Читать книгу Phyllis - Duchess - Страница 10

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FRIDAY brings Mr. Carrington, who is specially agreeable, and devotes himself a good deal to Roland. There is a considerable amount of talk about shooting, hunting, and so forth, and we can all see that Roly is favorably impressed. Dora's behavior is perfect—her modesty and virtuous bashfulness apparent. Our visitor rather affects her society than otherwise, but beyond listening to her admiringly when she speaks, shows no marked attention. In the country a visit is indeed a visitation, and several hours elapse before he takes his departure. Once finding myself alone with him in the conservatory, I bestow upon him my promised picture, which he receives with open gratitude and consigns to his pocket as he hears footsteps approaching.

Roland's presence has inspired us all with much additional cheerfulness. We have never appeared so gay so free from restraint, as on this afternoon, and Mr. Carrington finds it hard to tear himself away. I myself am in wild spirits, and quite outshine myself every now and then; and Billy, who is not at any time afflicted with shyness, thinks it a safe opportunity to ask our friend before he leaves if he will some day take us for a drive in his dog-cart.

"Of course I will," say Mr. Carrington. "How unpardonable of me never to have thought of it before! But perhaps," speaking to Billy, but looking at Dora and me, "perhaps you would prefer four horses and the coach? It will be a charity to give it a chance to escape from the moths."

"Oh, I say" says Billy, "are you in earnest?" and, being reassured on this point, fairly overflows with delight.

Dora and I are scarcely less delighted, and Roland is graciously pleased to say it will be rather fun, when he finds the two Hastings girls are also coming. Somehow nobody thinks of a chaperon, which certainly heightens the enjoyment, and proves what a reputable person Mr. Carrington must be.

When the day arrives, and our landlord, clad in a thick light overcoat, drives his four bright bays up to our door, our enthusiasm reaches its final pitch. Imagination can no farther go: our dream is fulfilled.

Mr. Carrington helps Dora carefully to the box-seat, and then springs up beside her. Billy and I sit very close to each other. Roland takes his place anywhere, with a view to changing it on the arrival of Miss Lenah Hastings. The whip crackles, the bays throw up their heads—we are off!

I kiss my hands a hundred times to mamma and Martha and Jane, the cook, who have all come out to the door steps to see us start; while Brewster at the corner of the house stands agape with excited surprise. Not that he need have shown astonishment of any sort, considering our expedition and the manner of it has been ceaselessly dinned into his ears every hour of the day during the past week, by the untiring Billy.

At Rylston we take up the Hastings, and their brother, a fat but well-meaning young man, who plants himself on my other side, and makes elephantine attempts at playfulness. I do not mind him in the least; I find I can pour out my superfluous spirits upon him quite as well as upon a more companionable person, perhaps better; for with him at least I have all the conversation to myself. So I chatter and laugh and talk to Mr. Hastings until I reduce him to a comatose state, leaving him all eyes and little tongue.

I have succeeded in captivating his fancy, however, or else it is his usual mode to devote himself for the entire day to whoever may first happen to fall into his clutches; as, when we descend to Carlton Wood to partake of the lunch our host has provided for us, he still clings to me, and outwardly at least is almost loverlike.

Alas that October days should be so fleet! A day such as this one might have had forty hours without bringing ennui to any of us; but at length evening closes in, the time is come when we must take our departure. Regretfully we collect our shawls and move towards the drag.

Mr. Hastings, still adoring, scrambles on by my side, panting and putting with the weight of the too solid flesh nature has bestowed upon him and the wraps he is compelled to carry. Mr. Carrington, Dora, and Miss Hastings are close behind; Billy straggles somewhere in the distance; Roland and pretty Lenah follow more to the left.

Just as we reach the road Mr. Carrington speaks, and colors a little as he does so.

"Miss Phyllis, I think I once heard you say you had never sat on the front of a drag; will you take it now? Miss Vernon agrees with me it is a good chance for you to see if you would like it."

How good of him to remember that foolish speech of mine, when I know he is longing for Dora's society!

"Oh! thank you," I say, flushing; "it is very kind of you to think of it; but Dora likes it too, and I can assure you I was quite happy. I enjoyed myself immensely when coming."

"Oh! in that case—" returns Mr. Carrington, coldly, half turning away.

"Not but that I would like it," I go on, encouraged by a smile from Dora, who can now afford to be magnanimous, having been made much of and singled out by the potentate during the entire day, "if you are sure (to Mr. Carrington) you wish it."

"Come," says he with a pleased smile, and soon I find myself in the coveted position, our landlord in excellent temper beside me.

The horses, tired of standing, show a good deal of friskiness at the set-off, and claim their driver's undivided attention, so that we have covered at least a half mile of the road before he speaks to me. Then stooping to tuck the rug more closely round me (the evenings have grown very chilly) he whispers, with a smile:—

"Are you quite sure you would rather be here with me than at the back with that 'fat boy.'"

"Quite positive," I answer, with an emphatic nod. "I was only afraid you would have preferred—you would regret—you would have liked to return as you came," I wind up, desperately.

He stares at me curiously for a moment almost with suspicion, as it seems to me, in the gathering twilight.

"At this moment, believe me, I have no regrets, no troubles," he says at length, quietly. "Can you say the same? Did Hasting's eloquence make no impression? I couldn't hear what particular line he was taking, but he looked unutterable things. Once or twice I thought he was going to weep. The melting mood would just suit a person of his admirable dimensions."

"He was very kind," I return coldly, "and I don't wish to hear him spoken of in a slighting manner. He is so attentive and good-natured; he carried all those wraps without a murmur, though I'm sure he didn't like it, because his face got so red and he—he lost his breath so dreadfully as we came along. None of the others overburdened themselves, and you, I particularly noticed, carried nothing."

