Not Like Other Girls Part 62

"Dear old Friary!--Oh, oh!" gasped Dulce; and even Nan looked mildly surprised.

"He will not make me give up my work until I choose," continued Phillis, who was in an obstinate mood. "It is not make-believe play-work, I can tell him that;" but Mrs. Challoner grew tearful at this.

"Phillis, my dear, pray hush! Indeed--indeed I cannot have you talking as though you meant and wished to be a dressmaker all your life."

And when Phillis asked, "Why not?" just for the sake of argument,--for in her heart she was growing heartily sick of her employment,--her mother threw up her hands in despair:

"Oh, my dear Miss Drummond, do not believe her: Phillis is a good girl; but she is always like that,--hard to be convinced. She does not really mean it. She has worked harder than any of them; but she has only done it for her mother's sake."

"Of course she does not mean it," echoed Nan, affectionately, and much struck by a sudden yearning look on Phillis's face,--an expression of smothered pain; but Phillis drew away from her sister's gentle grasp.

"I do mean it!" she said, almost pa.s.sionately. "I am dreadfully tired of the work sometimes, and hate it. Oh, how I hate it! But I think I have been happy, too. I liked the excitement of the fighting, and the novelty of the thing; it was such fun,--first shocking people, and then winning them over in spite of themselves. One felt 'plucky,' as Harry said. And then one's friends were so real." And her eyes fell unconsciously on Mattie.

"Oh, yes," returned Mattie, with her usual gush: "Archie and I took to you from the first. I must say I was surprised, knowing how fastidious Archie was, and his notions about young ladies in general. But, dear, he never would hear a word against you: he was even angry with Colonel Middleton the other day because--but there! I ought not to have told you that."

"Oh, we know all about it," returned Phillis, carelessly; but Dulce's bright face looked a little overcast. "Son Hammond is in the case; and we can all judge of a father's feelings by a certain example that shall be nameless. Good gracious, mammie! there comes the Alcides himself, and Dorothy has not cleared the tea-things! I vote we meet him in the garden, to avert breakages." And Phillis's proposition was carried out.

But when they were all seated in the little parlor again, and the lamp was brought, sundry packages made their appearence, and were delightedly unpacked by the girls, Phillis a.s.sisting with great interest, in spite of her heroic speeches.

"One can accept gifts from a cousin," she said, afterwards.

Sir Harry had shown good taste in his purchases. The ornaments and knick-knacks were all pretty and well chosen. The good-natured fellow had ransacked the shops in Paris for such things as he thought would please his unknown cousins. The bracelets, and fans, and gloves, and laces, made Dulce almost dance with glee. The lace was for Aunt Catherine, he said; and there were gloves for everybody,--dozens and dozens of them. But the fans and bracelets were for the girls; and to-morrow he would get the bonbons for Dulce. And then, as the girls laughingly apportioned the spoil, he whispered something to Nan, at which she nodded and smiled.

Mattie, who was carefully admiring the lace in her short-sighted way, felt something touch her elbow, and found Nan pushing a fan and a parcel of gloves towards her,--beautiful gloves, such as Isabel had in her trousseau.

"Yes; take them; we have so many; and, indeed, we have no use for more than a fan apiece. Oh, you extravagant Harry!"

Sir Harry laughed as he balanced the fan clumsily on his huge finger:

"Take it; you are very welcome, Miss Mattie. You know we are quite old acquaintances; and, indeed, I look on you as a sort of cousin."

"Oh, dear!--thank you; you are very good, Sir Harry," cried poor Mattie, blushing with pleasure.

Never had she spent such a day in her life,--a day wherein she had not been once snubbed, except in that remark of Archie's about her collar, and that did not matter.

"Poor little woman, she looks very happy!" observed Mrs. Challoner, benevolently, as Mattie gathered up her spoils and went out of the room, accompanied by Dulce. "She is such a good little soul, and so amiable, that it is a pity Mr. Drummond is always finding fault with her. It spoils him, somehow; and I am sure she bears it very well."

She spoke to Nan, for her nephew seemed engrossed with tying up Laddie's front paw with his handkerchief.

"I am afraid, from what she says, that they all snub her at home,"

returned Nan. "It seems Grace is the favorite; but you know, mother, Mattie is just a little tiresome and awkward at times."

"Yes; but she is very much improved. And I must say her temper is of the sweetest; for she never bears her brother any malice." But at that moment Mattie re-entered the room: and Sir Harry, releasing Laddie, proceeded, as in duty bound, to escort her to the vicarage.

CHAPTER XLI.

SIR HARRY BIDES HIS TIME.

Phillis might have spared herself that little outburst to which she had given vent on the day of her cousin's arrival. For, in spite of the lordly way in which he had claimed his prerogative as the only male Challoner, Sir Harry took no further steps to interfere with her liberty: indeed, as the days and even the weeks pa.s.sed away, and nothing particular happened in them, she was even a little disappointed.

For it is one thing to foster heroic intentions, but quite another when one has no choice in the matter. The heroism seemed lost, somehow, when no one took the trouble to combat her resolution.

Phillis began to tire of her work,--nay, more, to feel positive disgust at it. The merry evenings gave her a distaste for her morning labors, and the daylight seemed sometimes as though it would never fade into dark, so as to give her an excuse for folding up her work.

These fits of impatience were intermittent, and she spoke of them to no one: in other respects the new cousin brought a great deal of brightness and pleasure into their daily life.

