By Birth A Lady Part 16

"A nasty, disagreeable, foxy pair of old sneaks!" she exclaimed--"to go peeping and watching about like that, and all because they were as jealous as--as jealous as--well, there, I don't know what. I know I was watching too, but I wouldn't have done so for a moment, if it hadn't been to see what they were going to do. I wouldn't have been so mean and contemptible--that I wouldn't! But O, wasn't it grand!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "Ah, don't I wish I was like Miss Bedford, to have such a nice boy as Charley Vining to fall in love with me and tell me of it, and then for me to reject him like that! I don't believe she meant it, though, that I don't. She couldn't! n.o.body could resist Charley Vining: he's ever so much nicer than Hugh Lingon, and I'd run away with him to-morrow, if he asked me--see if I wouldn't! But there ain't no fear of that. I knew he was in love with her--I was sure of it. And didn't he speak nicely! Just as if he felt every word he said, and meant it all--and he does, too, I know; for he's a regular trump, Charley is, and I shall say so again, as there's no one to hear me--he's a regular trump, that he is; and I don't care what any one says. Wouldn't it be nice to be Miss Bedford's bridesmaid! I should wear--Here's somebody coming!"

Nelly darted off, reaching the door just as leave-takings were in vogue; Sir Philip and Charley handing the Bray family to the waiting carriages; but in spite of then efforts, there was an appearance of constraint visible.

"Why, here's the little rover!" exclaimed Charley, as Nelly appeared.

"Where have you been?"

"Looking after and helping my friends, as a rover should, Mr Croquet-player!" exclaimed Nelly pertly, as she looked Charley full in the face; while, as he was helping her on with a shawl, she found means to make him start by saying:

"Look out! Max and Laura were listening!"

The next moment the carriage had driven off, leaving Charley standing motionless, and thinking of the pale-faced girl who had leaned so lightly upon his arm as he handed her to the carriage, and wondering what would follow.

"Charley, my dear boy, the Miss Lingons!"

So spoke Sir Philip, rousing the young man from his abstraction, when he hastened to make up for his want of courtesy as guest after guest departed, till the last carriage had ground the gravel of the drive, for the fete was at an end. But as Sir Philip sat alone in his library, thoughtful and fatigued, it seemed to him that the affair had not been so successful as he could have wished; and that night--ay, and for many nights to come--he was haunted by a vision of a fair-haired girl, with soft grey eyes which seemed to ask the protection of all on whom they rested; and somehow Sir Philip Vining sighed, for he felt troubled, and that matters were not going as he had intended.

Meanwhile the Brays' wagonette rolled on till it reached the Elms.

Hardly a word had been spoken on the return journey; for Mr Bray was hungry, Mrs Bray cross, and Max and his sister thoughtful, as was Ella Bedford. Nelly had spoken twice, but only to be snubbed into silence; and it was with a feeling of relief shared by all, that they descended and entered the house.

Mrs Bray and her lord directly took chamber candlesticks, Mr Bray whispering something to the butler respecting a tray and dressing-room.

Ella hurried away with her charges, while Max opened the drawing-room door and motioned to his sister to enter; but she took no heed of his sign, as, with angry glances, she followed Ella till she had disappeared.

"Come here," said Max. "I want you."

"I'm tired," said Laura. "You must keep it till the morning."

"I tell you I want you now!" he exclaimed almost savagely, the man's real nature flashing out as he cast the thin veil of society habit aside, and spoke eagerly.

"Then I shall not come," said Laura, turning away.

"If you dare to say a word about all this, I'll never forgive you!" he whispered.

"I can live without Mr Max Bray's forgiveness," said Laura tauntingly.

"Confound you, come down!" he exclaimed, as Laura ascended the stairs.

"I will not have her spoken to about it unless I speak."

"Good-night, Max," was the cool reply; and he saw her pa.s.s through the swing door at the end of Mr Bray's picture-gallery; while foaming and apparently enraged, he made a bound up a few stairs, but only to descend again, enter the drawing-room, and close the door.

The door had hardly closed before Laura appeared again, without a chamber candlestick, to lean over the bal.u.s.trade eager and listening as she peered down into the hall. But there was not a sound to be heard; and hurrying back along the gallery, she stopped at Ella's door, and then, without knocking, turned the handle and entered.

Volume 1, Chapter XVII.

A VIAL OF WRATH.

"And, pray, what are you doing here?" exclaimed Laura Bray, as she saw the tall slim form of her sister Nelly standing between her and the object of her dislike.

"Talking to Miss Bedford, if you must know, my dear sister," said Nelly pertly; but the next moment she encountered a glance from Ella, in obedience to which she was instantly silent; and, crossing over, she kissed the pale girl lovingly, and said, "Good-night."

But all this was not lost upon Laura, who bit her lips till Nelly had half hesitatingly quitted the room.

"What sweet obedience!" she then said sarcastically. "Really, Miss Bedford, you must give me some lessons in the art of winning people's affections. I have no doubt that papa will satisfy you if there is any extra charge."

Ella did not speak; but her gentle look might have disarmed animosity, as she turned her soft eyes almost appealingly towards her irate visitor. She was in some degree, though, prepared for what was coming, for Nelly had lingered behind to place her on her guard; and as she stood facing Laura she did not shrink, neither did she make answer to the taunts conveyed in those bitter words.

