A Double Knot Part 34

"It seems to me that our quiet little innocent home is being laid siege to by gentlemen," prattled Miss Philippa.

"And--and I don't know what's coming to us," said Miss Isabella gaily; and her hands shook, and her head nodded as she laughed, a sad ghost of a youthful hearty sign of mirth.

"But is this for me, aunt?" cried Clotilde, flushing up, and looking handsome in the extreme.

"And this for me, aunt?" cried Marie, whose cheeks could not brook the rivalry displayed by those of her sister.

"Oh, I don't know, my dears, I'm sure; but it's very, very, very, very shocking, and you are both very, very, very, very naughty girls to look so handsome, and go to dinner-parties, and captivate gentlemen."

"And make them lay offerings before your shrines," prattled Miss Isabella.

"Floral offerings before your shrines," repeated Miss Philippa, who nodded her approval of her sister's poetical comparison.

"But, aunt, who sent them?"

"Oh, it's no use to ask me, my dear," exclaimed Miss Philippa. "There may be a wicked little note inside. I don't know. I don't understand such things. They are beyond me."

"Oh yes, quite beyond us, my dear," said Miss Isabella; and she laid her hand upon her side as she felt a curious little palpitation, and there was a pathetic sadness in her withered face, as she began thinking of Captain Glen.

"But somebody must have sent them, aunties," said Marie, who dropped into the diminutive, and slightly endearing, appellative quite naturally, now that she found herself being exalted by her relatives.

"Oh yes, my dears, of course--of course," said Miss Philippa: "someone must have sent them. Mind," she cried, shaking one finger, "I don't say that those beautiful, those lovely exotics were sent to you by Lord Henry Moorpark. And I don't say--no: you don't say, sister--"

"Yes, of course," cried Miss Isabella, clumsily taking up the cue given to her, and shaking her thin finger very slightly, for it shook itself naturally a good deal, "I don't say, Clotilde, my dear, that that delicious and most expensive bouquet was sent by the great wealthy Mr Elbraham; but I've a very shrewd suspicion. Haven't you, sister?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," cried Miss Philippa playfully. "A little bird at dear Lady Littletown's whispered a little something in my ear.

But it's very, very shocking, isn't it, sister?"

"Oh yes," cried Miss Isabella, repeating her sad little laugh, her head nodding very much the while; "but fie--fie--fie! Hush--hush--hush!

Here is Joseph coming to change the plates."

Joseph it was, and as he changed the plates Clotilde held her bouquet to her flushed cheeks in turn, and gazed at Marie, who held the flowers to her own cheeks, both of which were creamy white as some of the blossoms; and she, too, gazed rather curiously at her sister, trying to read her meaning in her eyes.

But n.o.body paid any heed to Ruth, who looked wistfully at the gorgeous colours in Clotilde's bouquet, and the delicate tints in that of Marie, and she could not help wishing that someone sent her flowers--someone, say, like Captain Glen. Then she thought of Mr Montaigne, and she shivered, she hardly knew why, as she asked herself whether she ought not to have told her aunts of his visit and his ways. Then her thoughts were brought back to the happy present by Joseph placing a large section of "roley-poley" pudding before her upon a plate--not the ordinary homely "roley-poley" pudding, with flaky pastry and luscious gushings of the sweetest jam; but a peculiarly hard, mechanical style of compound which kept its shape, and in which the preserve presented itself in a rich streak of pink, starting from the centre, and winding round and round to the circ.u.mference, as if cook had turned artist, and was trying to perpetuate the neighbouring Maze in pastry at the least expenditure in cost.

The cheese which followed was Glo'ster of the ducal sound and soapy consistency, and then the empty plates, representing dessert, were placed upon the table--there was no fruit that day; grace had been said, and the ladies rose, Clotilde and Marie being kissed, and advised to place their bouquets in water in the drawing-room.

"They would look so nice if anyone called, my dears," said Miss Philippa.

"Which they might, you know, my darling," added Miss Isabella, smiling, and nodding her head.

So the flowers were placed in vases, duly watered, and the young ladies went up once more to their room, under orders to quickly redescend.

"There!" cried Clotilde maliciously, as soon as they were alone, "I knew it--I knew it! Ruth! Cindy! Do you hear! Go down on one knee, and kiss the hand of the future Viscountess or Baroness, or whatever she is to be, Lady Moorpark."

"No, don't, Ruth," cried Marie fiercely. "Go and salute the future Mrs Elbraham. Let me see, Clo dear; do ladies who marry Jews become Jewesses?"

"Perhaps they do," cried Clotilde, who had no repartee ready.

Marie laughed. "Jew--Jewess! Clo--old Clo! I wonder whether Mr Elbraham made his money that way? Eh, Clo dear?"

"I shall throw the water-bottle or the jug at you directly," cried Clotilde, as she washed her hands. "Never mind: he is rich, and not old. I wouldn't marry a yellow, snuffy old man, if he were ten thousand lords. There!"

"Who's going to marry him?" said Marie scornfully.

"You are. You'll be obliged to," retorted Clotilde.

"I wonder," said Marie, "whether Mr Elbraham is going to buy you of aunties, and if so, how much he is going to give."

Clotilde faced round at this sting.

"If you think I'm going to marry him, or if aunts think so, they are mistaken!" she cried. "I know what I am going to do. I know something that you would give your ears to know, my lady."

She looked mockingly at her sister, and waved her hand, as if wafting a kiss through the air.

Marie did not respond, but there was something in her eyes that troubled Ruth, who, being near, laid her hand in a sympathetic fashion upon her arm.

A summons from Markes put a stop to further conversation.

"What is it, Markes?" cried Clotilde.

"Aunts want you," said the woman roughly. "Gentlemen visitors;" and before she could be further questioned she closed the door.

"I know," cried Clotilde, darting a malicious glance at her sister: "it's Captain Glen, and he has brought his little squire with him. Come along down, and speak to Richard Millet, while I talk to the Captain. I say, Rie, dear."

"Well?"

"What a nice little husband he would make--quite a lady's page!"

"'My pretty page, look out afar, Look out, look out afar,'"

she sang; but Marie seemed hardly to notice her, for she was very quiet and thoughtful, as she gave a touch or two to her hair.

"There, that will do; come along--you won't be noticed."

Marie glanced at her sharply, and the blood suffused her cheeks; but she said nothing, only beckoned to Ruth to come, and they had nearly reached the drawing-room door when they met Markes, who took Ruth into custody.

"Not you, my dear," she said quietly--"you're to stop; it's them that's to go."

As she laid her hand upon the door Clotilde's heart beat fast, while a look of delight flushed her countenance. At the same time, though, she wondered that Marcus Glen and his friend should have called so soon.

"The silly old things!" she thought; "they could not see that the bouquets came from the Captain and Mr Millet."

Then she glanced round to see that her sister was close beside her, opened the door, and entered.

Disappointment!

Seated with their backs to the window were Mr Elbraham and Lord Henry Moorpark. The Fates had ordained that they should make their calls both at the same hour, and they now rose to meet Clotilde and Marie.