Love Me Little, Love Me Long Part 29

"I know human nature, miss," said the urchin, pompously; "I have read Miss Edgeworth!!!"

He then made an appeal to her candor and good sense. "Now don't you see my friend Mr. Dodd is worth them all put together?"

"I can't quite see that."

"He is so n.o.ble, so kind, so clever."

"You must own he is a trifle brusk."

"Never. And, if he is, that is not like hurting people's feelings on purpose, and saying nasty, ill-natured things wrapped up in politeness that you daren't say out like a man, or you'd get kicked. He is a gentleman inside; that Talboys is only one outside; but you girls can't look below the surface."

"We have not read Miss Edgeworth. His hands are not so white as Mr.

Talboys'."

"Nor his liver, either--oh, you goose! Which has the finest eyes? Why, you don't see such eyes as Mr. Dodd's every day. They are as large as yours, only his are dark."

"Don't be angry, dear. You must admit his voice is very loud."

"He can make it loud, but it is always low and gentle whenever he speaks to you. I have noticed that; so that is monstrous ungrateful of you."

"There, the skein is wound. Arthur!"

"Well?"

"I have a great mind to tell you something your friend Mr. Dodd said while you were out of the room--but no, you shall finish your story first."

"No, no; hang the story!"

"Ah! you only say that out of politeness. I have taken you from it so long already."

The impetuous boy jumped up, seized the volumes, dashed out, and presently came running back, crying: "There, I have thrown them behind the bookcase for ever and ever. Now will you tell me what he said?"

Lucy smiled triumphantly. She could relish a bloodless victory over an inanimate rival. Then she said softly, "Arthur, what I am going to tell you is in confidence."

"I will be torn in pieces before I betray it," said the young chevalier.

Lucy smiled at his extravagance, then began again very gravely: "Mr.

Talboys, who, with many good qualities, has--what shall I say?--narrow and artificial views compared with your friend--"

"Ah! now you are talking sense."

"Then why interrupt me, dear?--began teasing him, and wanting to know the real reason he comes here."

"The real reason? What did the fool mean?"

"How can I tell, Arthur, any more than you? Mr. Dodd evidently thought that some slur was meant on the purity of his friendship for you."

"Shame! shame! oh!"

"I saw his anger rising; for Mr. Dodd, though not irritable, is pa.s.sionate--at least I think so. I tried to smooth matters. But no; Mr. Talboys persisted in putting this ungenerous question, when all of a sudden Mr. Dodd burst out, 'You wish to know why I love Arthur?

Because he is an orphan; and because an orphan finds a brother in every man who is worth the shoe-leather he stands in. That is all the riddle, you lubber!!' It was terribly rude; but oh! Arthur, I must tell you your friend looked n.o.ble; he seemed to swell and rise to a giant as he spoke, and we all felt such little shrimps around him; and his lip trembled, and fire flashed from his eyes. How you would have admired him then; and he swept out of the room, and left us for his little friend, who is worthy of it all, since he stands up for him against us all. Arthur! why, he is crying! poor child! and do you think those words did not go to _my_ heart as well? I am an orphan, too. Arthur, don't cry, love! oh! oh! oh!"

Oh, magic of a word from a great heart! Such a word, uncouth and simple, but hot from a manly bosom, pierced silk and broadcloth as if they had been calico and fustian, and made a fashionable young lady and a bold school-boy take hands and cry together. But such sweet tears dry quickly; they dry almost as they flow.

"Hallo!" cried the mercurial prince; "a sudden thought strikes me. You kept running him down a minute ago."

"Me?" said Lucy, with a look of amazement.

"Why, you know you did. Now tell me what was that for."

"To give you the pleasure of defending him."

"Oh. Hum? Lucy, you are not quite so simple as the others think; sometimes I can't make you out myself."

"Is it possible? Well, you know what to do, dear."

"No, I don't."

"Why, read Miss Edgeworth over again."

CHAPTER IX.

ARTHUR was bundled off to a private tutor, and the Dodds invited to Font Abbey no more, and Talboys dined there three days a week. So far, David Dodd was in a poor and miserable position compared with Talboys, who visited Lucy at pleasure, and could close the very street door against a rival, real or imaginary. But the street door is not the door of the heart, and David had one little advantage over his powerful antagonist; it was a slender one, and he owed it to a subtle source--female tact. His sister had long been aware of Talboys. The gossip of the village had enlightened her as to his visits and supposed pretensions. She had deliberately withheld this information from her brother, for she said to herself: "Men always make _such_ fools of themselves when they are jealous. No. David shan't even know he has got a rival; if he did he would be wretched and live on thorns, and then he would get into pa.s.sions, and either make a fool of himself in her eyes, or do something rash and be shown to the door."

Thus far Eve, defending her brother. And with this piece of shrewdness she did a little more for him than she intended or was conscious of; for Talboys, either by feeble calculation or instinct of petty rivalry, constantly sneered at David before Lucy; David never mentioned Talboys' name to her. Now superior ignores, inferior detracts. Thus Talboys lowered himself and rather elevated David; moreover, he counteracted his own strongest weapon, the street door.

After putting David out of sight, this judicious rival could not let him fade out of mind too; he found means to stimulate the lady's memory, and, as far as in him lay, made the absent present. May all my foes unweave their webs as cleverly! David knew nothing of this. He saw himself shut out from Paradise, and he was sad. He felt the loss of Arthur too. The orphan had been medicine to him. When a man is absorbed in a hopeless pa.s.sion, to be employed every day in a good action has a magical soothing influence on the racked heart. Try this instead of suicide, despairing lover. It is a quack remedy; no M. D.

prescribes it. Never you mind; in desperate ills a little cure is worth a deal of etiquette. Poor David had lost this innocent comfort--lost, too, the pleasure of going every day to the house she lived in. To be sure, when he used to go he seldom caught a glimpse of her, but he did now and then, and always enjoyed the hope.

"I see how it is," said he to Eve one day; "I am not welcome to the master of the house. Well, he is the master; I shall not force my way where I am not welcome"; but after these spirited words he hung his head.

"Oh, nonsense," said Eve. "It isn't him. There are mischief-makers behind."

"Ay? just you tell me who they are. I'll teach them to come across my hawse"; and David's eyes flashed.

"Don't you be silly," said Eve, and turned it off; "and don't be so downhearted. Why, you are not half a man."

"No more I am, Eve. What has come to me?"

"What, indeed? just when everything goes swimmingly."

"Eve, how can you say so?"

"Why, David, she leaves this in a few days for Mrs. Bazalgette's house. You tell me you have got a warm invitation there. Then make the play there, and, if you can't win her, say you don't deserve her, twiddle your thumb, and see a bolder lover carry her off. You foolish boy, she is only a woman; she is to be won. If you don't mind, some man will show you it was as easy as you think it is hard. Timid wooers make a mountain of a mole-hill."

"Why, it is you who have kept me backing and filling all this time, Eve."