"I'm a selfish beast, I know," said Mr. Carrington, composedly, "and have always had a rooted objection to carrying anything, except, perhaps, a gun, and there is no getting out of that. There are so many disagreeable burdens in this life that must be borne, that it seems to me weak-minded voluntarily to add to them. Don't scold me any more, Phyllis; I want to be happy while I can."

"Then don't abuse poor Mr. Hastings."

"Surely it isn't abuse to say a man is fat when he weighs twenty stone."

"It is impossible he can weigh more than fourteen," I exclaim indignantly.

"Well, even that is substantial," returns he, with a provoking air. Suddenly he laughs.

"Don't let us quarrel about Hastings," he says, looking down at me; "I will make any concessions you like, rather than that. I will say he is slim, refined, a very skeleton, if you wish it, only take that little pucker off your forehead it was never meant to wear a frown. Now tell me if you have enjoyed your day."

"Oh, so much!" I say, with a sigh for the delights that are dead and gone. "You see we have never been accustomed to anything but—but—" I cannot bring myself to mention the disreputable fossil that lies in the coach-house at home, so substitute the words "one horse"; and now, to find one's self behind four, with such a good height between one's self and the ground, is simply bliss I would like to drive like this forever.

"May I take that as a compliment?"

"A compliment?"

My stupidity slightly discomfits my companion.

"I only hoped you meant you—you would have no objection to engage me as coachman in your never-ending drive," he says, slowly. "My abominable selfishness again, you see. I cannot manage to forget Marmaduke Carrington." Then, abruptly. "You shall have the four-in-hand any day you wish, Phyllis, as it pleases you so much; remember that. Just name a day whenever you choose, and I shall only be too happy to drive you."

What a brother-in-law he will make! My heart throbs with delight. This day, then, is to be one of a series. I feel a wild desire to get near Billy, to give him a squeeze in the exuberance of my joy, but in default of him can only look my gratitude by smiling rapturously into Mr. Carrington's dark-blue eyes.

"It is awfully good of you," I say, warmly; "you don't know how much we enjoy it. We have always been so stupid, so tied down, any unexpected amusement like this seems almost too good to be true. But"—with hesitation and a blush—"we had better not go too often. You see, papa is a little odd at times, and he might forbid it altogether if we appeared too anxious for it. Perhaps, in a fortnight, if you would take us again—will you? Or would that be too soon?"

"Phyllis, can't you understand how much I wish to be with you?" His tone is almost impatient, and he speaks with unnecessary haste. I conclude he is referring to pretty Dora, who sits behind, and is making mild running with Mr. Hastings.

"Do you know," I say confidentially, "I am so glad you have come to live down here. Before, we had literally nothing to think about, now you are always turning up, and even that is something. Actually, it seems to us, papa appears more lively since your arrival; he don't look so gloomy or prowl about after us so much. And then this drive—we would never have had the chance of such a thing but for you. It is an immense comfort to know you are going to stay here altogether."

"Is it? Phyllis, look at me." I look at him. "Now tell me this: if any other fellow, as well off as I am, had come to Strangemore, and had taken you for drives and that, would you have been as glad to know him? Would you have liked him as well as me?"

He is regarding me very earnestly; his lips are slightly compressed. Evidently he expects me to say something; but, alas! I don't know what, I feel horribly puzzled, and hesitate.

"Go on; answer me," he says, eagerly.

"I don't know. I never thought about it," I murmur, somewhat troubled. "It is such an odd question. You see, if he had come in your place I would not then have known you, and if he had been as kind—yes, I suppose I would have liked him just as well," I conclude, quickly.

Of course I have said the wrong thing. The moment my speech is finished I know this. Mr. Carrington's eyes leave mine; he mutters something between his teeth, and brings the whip down sharply on the far leader.

"These brutes grow lazier every day," he says with an unmistakable frown.

Five—six minutes pass, and he does not address me. I feel annoyed with myself, yet innocent of having intentionally offended. Presently stealing a glance at my companion, I say, contritely—

"Have I vexed you, Mr. Carrington?"

"No, no," he answers, hastily, the smile coming home to his lips. "Don't think so. Surely truthfulness, being so rare a virtue, should be precious. I am an irritable fellow at times, and you are finding out all my faults to-night," he says, rather sadly, laying his hand for an instant upon mine, as it lies bare and small and brown upon the rug. "You have proved me both ill-tempered and selfish. You will say I am full of defects."

"Indeed I will not," I return, earnestly, touched by his manner: "I do not even see the faults you mention; and at all events no one was ever before so kind to me as you have been."

"I would be kinder if I dared," he says, somewhat unsteadily.

While I ponder on what these words may mean, while the first dim foreboding—suspicion—what you will—enters my mind, we see Rylston, and pull up to give the Hastings time to alight and bid their adieux. Then we go on again, always in the strange silence that has fallen upon us, and presently find ourselves at home.

Mr. Carrington is on the ground in a moment, and comes round to my side to help me down. I hold out my hands and prepare for a good spring (a clear jump at any time is delightful to me); but he disappoints my hopes by taking me in his arms and placing me gently on the gravel; after which he goes instantly to Dora.

When we are all safely landed, papa, to our unmitigated astonishment, comes forward, and not only asks but presses Mr. Carrington to stay and dine. Perhaps, considering he has four horses and two grooms in his train, our father guesses he will refuse the invitation. At all events he does so very graciously, and, raising his hat, drives off, leaving us free to surround and relate to mother all the glories of the day.