Magnum Bonum; Or, Mother Carey's Brood Part 105

"I thought so; but I only told her it was no such thing, and I believe the child thought I meant to rebuke her for mentioning such frivolities, for she turned scarlet and held her peace."

"Perhaps the delusion has kept her unconscious, and made her the sweeter. But the question is, whether this ought to go on without letting your people know?"

"I suppose they would have no objection?" said John. "There's no harm in Evelyn, and he shows his sense by running after Jock. He hasn't got the family health either. I'd rather have him than an old stick like Jessie's General."

"Yes, if all were settled, I believe your mother would be very well pleased. The question is, whether it is using her fairly not to let her know in the meantime?"

"Well, what is the code among you parents and guardians?"

"I don't know that there is any, but I think that though the crisis might be pleasing enough, yet if your mother found out what was going on, she might be vexed at not having been informed."

John considered a moment, and then proposed that if things looked "like it" at the end of the week, he should go down on Sat.u.r.day and give a hint of preparation to his father, letting him understand the merits of the case. However, in the existing state of affairs, a week was a long time, and that very Sunday brought the crisis.

The recollection of former London Sundays, of Mary Ogilvie's quiet protests, and of the effect on her two eldest children, had strengthened Mrs. Brownlow's resolution to make it impossible to fill the afternoon with aimless visiting and gossiping; and plenty of other occupations had sprung up.

Thus on this particular afternoon she and Barbara were with their Girls'

Friendly Society Cla.s.ses, of which Babie took the clever one, and she the stupid. Armine was reading with Percy Stagg, and a party of School Board pupil-teachers, whom that youth had brought him, as very anxious for the religious instruction they knew not how to obtain. Jock had taken the Friar's Bible Cla.s.s of young men, and Allen had, as a great favour, undertaken to sit with Dr. and Mrs. Lucas till he could look in on them. So that Esther and Lina were the sole occupants of the drawing-room when Captain Evelyn rang at the door, knowing very well that he was only permitted up stairs an hour later in time for a cup of tea before evensong. He did look into Allen's sitting-room as a matter of form, but finding it empty, and hearing a buzz of voices elsewhere, he took licence to go upstairs, and there he found Esther telling her little sister such histories of Arundel Society engravings as she could comprehend.

Lina sprang to him at once; Esther coloured, and began to account for the rest of the family. "I hear," said Cecil, as low tones came through the closed doors of the back drawing-room, "they work as hard here as my sister does!"

"I think my aunt has almost done," said Essie, with a shy doubt whether she ought to stay. "Come, Lina, I must get you ready for tea."

"No, no," said Cecil, "don't go! You need not be as much afraid of me as that first time I walked in, and thought I had got into a strange house."

Essie laughed a little, and said, "A month ago! Sometimes it seems a very long time, and sometimes a very short one."

"I hope it seems a very long time that you have known me."

"Well, Johnny and all the rest had known you ever so long," answered she, with a confusion of manner that expressed a good deal more than the words. "I really must go--"

"Not till you have told me more than that," cried Cecil, seizing his opportunity with a sudden rush of audacity. "If you know me, can you--can you like me? Can't you? Oh, Essie, stay! Could you ever love me, you peerless, sweetest, loveliest--"

By this time Mrs. Brownlow, who had heard Cecil's boots on the stairs, and particularly wished to stave matters off till after the Friar's mission, had made a hasty conclusion of her lesson, and letting her girls depart, opened the door. She saw at once that she was too late; but there was no retreat, for Esther flew past her in shy terror, and Cecil advanced with the earnest, innocent entreaty, "Oh, Mrs. Brownlow, make her hear me! I must have it out, or I can't bear it."

"Oh," said she, "it has come to this, has it?" speaking half-quaintly, half-sadly, and holding Lina kindly back.

"I could not help it!" he went on. "She did look so lovely, and she is so dear! Do get her down, that I may see her again. I shall not have a happy moment till she answers me."

"Are you sure you will have a happy moment then?"

"I don't know. That's the thing! Won't you help a fellow a bit, Mrs.

Brownlow? I'm quite done for. There never was any one so nice, or so sweet, or so lovely, or so unlike all the horrid girls in society! Oh, make her say a kind word to me!"

"I'll make her," said little Lina, looking up from her aunt's side. "I like you very much, Captain Evelyn, and I'll run and make Essie tell you she does."

"Not quite so fast, my dear," said her aunt, as both laughed, and Cecil, solacing himself with a caress, and holding the little one very close to him on his knee, where her intentions were deferred by his watch and appendages.

"I suppose you don't know what your mother would say?" began Mrs.

Brownlow.

"I have not told her, but you know yourself she would be all right. Now, aren't you sure, Mrs. Brownlow? She isn't up to any nonsense?"

"No, Cecil, I don't think she would oppose it. Indeed, my dear boy, I wish you happiness, but Esther is a shy, startled little being, and away from her mother; and perhaps you will have to be patient."

"But will you fetch her--or at least speak to her?" said he, in a tone not very like patience; and she had to yield, and be the messenger.

She found Esther fluttering up and down her room like a newly-caught bird. "Oh, Aunt Carey, I must go home! Please let me!" she said.

"Nay, my dear, can't I help you for once?" and Esther sprang into her arms for comfort; but even then it was plain to a motherly eye that this was not the distress that poor Bobus had caused, but rather the agitation of a newly-awakened heart, terrified at its own sensations.

"He wants you to come and hear him out," she said, when she had kissed and petted the girl into more composure.

"Oh, must I? I don't want. Oh, if I could go home! They were so angry before. And I only said 'if,' and never meant--"

"That was the very thing, my dear," said her aunt with a great throb of pain. "You were quite right not to encourage my poor Bobus; but this is a very different case, and I am sure they would wish you to act according as you feel."

Esther drew a great gasp; "You are sure they would not think me wrong?"

"Quite sure," was the reply, in full security that her mother would be rapturous at the nearly certain prospect of a coronet. "Indeed, my dear, no one can find any fault with you. You need not be afraid. He is good and worthy, and they will be glad if you wish it."

Wish was far too strong a word for poor frightened Esther; she could only cling and quiver.

"Shall I tell him to go and see them at Kencroft?"

"Oh, do, do, dear Aunt Carey! Please tell him to go to papa, and not want to see me till--"

"Very well, my dear child; that will be the best way. Now I will send you up some tea, and then you shall put Lina to bed; and you and I will slip off quietly together, and go to St. Andrew's in peace, quite in a different direction from the others, before they set out."

Meantime Cecil had been found by Babie tumbling about the music and newspapers on the ottoman, and on her observation--

"Too soon, sir! And pray what mischief still have your idle hands found to do?"

"Don't!" he burst out; "I'm on the verge of distraction already! I can't bear it!"

"Is there anything the matter? You're not in a sc.r.a.pe? You don't want Jock?" she said.

"No, no--only I've done it. Babie, I shall go mad, if I don't get an answer soon."

Babie was much too sharp not to see what he meant. She knew in a kind of intuitive, undeveloped way how things stood with Bobus, and this gave a certain seriousness to her manner of saying--

"Essie?"

"Of course, the darling! If your mother would only come and tell me,--but she was frightened, and won't say anything. If she won't, I'm the most miserable fellow in the world."

"How stupid you must have been!" said Babie. "That comes of you, neither of you, ever reading. You couldn't have done it right, Cecil."

"Do you really think so?" he asked, in such piteous, earnest tones that he touched her heart.

"Dear Cecil," she said, "it will be all right. I know Essie likes you better than any one else."