoy it; she was so fond of flowers--and Mollie could amuse herself with the canoe. Then there was Audrey"s piano: Mollie must promise to practise her scales and exercises on it every day; and there was a pile of delightfully interesting books set apart for her use. She must see, too, that her pet bullfinch was not neglected, and that her flowers were watered; for Audrey had a pretty sitting-room of her own. Molly soon cheered up as Audrey recapitulated these privileges; she was young enough to be soon consoled. She readily agreed with Audrey that her mother would enjoy wandering about the Woodcote gardens; they would bring their books and work, and sit under the trees on fine afternoons.
"Cyril has been making mamma promise to begin Roman history with me,"
continued Mollie; "he was so shocked when he found out I knew nothing about Romulus and Remus. Was it quite true about the wolf, Miss Ross? I thought it sounded like a fable. Oh, do you know," interrupting herself eagerly, "I want to tell you something--Kester said I might if I liked: he has got two new suits of clothes."