No one knew what the old enemy was, or in what manner his mysterious a.s.saults on Lady Mary were conducted; but it was an understood thing that she had private dealings with him, in which he could make himself very disagreeable.
"Has Molly gone with her?"
"No; Molly is making jam in the kitchen, I believe. Miss Deyncourt most good-naturedly offered to take her with her; but,"--with a shake of the head--"the poor child"s totally unrestrained appet.i.tes and lamentable self-will made her prefer to remain where she was."
"I am afraid," said Charles, meditatively, as if the idea were entirely a novel one, "Molly is getting a little spoiled among us. It is natural in you, of course; but there is no excuse for me. There never is. There are, I confess, moments when I don"t regard the child"s immortal welfare sufficiently to make her present existence less enjoyable. What a round of gayety Molly"s life is! She flits from flower to flower, so to speak; from me to cook and the jam-pots; from the jam-pots to some fresh delight in the loft, or in your society. Life is one long feast to Molly. Whatever that old impostor the Future may have in store for her, at any rate she is having a good time now."
There was a shade of regretful sadness in Charles"s voice that ruffled his aunt.
"The child is being ruined," she said, with resigned bitterness.
"Not a bit of it. I was spoiled as a child, and look at me!"
"You _are_ spoiled. I don"t spoil you; but other people do. Society does. And the result is that you are so hard to please that I don"t believe you will ever marry. You look for a perfection in others which is not to be found in yourself."
"I don"t fancy I should appear to advantage side by side with perfection," said Charles, in his most careless manner; and he rose, and wandered away into the garden.
He was irritated with Lady Mary, with her pleased looks during the last few days, with her annoying celerity that afternoon in the garden. It was all the more annoying because he was conscious that Ruth amused and interested him in no slight degree. She had the rare quality of being genuine. She stood for what she was, without effort or self-consciousness. Whether playful or serious, she was always real.
Beneath a reserved and rather quiet manner there lurked a piquant unconventionality. The mixture of earnestness and humor, which were so closely interwoven in her nature that he could never tell which would come uppermost, had a strange attraction for him. He had grown accustomed to watch for and try to provoke the sudden gleam of fun in the serious eyes, which always preceded a retort given with an air of the sweetest feminine meekness, which would make Ralph rub himself all over with glee, and tell Charles, chuckling, he "would not get much change out of Ruth."
If only she had not been asked to Atherstone on purpose to meet him. If only Lady Mary had not arranged it; if only Evelyn did not know it; if only Ralph had not guessed it; if only he himself had not seen it from the first instant! Ruth and Molly were the only two unconscious persons in the house.
"I wonder," said Charles to himself, "why people can"t allow me to manage my own affairs? Oh, what a world it is for unmarried men with money! Why did I not marry fifteen years ago, when every woman with a straight nose was an angel of light; when I felt a n.o.ble disregard for such minor details as character, mind, sympathy, if the hair and the eyes were the right shade? Why did I not marry when I was out of favor with my father, when I was head over ears in debt, and when at least I could feel sure no one would marry me for my money? Molly," as that young lady came running towards him with lingering traces of jam upon her flushed countenance, "you have arrived just in time. Uncle Charles was getting so dull without you. What have you been after all this time?"
"Cook and me have made thirty-one pots and a little one," said Molly, inserting a very sticky hand into Charles"s. "And your Mr. Brown helped.
Cook told him to go along at first, which wasn"t kind, was it? but he stayed all the same; and I skimmed with a big spoon, and she poured it in the pots. Only they aren"t covered up with paper yet, if you want to see them. And oh! Uncle Charles, what _do_ you think? Father and mother have come back from their ride, and that nice funny man who was at the school-feast is coming here to-morrow, and I shall show him my guinea-pigs. He said he wanted to see them very much."
"Oh, he did, did he? When was that?"
"At the school-feast. Oh!" with enthusiasm, "he was so nice, Uncle Charles, so attentive, and getting things when you want them; and the wheel went over his foot when he was shaking hands, and he did not mind a bit; and he filled our teapots for us--Ruth"s big one, you know, that holds such a lot."