"I trust that you have enjoyed a pleasant evening, Miss Bedford,"

continued Laura, who seemed to be working herself up, and gathering together the battalions of her wrath, ready for the storm she meant to thunder upon the defenceless head before her. But still there was no reply in words--nothing but the calm pleading gaze from the soft grey eyes.

"Can we make arrangements for you to be introduced to some other family, where you can carry on your intrigues?"

Still no answer--only a pitiful, almost imploring look that ought to have disarmed the most wrathful. But at this moment Ella involuntarily raised a white rose, which till then had remained concealed, as her hand hung down amidst the soft folds of her dress; and no sooner did Laura catch sight of the blossom than, interpreting the act to be one of insolent triumph, she threw herself upon the shrinking girl, tore the flower from her hand, and flung it upon the floor, where she crushed it beneath her foot as she stamped upon it furiously.

"How dare you!" she almost shrieked, in tones that bade fair some day to rival those of Mamma Bray. "Such cowardly--such insolent acts! To dare to insult me after practising your low cunning to-day, laying your snares for my poor unworldly brother, and then setting other traps--to-- to--inveigle--to entrap--There, don't look at me with that triumphant leer! You shall be turned out of this house, into which you have gained entrance by false pretences, so as to act the part of a scheming adventuress!"

For a few moments Laura seemed as if she would strike the object of her resentment, so fierce was the burst of pa.s.sion that came pouring forth-- the unlucky act having roused every bitter and angry feeling in her breast: disappointed love, ambition, hatred--all were mingled into a poison that was like venom to her barbed and stinging words, as she stooped even to abusing the innocent cause of her dislike.

At length Ella raised her hands, and spoke deprecatingly; but each appeal only seemed to rouse Laura to fresh outbursts of violence, so that at last the bitter taunts and revilings were suffered in silence, the angry woman's voice rising louder with her victim's patience, till, alarmed by her daughter's angry, hysterical cries, Mrs Bray hurried into the room.

"What is the meaning of all this?" she shrieked. "Laura!--Miss Bedford!

Are you both mad?"

Ella was about to speak, but Laura fiercely interrupted her.

"Speak a word if you dare!" she said. "I will not have anything said!

Such insolence is insupportable."

"But what has Miss Bedford been doing?" shrieked Mrs Bray. "You are alarming the whole house. What does it mean?"

"Nothing. Let it rest," cried Laura, cooling down rapidly, but with face a-flame; for she could not bear her mother to be a witness to her humiliation, there being, based on Laura's slight exaggerations of one or two attentions, a full belief in the Bray family that even if the question had not been put by Charley Vining, matters had so far progressed that he was sure to be her husband: hence her objection to a word being uttered; and, shrinking back, Ella stood with bended head, while a pa.s.sage of arms took place between mother and daughter, Mrs Bray's curiosity increasing with Laura's reticence.

Finding though, at last, that nothing was to be gained, Mrs Bray followed Laura from the room; and Ella, trembling with excitement and the agitation of many painful hours, was about to welcome the solitude hers at last, when once more the door opened, and, pale and wild-looking, so that she felt to pity her, Laura again appeared, closing the door carefully behind her, and then standing to gaze thoughtfully in Ella's face.

She had come to threaten--to try and enforce silence; but her voice was husky; the fierce pa.s.sion which had before sustained her had now pa.s.sed away, and the weak woman, cut to the heart by disappointment, was once more a.s.serting herself.

For quite five minutes she stood with heaving breast, trying to speak, but the words would not come; and at last, dreading to let the woman she hated and despised, one whom she looked upon as full of deceit and guile, gaze upon and triumph in her tears, Laura turned and fled from the room; and once more Ella was alone.

Volume 1, Chapter XVIII.

a.n.a.lYSIS OF THE HEART.

Alone--alone once more in her bedroom, the scene of so many bitter tears, Ella stood with flushed cheeks, and eyes that seemed to burn, thinking of the words that had been uttered to her that day. She held the crushed rose in her hand--the flower Laura had with cruel hand s.n.a.t.c.hed away and cast down, and upon which she had trampled with as little remorse as upon her feelings. But the agitated girl had once more secured the torn blossom, to stand gazing down upon its bruised petals.

What did he say? That he loved her--her whom he had seen so few times!

He loved her: he, the heir to a baronetcy, loved her--a poor governess, the persecuted, despised dependent of this family--that his love for her was as pure as that white blossom! It could not be. And yet he had spoken so earnestly; his voice trembled, and those low soft utterances so tenderly, so feelingly whispered, so full of appeal and reverence, were evidently genuine. They were not the words of the thoughtless, the lovers of conquest, the distributors of vain compliments, empty nothings, to every woman who was the toy of the hour. And he was no weak boy, ready to be led away by a fresh face--no empty-headed c.o.xcomb, but a man of sterling worth.

There was a plain, straightforward, manly simplicity in what he had said that went home to her heart; there was a n.o.bility in his disappointment and anger which made her thrill with the awakening of new thoughts, new senses, that had before lain dormant in her breast; there was the sterling ring of the true gentleman in his every act and look and word, and--Ah, but--no--no--no! She was mad to harbour such thoughts, even for an instant; it was folly--all folly. How could she accept him, even if her heart leaned that way? It would be doing him a grievous wrong, blighting his prospects, tying him down to one unworthy of his regard.

She could not--she did not love him. Love! What was it to love? She had loved those who were no more; but love him, a stranger! What was it to love?