"Oh, yes! I saw plainly enough," said Hubert. "She is a great flirt, that little thing; and rather pretty, I think."
"Very pretty!" said Harriet magnanimously. "I was not blaming Mr. Gage.
I merely suggested a little offering--quite a cottage offering Mr.
Gage."
"Oh! the little creature who was here this morning," said Mr. Gage; "rather a nice little creature! Yes, I should not object taking her a basket of cherries."
"You could eat them with her like Napoleon, you know," said Harriet.
Here Hubert burst into a violent fit of laughter, at the idea of his brother doing anything like Napoleon.
"She is a very pretty girl," said Captain Gage, joining in the discussion. "Did not you dance with her a good deal at the ball, Hubert?"
"Yes, Sir, that is, I believe, once or twice. That miserable ball," he added in a low voice to Margaret.
"Oh, Mr. Hubert!" said Margaret laughing.
Elizabeth Gage did not say one word either for or against Blanche Somerton. She knew her to be almost devoid of good qualities; but she knew that people, men especially, will always form their own opinion.
"You shall sing, little one;" said Harriet to Margaret after tea. "I will not let you off any longer."
"No. It distresses her, Harriet," said Elizabeth kindly, "I never press her."
"I dare say. Is she to have her own way always? I want to hear the quality of her voice," said Harriet positively.
"Indeed, Harriet, I am not a man; you might let me have my way," said Margaret, shrinking back from the piano.
"My dear Harriet, I hope you apply that remark; there is a little bit of unconscious satire in it," said Elizabeth.
"Bah! there is no truth in it. I never tyrannise," said Harriet, laughing. "But as I am not so timid, I will try and sing you something.
Mr. Gage, you like Italian music. Have you ever heard this?"
She sang beautifully. Margaret was entranced.
Mr. Gage came round to the piano to look at the name of the song. It was "Senza pace, senza speme;" and on the top was written, as if with a coa.r.s.e lead pencil:--
"Harriet Conway, from Lord Raymond."
Now Margaret had seen Harriet busy writing something on the song with a pencil, a few minutes before she had sat down to sing, and she could not help wondering at the perseverance with which she contrived to teaze Mr.
Gage. It need not be said that Lord Raymond had never given her the song, although from his long intimacy with her family there would have been no great crime if he had.
Mr. Gage, who had taken the song from the stand, dropped it again as if it had burnt his fingers.
"Is it not a beautiful thing?" said Harriet looking up at Mr. Gage. "He has such a taste for music!"
"Who has, my dear?" asked Captain Gage.
"Lord Raymond, uncle."
"Has he, indeed?--I never knew that before," said Captain Gage. "Why he has never any music at his house, unless there is a very large party."
"He has no wife, you know, Uncle Gage, and he cannot play the piano himself."
"He must marry a good musician, then," said Captain Gage. "I don"t know anything that more contributes to the cheerfulness of a family circle than a little good music."
"So Lord Raymond seems to think," said Mr. Gage, in a low voice to Harriet.
"Yes. Nothing so very first-rate though," said Harriet, thinking of Lucy, who played in a pleasing style, but nothing more, on the harp and piano.
"Oh! you are too modest," said Mr. Gage.
"Thank you," said Harriet laughing. "Do you think me then such a very good player?"
"Can you never be serious?" said Mr. Gage, turning away reproachfully.
Harriet laughed more merrily than before at the tone of this last remark. Margaret watched them earnestly. Surely, she thought, this last evening something will be said, something will occur, to bring about an understanding. Harriet will surely not be able to keep up this appearance of indifference to the last.
But the tapers were brought in, people wished each other good night, and Harriet touched Mr. Gage"s fingers, and bade him good bye, as if she should see him to-morrow. And the next day, before he had left his room, she was on her way to join her friends at Wardenscourt.
CHAPTER XIV.
Her words were like a stream of honey fleeting, The which doth softly trickle from the hive, Able to melt the hearer"s heart unweeting And eke to make the dead again alive.
Much like an angel in all form and fashion.
SPENSER.
Margaret was welcomed to Ashdale with such sincere pleasure by Mr. Grey and her Italian greyhound, that she could not find it in her heart to regret the social circle she left behind. Seated in a low chair by her uncle"s side, with Gessina on her lap, she spent the evening alternately in playing with her beautiful pet, and of giving him a history of her week"s visit.
Mr. Grey, like many people who live very retired, delighted in this species of gossip. He was pleased to hear the names of the people who dined at Captain Gage"s during her stay, and the dresses which Margaret had worn on each day. And if, during her narrative, she happened to mention a name that was familiar to him, he would interrupt her to remark that he had known a person of that name many years ago, who was of such a county; and to wonder whether the one Margaret had met, was related or not, to his old acquaintance.
These episodes were sometimes interrupted by the perverseness of Gessina, who would creep under the sofas, or the heavy chairs, and had to be fished out from these hiding places by the united industry of Mr.
Haveloc and Margaret.
These little pursuits seemed to bring them still more acquainted, so that sometimes she ventured to appeal to him during her recollections to confirm her statements.
"And so she lost the ball at last, poor child," said Mr. Grey drawing her towards him. "What a pity that was!"
"Oh, yes uncle! I was very sorry at first. But I had such a head-ache.
Do you ever smoke cigars, Mr. Haveloc?"
"I have done such a thing," said he smiling. "But it is not a practice of mine."