"Oh! He filled the big teapot, did he?"
"Yes, and mine too; and then he helped us to unpack the dolls. He was so kind to me and Cousin Ruth."
"Kind to Miss Deyncourt, was he?"
"Yes; and when we went away he ran and opened the gate for us. Oh, there comes Cousin Ruth back again in the carriage. I"ll run and tell her he"s coming. She _will_ be glad."
"Aunt Mary is right," said Charles, watching his niece disappear. "Molly has formed a habit of expressing herself with unnecessary freedom.
Decidedly she is a little spoiled."
CHAPTER IX.
Dare arrived at Atherstone the following afternoon. Evelyn and Ralph, who had enlarged on the state of morbid depression of the lonely inhabitant of Vandon, were rather taken aback by the jaunty appearance of the sufferer when he appeared, overflowing with evident satisfaction and small-talk, his face wreathed with smiles.
"He bears up wonderfully," said Charles aside to Ruth, later in the evening, as Dare warbled a very discreet selection of his best songs after dinner. "No one knows better than myself that many a breaking heart beats beneath a smiling waistcoat, but unless we had been told beforehand we should never have guessed it in his case."
Dare, who was looking at Ruth, and saw Charles go and sit down by her, brought his song to an abrupt conclusion, and made his way to her also.
"You also sing, Miss Deyncourt?" he asked. "I am sure, from your face, you sing."
"I do."
"Thank Heaven!" said Charles, fervently. "I did you an injustice. I thought you were going to say "a little." Every singing young lady I ever met, when asked that question, invariably replied "a little.""
"I leave my friends to say that for me," said Ruth.
"Perhaps you yourself sing a _little_?" asked Dare, wishing Charles would leave Ruth"s ball of wool alone.
"No," said Charles; "I have no tricks." And he rose and went off to the newspaper-table. Dare"s songs were all very well, but really his voice was nothing so very wonderful, and he was not much of an acquisition in other ways.
Then Dare took his opportunity. He dropped into Charles"s vacant chair; he wound wool; he wished to learn to knit; his inquiring mind craved for information respecting shooting-stockings. He talked of music; of songs--Italian, French, and English; of American n.i.g.g.e.r melodies. Would Miss Deyncourt sing? Might he accompany her? Ah! she preferred the simple old English ballads. He _loved_ the simple English ballad.
And Ruth, nothing loath, sang in her fresh, clear voice one song after another, Dare accompanying her with rapid sympathy and ease.
Charles put down his paper and moved slightly, so that he had a better view of the piano. Evelyn laid down her work and looked affectionately at Ruth.
"Exquisite," said Lady Mary from time to time, who had said the same of Lady Grace"s wavering little soprano.
"You also sing duets? You sing duets?" eagerly inquired Dare, the music-stool creaking with his suppressed excitement; and, without waiting for an answer, he began playing the opening chords of "Greeting."
The two voices rose and fell together, now soft, now triumphant, harmonizing as if they sung together for years. Dare"s second was low, pathetic, and it blended at once with Ruth"s clear young contralto.
Charles wondered that the others should applaud when the duet was finished. Ruth"s voice went best alone in his opinion.
"And the "Cold Blast"?" asked Dare, immediately afterwards. "The "Cold Blast" was here a moment ago,"--turning the leaves over rapidly. "You are not tired, Miss Deyncourt?"
"Tired!" replied Ruth, her eyes sparkling. "It never tires me to sing.
It rests me."
"Ah! so it is with me. That is just how I feel," said Dare. "To sing, or to listen to the voice of--of--"
"Of what? Confound him!" wondered Charles.
"Of _another_," said Dare. "Ah, here he is!" and he pounced on another song, and lightly touched the opening chords.
""Oh! wert thou in the cold blast,""
sang Ruth, fresh and sweet.
""I"d shelter thee,""
Dare a.s.sured her with manly fervor. He went on to say what he would do if he were monarch of the realm, affirming that the brightest jewel of his crown would be his queen.