Barrington Volume Ii Part 20

Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in her father's manner how he himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind for a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic mys-teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major's speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, "Continue!"

"I have not deceived myself, then," said he, with more warmth of manner.

"I have secured one kind heart in my interest?"

"You must own," said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, "that you scarcely deserve it."

"How,--in what way?" asked he, in astonishment.

"What a very short memory you are blessed with! Must I, then, remind you of a certain evening at Cobham? Must I recall what I thought at the time very particular, as they certainly were very pleasant, attentions on your part? Must I, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from you, the day and hour all named by yourself,--a visit which never came off? And after all this, Major, are you not really a bold man to come down and take up your negotiation where you dropped it? Is there not in this a strong conviction of the greatness of Major Stapylton and the littleness of the doctor's daughter?"

Stapylton was struck dumb. When a general sees that what he meant as a feint has been converted into a real attack, the situation is often imminent; but what comparison in difficulty is there between that mistake and that of him who a.s.sails what he never desired to conquer?

How he inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he had opened his negotiation!

"I perceive," said she, triumphing over his confusion, "that your calmer judgment does not rea.s.sure you. You feel that there is a certain levity in this conduct not quite excusable! Own it frankly, and at once!"

"I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater embarra.s.sment!"

"Shall I tell you why?"

"You couldn't; it would be totally impossible."

"I will try, however, if you permit me. You do! Then here goes. You no more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at Cobham than you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came here this morning to make your court to _me_, You are much pained at the awkwardness of a situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of you, you cannot imagine what escape there is out of such a difficulty."

"You are wonderfully clever, Miss Dill," said he; and there was an honest admiration in his look that gave the words a full significance.

"No," said she, "but I am wonderfully good-natured. I forgive you what is the hardest thing in the world to forgive!"

"Oh! if you would but be my friend," cried he, warmly.

"What a want of tact there was in that speech, Major Stapylton!" said she, with a laugh; "but perhaps you wanted to reverse the line of our dear little poet, who tells of some one 'that came but for Friendship, and took away Love'!"

"How cruel you are in all this mockery of me!"

"Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from _you?--you_, who can afford to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. From the time of that 'Major bold of Halifax' the song tells of, I never heard your equal."

"Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes?" said he, gravely.

"I think not,--at least not just now; but why should I make the attempt?"

"Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency,--a matter in which I am deeply interested, and which involves probably my future happiness."

"Ah, Major! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feelings once more?"

"My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy?"

"No, don't do any such thing; it would seem ungenerous to refuse, and yet I could not accord it."

"Fairly beaten," said he, with a sigh; "there is no help for it. You are the victor!"

"How did you leave our friends at 'The Home'?" said she, with an easy indifference in her tone.

"All well, perfectly well; that is to say, I believe so, for I only saw my host himself."

"What a pleasant house; how well they understand receiving their friends!"

"It is so peaceful and so quiet!" said he, with an effort to seem at ease.

"And the garden is charming!"

"And all this is perfectly intolerable," said he, rising, and speaking in a voice thick with suppressed anger. "I never came here to play a part in a vaudeville! Your father led me to believe, Miss Dill, that you might not be indisposed to lend me your favoring aid in a suit which I am interested in. He told me I should at least find you frank and outspoken; that if you felt inclined to a.s.sist me, you'd never enhance the service by a seeming doubt or hesitation--"

"And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he then give you to expect?"

"That you'd say so!"

"So I do, then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my counsels offer a bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you."

"This is the acme of candor. You can only equal it by saying how I could have incurred your disfavor."

"There is nothing of disfavor in the matter. I think you charming. You are a hero,--very clever, very fascinating, very accomplished; but I believe it would be a great mistake for Fifine to marry you. Your tempers have that sort of resemblance that leave no reliefs in their mutual play. You are each of you hot and hasty, and a little imperious; and if she were not very much in love, and consequently disposed to think a great deal of you and very little of herself, these traits that I speak of would work ill. But if every one of them were otherwise, there would still be one obstacle worse than all!"

"And that is--"

"Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton? You do not, surely, want confidences from me that are more than candor!"

"Do I understand you aright?" said he, growing red and pale by turns, as pa.s.sion worked within him; "do I apprehend you correctly? These people here are credulous enough to be influenced by the shadowy slanders of the newspapers, and they listen to the half-muttered accusations of a hireling press?"

"They do say very awkward things in the daily press, certainly," said she, dryly; "and your friends marvel at the silence with which you treat them."

"Then I _have_ divined your meaning," said he. "It is by these cowardly a.s.sailants I am supposed to be vanquished. I suspect, however, that Colonel Barrington himself was, once on a time, indulged with the same sort of flattery. They said that he had usurped a sovereignty, falsified doc.u.ments, purloined jewels of immense value. I don't know what they did not charge him with. And what do they say of me? That I exhibited great severity--cruelty, if you will--towards a mob in a state of rebellion; that I reprimanded a very silly subaltern for a misplaced act of humanity. That I have been cashiered, too, they a.s.sert, in face of the 'Gazette,' which announces my appointment to an unattached majority. In a word, the enormity of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and they write of me whatever their unthinking malevolence can suggest to them. You have, perhaps, seen some of these paragraphs?"

"Like every one else, I have read them occasionally; not very attentively, indeed. But, in truth, I'm not a reader of newspapers.

Here, for instance, is this morning's as it came from Dublin, still unopened;" and she handed it as she spoke.

"Let us see if I be still honored with their notice," said he, unfolding the paper, and running his eyes hastily over it. "Debate on the Sugar Bill--Prison Reforms--China--Reinforcements for Canada--Mail Service to the Colonies--Bankruptcy Court. Oh, here we have it--here it is!" and he crushed the paper while he folded down one part of it. "Shall I read it for you? The heading is very tempting: 'Late Military Scandal.--A very curious report is now going through our West-end Clubs, and especially such as are the resort of military officers. It is to the purport that a certain Field-officer of Cavalry--whose conduct has been the subject of severe strictures from the Press--will speedily be called to answer for a much graver offence than the transgression of regimental discipline.

The story which has reached us is a very strange one, and we should call it incredible, if we were not informed, on author-ity, that one of our most distinguished Indian generals has declared himself fully satisfied of its truth in every particular.' Can you fancy anything worse than that, Miss Dill? An unknown somebody is alleged to be convinced of an unknown something that attaches to me; for, of course, I am designated as the 'Field-officer of Cavalry,' and the public is graciously pleased to hold me in abhorrence till I have found out my calumniator and refuted him!"

"It seems very hard. Who do you suspect is the Indian General alluded to?"

"Tell me, first of all,--does he exist?" "And this, too, you will not reply to, nor notice?" "Not, certainly, through such a channel as it reaches me. If the slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, I may know how to deal with him. But what has led us into this digression? I am sure it is as little to your taste as to mine. I have failed in my mission, and if I were able to justify every act of my life, what would it avail me? You have p.r.o.nounced against me; at least, you will not take my brief."

"What if I were retained by the other side?" said she, smiling.

"I never suspected that there was another side," said he, with an air of extreme indifference. "Who is my formidable rival?"

"I might have told you if I saw you were really anxious on the subject."

"It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for example, Major McCormick--"