Molly Bawn Part 31

"How unsociable!" says Molly, rather disappointed at the latter's defection. "Do they never come? All the year round?"

"Grandpapa never. But Philip, I presume, will return to his usual habits once the house begins to fill,--I mean, when the guests arrive."

"This poor little guest is evidently of small account," thinks Molly, rather piqued, and, as the thought crosses her mind, the door opens and Philip comes toward her.

"Good-morning," he says, cheerfully.

"You have breakfasted?" Marcia asks, coldly, in a rather surprised tone.

"Long since. But I will take a cup of coffee from you now, if you will allow me."

"I hardly think you deserve it," remarks Molly, turning luminous, laughing eyes upon him. "Marcia has just been telling me of your bad habits. Fancy your preferring your breakfast all alone to having it with----"

"You?" interrupts he, quickly. "I admit your argument; it was bearish; but I was particularly engaged this morning. You shall not have to complain of my conduct in the future, however, as I am resolved to mend my ways. See how you have improved me already."

"Too sudden a reformation, I fear, to be lasting."

"No. It all hinges on the fact that the iron was hot. There is no knowing what you may not do with me before you leave, if you will only take the trouble to teach me. Some more toast?"

"No, thank you."

Marcia grows a shade paler, and lets one cup rattle awkwardly against another. Have they forgotten her very presence?

"I have not much fancy for the _role_ of teacher," goes on Molly, archly: "I have heard it is an arduous and thankless one. Besides, I believe you to be so idle that you would disgrace my best efforts."

"Do you? Then you wrong me. On the contrary, you would find me a very apt pupil,--ambitious, too, and anxious to improve under your tuition."

"Suppose," breaks in Marcia, with deadly civility, "you finish your _tete-a-tete_ in the drawing-room. We have quite done breakfast, I think, and one wearies of staring at the very prettiest china after a bit. Will you be good enough to ring the bell, Philip?"

"Our _tete-a-tete_, as you call it, must be postponed," says Philip, smiling, rising to obey her order; "I am still busy, and must return to my work. Indeed, I only left it to pay you a flying visit."

Although his tone includes both women, his eyes rest alone on Molly.

"Then you do actually work, sometimes?" says that young lady, with exaggerated surprise and uplifted lids.

"Now and then,--occasionally--as little as I can help."

"What a speech, coming from an ambitious pupil!" cries she, gayly. "Ah!

did I not judge you rightly a moment ago when I accused you of idleness?"

Philip laughs, and disappears, while Molly follows Marcia into a small drawing-room, a sort of general boudoir, where the ladies of the household are in the habit of a.s.sembling after breakfast, and into which, sooner or later, the men are sure to find their way.

Marcia settles down to the everlasting macrame work on which she seems perpetually engaged, while indolent Molly sits calmly, and it must be confessed very contentedly, with her hands before her.

After a considerable silence, Marcia says, icily:

"I fear you will find Herst Royal dull. There is so little to amuse one in a house where the host is an invalid. Do you read?"

"Sometimes," says Molly, studying her companion curiously, and putting on the air of ignorance so evidently expected.

"Yes? that is well. Reading is about the one thing we have to occupy our time here. In the library you will probably be able to suit yourself.

What will you prefer? an English work? or"--superciliously--"perhaps French? You are without doubt a French scholar."

"If you mean that I consider myself complete mistress of the French language," says Molly, meekly, "I must say no."

"Ah! of course not. The remote country parts in which you live afford, I dare say, few opportunities of acquiring accomplishments."

"We have a National School," says Molly, with increasing mildness, and an impa.s.sive countenance.

"Ah!" says Marcia again. Her look--her tone--say volumes.

"You are very accomplished, I suppose," says Molly, presently, her voice full of resigned melancholy. "You can paint and draw?"

"Yes, a little."

"And play, and sing?"

"Well, yes," modestly; "I don't sing much, because my chest is delicate."

"Thin voice," thinks Molly to herself.

"How fortunate you are!" she says aloud. "How I envy you! Why, there is positively _nothing_ you cannot do! Even that macrame, which seems to me more difficult than all the other things I have mentioned, you have entirely mastered. Now, I could not remember all those different knots to save my life. How clever you are! How attractive men must find you!" Molly sighs.

A shade crosses Marcia's face. Her eyelids quiver. Although the shaft (be it said to Molly's praise) was innocently shot, still it reached her cousin's heart, for has she not failed in attracting the one man she so pa.s.sionately loves?

"I really hardly know," Miss Amherst says, coldly. "I--don't go in for that sort of thing. And you,--do you paint?"

"Oh, no."

"You play the piano, perhaps?"

"I try to, now and then."

("'The Annen Polka,' and on memorable occasions 'The Battle of Prague,'" thinks Marcia, comfortably.) "You sing," she says.

"I do," with hesitation.

("'Rosalie the Prairie Flower,' and the 'Christy Minstrels' generally,"

concludes Marcia, inwardly.) "That is charming," she says out loud: "it is so long since we have had any one here with a talent for music."

"Oh," says Molly, biting a little bit off her nail, and then examining her finger in an embarra.s.sed fashion, "you must not use the word talented, that implies so much, and I--really you know I---- Why,"

starting to her feet, and regaining all her usual impulsive gayety, "that is surely Philip walking across the lawn, and he said he was so busy. Can we not go out, Marcia? The day is so lovely."

"If you want Philip, I dare say one of the servants will bring him to you," says Marcia, insolently.

Just before luncheon the Darleys arrive. Henry Darley, tall, refined, undemonstrative; Mrs. Darley, small and silly, with flaxen hair, blue eyes, pink and white complexion, and a general wax-dollyness about her; and just such a tiny, foolishly obstinate mouth as usually goes with a face like hers. She is vain, but never ill-natured, unless it suits her purpose; frivolous, but in the main harmless; and, although indifferent to her husband,--of whom she is utterly unworthy,--takes care to be thoroughly respectable. Full of the desire, but without the pluck, to go altogether wrong, she skirts around the edges of her pet sins, yet having a care that all those who pa.s.s by shall see her garments free of stain.