Nancy Part 21

I look up in a hurry, and see Sir Roger stooping over me, with an outspread cloak in his hands.

"Oh, thank you!" cry I, hurriedly, reddening--I do not quite know why--and with that same sort of sneaky feeling, as if the boys were laughing; "I am not one much apt to catch cold--none of us are--but I will, if you like."

So saying, I drew it round my shoulders. Then he goes, _in a minute_, without a second's lingering, back to the gravel-walk, to his wicker-chair, to grave, dry talk, to the friend of his infancy! I have an uncomfortable feeling that there is a silent and hidden laugh among the family.

"Barbara, my treasure!" says Algy, presently, in a mocking voice, "_might_ I be allowed to offer you our umbrella, and a pair of goloshes to defend you from the evening dews?"

"Hush!" cries Barbara, gently pushing him away, and stretching out her hand to me. She is the only one that understands. (Oh, why, _why_ did I ever laugh at him with them? What is there to laugh at in him?)

"My poor Barbara!" continues Algy, in a tone of affected solicitude. "If you had not a tender brother to look after you, your young limbs might be cramped with rheumatism, and twitched with palsy, before any one would think of bringing _you_ a cloak."

"Wait a bit!" say I, recovering my good-humor with an effort, reflecting that it is no use to be vexed--that they _mean_ nothing--and that, lastly, _I have brought it on myself_!

"Wait for _what_?" asks Barbara, laughing. "Till Toothless Jack has grown used to his new teeth?"

"By-the-by," cries Bobby, eagerly, "that was since you went away, Nancy: he has set up a stock of _new_ teeth--_beauties_--like Orient pearl--he wore them in church last Sunday for the first time. We tell Barbara that he has bought them on purpose to propose in. Now, do not you think it looks _promising_?"

"We do not mean, however," says Algy, lighting a cigar, "to let Barbara go _cheap_! Now that we have disposed of you so advantageously, we are beginning to be rather ambitious even for _Tou Tou_."

"We think," says Bobby, giving a friendly but severe pull to our youngest sister's outspread yellow locks, "that Tou Tou would adorn the _Church_. Bishops have mostly _thin_ legs, so it is to be presumed that they admire them: we destine Tou Tou for a bishop's lady!"

Hereupon follows a lively fire of argument between Bobby and his sister; she protesting that she will _not_ espouse a bishop, and he a.s.severating that she shall. It lasts the best part of a quarter of hour, and ends by reducing Tou Tou to tears.

"But come," says Algy, taking his cigar out of his mouth, throwing his head back, and blowing two columns of smoke out of his nose, "let us take up our subject again where we dropped it. I should be really glad if I could get you to own that you and _he_"--(indicating my husband by a jerk of his head)--"grew rather sick of each other! Whether you own it or not, I know you _did_; and it would give me pleasure to hear it. You need not take it personally. I a.s.sure you that it is no slur upon him--_everybody_ does. I have talked to lots of fellows who have gone through it, and they all say the same."

"Nancy!" says Bobby, abandoning, at length, his persecution of Tou Tou, and pretending not to hear her last persevering a.s.sertion of her determination not to be episcopally wed--"tell the truth, and shame the devil. It would be different if we were strangers, but _we_ that have sported with you since you wore frilled trousers and a bib--come now--did you, or did you not, kneel three times a day, like the prophet Daniel, looking eastward or westward, or whichever way it _did_ look, and yearn for us, and Jacky, and the bun-loaf--come, now?"

"Well, yes," say I, reluctantly making the admission. "I do not say that I did not! Of course, after having been used to you all my life, it would have been very odd if I had not missed you rather badly; but that is a very different thing from being _sick of him_!"

"Well, we will not say _sick_," returns Algy, with the air of one who is making a handsome concession, "it is a disagreeable, bilious expression, but it would be useless to try and convince me that _any_ human affection could stand the wear and tear of twenty-eight whole days of an absolute duet and not be rather the worse for it!"

"But it was _not_ an absolute duet," cry I, raising my voice a little, and speaking with some excitement; "you are talking about what you do not know! you are quite wrong."

"Well, it is not the first time in my life that I have been that," he says, philosophically; "but come--who did you the Christian office of interrupting it? tell us."

"I told you in my letters," say I, rather petulantly. "I certainly mentioned--yes, I know I did--we happened at Dresden to fall in with a friend of the general's--at least, a person he knew."

"A person he knew? What kind of a person? Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Old or young?"

"Young."

"Ugly or pretty?"

"Pretty," answer I, laughing. "Ah! what a rage he would be in, if he could hear such an epithet applied to him!"

"A young, well-looking, man-friend!" says Algy, slowly recapitulating all my admissions as he lies gently puffing on the rug beside me.

"Well?"

"_Well!_" echo I, rather snappishly. "Nothing! only that I wanted to show you that it was not quite such a _duet_ as you imagined! Of course--Dresden is not a big place--of course we met very often, and went here and there together."

"And where was Sir Roger meanwhile?"

"Sir Roger was there, too, of course," reply I, still a little crossly, "except once or twice--certainly not more than twice--he said he did not feel inclined to come, and so we went without him."

"You left him at home, in fact!" says Algy, with a rather malicious smile, "out of harm's way, while you and the young friend marauded about the town together; it must have been very lively for him, poor man! Oh, fie! Nancy, fie!"

"We did not do any thing of the kind," cry I, now thoroughly vexed and uncomfortable. "I wish you would not misunderstand things on purpose!

there is not any fun in it! _Both_ times I _wanted_ him to come! I _asked_ him particularly!"

"And, if I may make so bold as to inquire," asks Bobby, striking in, "how did the young friend call himself? What was his name?"

"Musgrave," reply I, shortly. "Frank Musgrave!" for the stream of my conversation seems dried.

"Was he _nice_? Should _we_ like him?" ask Tou Tou, who has recovered her equanimity, dried her tears, and forgotten the bishop.

"He was nice _to look at_!" reply I cautiously.

"That is a very different thing!" says Barbara, laughing. "But was he nice in himself?"

I reflect.

"No," say I, "I do not think he was: at least, he wanted a great deal of alteration."

"As I have no doubt that you told him," says Algy, with a smile.

"I dare say I did," reply I, distantly, for I am not pleased with Algy.

A little pause.

"I think he _was_ nice, too, _in a way_," say I, rather compunctiously.

"I used to tell him about all of you, and--I dare say it was pretense--but he _seemed_ to like to hear about you! When I came away, he sent his love to Barbara; he would not send any messages to you boys--he said he hated boys!"

"Humph!"

Another short silence. The elders have gone in to tea. Through the windows, I see the lamplight shining on the tea-cups.

"Algy!" say I, in a rather low voice, edging a little nearer to where he lies gracefully outspread, "you did not mean it, _really_? You do not think I--I--I--_neglected_ the general, do you?--you do not think I--I--_liked_ to be away from him?"

"My lady!" replies he, teasingly, "I _think_ nothing! I only know what your ladyship was good enough to tell me!"

Then we all get up, shoulder our rugs, and walk in.