John Halifax, Gentleman Part 45

"Ah, ca ira, ca ira"--she laughed, humming beneath her breath a few notes out of that terrible song. "But you know French--let us talk in that language; we shall horrify no one then."

"I cannot speak it readily; I am chiefly self-taught."

"The best teaching. Mon dieu! Truly you are made to be 'un hero'--just the last touch of grace that a woman's hand gives--had you ever a woman for your friend?--and you would be complete. But I cannot flatter--plain, blunt honesty for me. You must--you shall be--'l'homme du peuple.' Were you born such?--Who were your parents?"

I saw John hesitate; I knew how rarely he ever uttered those names written in the old Bible--how infinitely sacred they were to him. Could he blazon them out now, to gratify this woman's idle curiosity?

"Madam," he said, gravely, "I was introduced to you simply as John Halifax. It seems to me that, so long as I do no discredit to it, the name suffices to the world."

"Ah--I see! I see!" But he, with his downcast eyes, did not detect the meaning smile that just flashed in hers was changed into a tone of soft sympathy. "You are right; rank is nothing--a cold, glittering marble, with no soul under. Give me the rich flesh-and-blood life of the people. Liberte--fraternite--egalite. I would rather be a gamin in Paris streets than my brother William at Luxmore Hall."

Thus talked she, sometimes in French, sometimes in English, the young man answering little. She only threw her shining arts abroad the more; she seemed determined to please. And Nature fitted her for it. Even if not born an earl's daughter, Lady Caroline would have been everywhere the magic centre of any society wherein she chose to move. Not that her conversation was brilliant or deep, but she said the most frivolous things in a way that made them appear witty; and the grand art, to charm by appearing charmed, was hers in perfection. She seemed to float altogether upon and among the pleasantnesses of life; pain, either endured or inflicted, was to her an impossibility.

Thus her character struck me on this first meeting, and thus, after many years, it strikes me still. I look back upon what she appeared that evening--lovely, gay, attractive--in the zenith of her rich maturity. What her old age was the world knows, or thinks it knows.

But Heaven may be more merciful--I cannot tell. Whatever is now said of her, I can only say, "Poor Lady Caroline!"

It must have indicated a grain of pure gold at the bottom of the gold-seeming dross, that, from the first moment she saw him, she liked John Halifax.

They talked a long time. She drew him out, as a well-bred woman always can draw out a young man of sense. He looked pleased; he conversed well. Had he forgotten? No; the restless wandering of his eyes at the slightest sound in the room told how impossible it was he should forget. Yet he comported himself bravely, and I was proud that Ursula's kindred should see him as he was.

"Lady Caroline" (her ladyship turned, with a slightly bored expression, to her intrusive hostess), "I fear we must give up all expectation of our young friend to-night."

"I told you so. Post-travelling is very uncertain, and the Bath roads are not good. Have you ever visited Bath, Mr. Halifax?"

"But she is surely long on the road," pursued Mrs. Jessop, rather anxiously. "What attendants had she?"

"Her own maid, and our man Laplace. Nay, don't be alarmed, excellent and faithful gouvernante! I a.s.sure you your fair ex-pupil is quite safe. The furore about her has considerably abated since the heiress-hunters at Bath discovered the melancholy fact that Miss March--"

"Pardon me," interrupted the other; "we are among strangers. I a.s.sure you I am quite satisfied about my dear child."

"What a charming thing is affectionate fidelity," observed her ladyship, turning once more to John, with a sweet, lazy dropping of the eyelids.

The young man only bowed. They resumed their conversation--at least, she did, talking volubly; satisfied with monosyllabic answers.

It was now almost supper-time--held a glorious hour at Norton Bury parties. People began to look anxiously to the door.

"Before we adjourn," said Lady Caroline, "I must do what it will be difficult to accomplish after supper;" and for the first time a sharp, sarcastic tone jarred in her smooth voice. "I must introduce you especially to my husband. Mr. Brithwood?"

"Madam." He lounged up to her. They were a diverse pair. She, in her well-preserved beauty, and Gallic artificial grace--he, in his coa.r.s.e, bloated youth, coa.r.s.er and worse than the sensualism of middle age.

"Mr. Brithwood, let me introduce you to a new friend of mine."

The 'squire bowed, rather awkwardly; proving the truth of what Norton Bury often whispered, that Richard Brithwood was more at home with grooms than gentlemen.

"He belongs to this your town--you must have heard of him, perhaps met him."

"I have more than had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Brithwood, but he has doubtless forgotten it."

"By Jove! I have. What might your name be, sir?"

"John Halifax."

"What, Halifax the tanner?"

"The same."

"Phew!"--He began a low whistle, and turned on his heel.

John changed colour a little. Lady Caroline laughed--a thoughtless, amused laugh, with a pleasant murmur of "Bete!"--"Anglais!"-- Nevertheless, she whispered to her husband--

"Mon ami--you forget; I have introduced you to this gentleman."

"Gentleman indeed! Pooh! rubbish! Lady Caroline--I'm busy talking."

"And so are we, most pleasantly. I only called you as a matter of form, to ratify my invitation. Mr. Halifax will, I hope, dine with us next Sunday?"

"The devil he will!"

"Richard--you hurt me!"--with a little scream, as she pushed his rough fingers from her arm, so soft, and round, and fair.

"Madam, you must be crazy. The young man is a tradesman--a tanner. Not fit for MY society."

"Precisely; I invite him for my own."

But the whispers and responses were alike unheeded by their object.

For, at the doorway, entering with Mrs. Jessop, was a tall girl in deep mourning. We knew her--we both knew her--our dream at Enderley--our Nut-browne Mayde.

John was near to the door--their eyes met. She bowed--he returned it.

He was very pale. For Miss March, her face and neck were all in a glow. Neither spoke, nor offered more than this pa.s.sing acknowledgment, and she moved on.

She came and sat down beside me, accidentally, I believe; but when she saw me she held out her hand. We exchanged a word or two--her manner was unaltered; but she spoke hurriedly, and her fingers had their old nervous twitch. She said this meeting was to her "unexpected," but "she was very glad to see me."

So she sat, and I looked sideways at her dropped eyes--her forehead with its coronet of chestnut curls. How would he bear the sight--he of whose heart mine was the mere faint echo? Yet truly an echo, repeating with cruel faithfulness every throb.

He kept his position, a little aloof from the Brithwoods, who were holding a slight altercation--though more of looks than words. John heeded them not. I was sure, though he had never looked directly towards us, that he had heard every syllable Miss March said to me.

The 'squire called across the room, in a patronising tone: "My good fellow--that is, ahem! I say, young Halifax?"

"Were you addressing me, Mr. Brithwood?"

"I was. I want a quiet word or two--between ourselves."

"Certainly."

They stood face to face. The one seemed uncomfortable, the other was his natural self--a little graver, perhaps, as if he felt what was coming, and prepared to meet it, knowing in whose presence he had to prove himself--what Richard Brithwood, with all his broad acres, could never be--a gentleman.

Few could doubt that fact, who looked at the two young men, as all were looking now.