They all grew very fond of him. Mrs. Challoner, indeed, was soon heard to say that she almost loved him like a son,--a speech that reached d.i.c.k's ears by and by and made him excessively angry. "I should like to kick that fellow," he growled, as he read the words. But then d.i.c.k never liked interlopers. He had conceived a hatred of Mr. Drummond on the spot. Sir Harry took up his quarters at the same hotel where d.i.c.k and his father had spent that one dreary evening. He gave lavish orders and excited a great deal of attention and talk by his careless munificence. Without being positively extravagant he had a free-handed way of spending his money: as he often said, "he liked to see things comfortable about him." And, as his notions of comfort were somewhat expensive, his host soon conceived a great respect for him,--all the more that he gave himself no airs, never talked about his wealth except to his cousins, and treated his t.i.tle as though it were not of the slightest consequence to himself or any one else; indeed, he was decidedly modest in all matters pertaining to himself.

But, being a generous soul, he loved to give. Every few days he went up to London, and he never returned without bringing gifts to the Friary. Dulce, who was from the first his chief favorite, revelled in French bonbons; hampers of wine, of choice game, or fruit from Covent Garden, filled the tiny larder to overflowing. Silks and ribbons, and odds and ends of female finery, were sent down from Marshall & Snelgrove's, or Swan & Edgar's. In vain Mrs. Challoner implored him not to spoil the girls, who had never had so many pretty things in their lives, and hardly knew what to do with them. Sir Harry would not deny himself this pleasure; and he came up evening after evening, overflowing with health and spirits, to join the family circle in the small parlor and enliven them with his stories of colonial life.

People began to talk about him. He was too big and too prominent a figure to pa.s.s unnoticed in Hadleigh. The Challoners and their odd ways, and their cousin the baronet who was a millionaire and unmarried, were canva.s.sed in many a drawing-room. "We always knew they were not just 'n.o.bodies,'" as one young lady observed; and another remarked, a little scornfully, "that she supposed Sir Henry Challoner would put a stop to all that ridiculous dressmaking now." But when they found that Nan and Phillis went about as usual, taking orders and fitting on dresses, their astonishment knew no bounds.

Sir Harry watched them with a secret chuckle. "He must put a stop to all that presently," he said; but just at first it amused him to see it all. "It was so pretty and plucky of them," he thought.

He would saunter into the work-room in the morning, and watch them for an hour together as he sat and talked to them. After the first they never minded him, and his presence made no difference to them. Nan measured and cut out, and consulted Phillis in her difficulties, as usual. Dulce sang over her sewing-machine, and Phillis went from one to the other with a grave, intent face. Sometimes she would speak petulantly to him, and bid him not whistle or tease Laddie: but that was when one of her fits of impatience was on her. She was generally gracious to him, and made him welcome.

When he was tired of sitting quiet, he would take refuge with Aunt Catherine in her little parlor, or go into the vicarage for a chat with Mattie and her brother: he was becoming very intimate there.

Sometimes, but not often, he would call at the White House; but, though the Cheynes liked him, and Magdalene was amused at his simplicity, there was not much in common between them.

He had taken a liking to Colonel Middleton and his daughter, and would have found his way to Brooklyn over and over again, only the colonel gave him no encouragement. They had met accidentally in the grounds of the White House, and Mr. Cheyne had introduced them to each other; but the colonel bore himself very stiffly on that occasion and ever after when they met on the Parade and in the reading-room. In his heart he was secretly attracted by Sir Harry's blunt ways and honest face; but he was a cousin of those Challoners, and intimacy was not to be desired: so their intercourse was limited to a brief word or two.

"Your father does not want to know me," he said once, in his outspoken way, to Miss Middleton, when they met at the very gate of Brooklyn, and she had asked him, with some little hesitation, if he were coming in. "It is a pity," he added, regretfully, "for I have taken a fancy to him: he seems a downright good sort, and we agree in politics."

Elizabeth blushed; for once her courtesy and love of truth were sadly at variance.

"He does like you very much, Sir Harry," she said; and then she hesitated.

"Only my cousins sew gowns," he returned, with a twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes, "so he must not encourage me,--eh, Miss Middleton?--as we are all in the same boat. Well, we must allow for prejudice. By and by we will alter all that." And then he gave her a good-natured nod, and sauntered away to tell his old friend Mattie all about it; for he had a kindly feeling towards the little woman, and made her his confidante on these occasions.

Phillis still called him Alcides, to his endless mystification: but she privately wondered when his labors were to begin. After that first afternoon he did not speak much of his future intentions: indeed, he was a little reserved with the girls, considering their intimacy; but to his aunt he was less reticent.

"Do you know, Aunt Catherine," he said one day to her, "that that old house of yours--Glen Cottage, is it not?--will soon be in the market?

Ibbetson wants to get off the remainder of the lease."

Mrs. Challoner leaned back in her chair and put down her knitting:

"Are you sure, Harry? Then Adelaide was right: she told me in her last letter that Mrs. Ibbetson's health was so bad that they thought of wintering at Hyeres, and that there was some talk of giving up the house."

"Oh, yes, it is true," he returned, carelessly; "Ibbetson told me so himself. It is a pretty little place enough, and they have done a good deal to it, even in a few months: they want to get off the lease, and rid themselves of the furniture, which seems to be all new. It appears they have had some money left to them unexpectedly; and now Mrs.

Ibbetson's health is so bad, he wants to try travelling, and thinks it a great pity to be hampered with a house at present. I should say the poor little woman is in a bad way, myself."

"Dear me, how sad! And they have been married so short a time,--not more than six months. She comes of a weakly stock, I fear. I always said she looked consumptive, poor thing! Dear little Glen Cottage! and to think it will change hands so soon again!"

"You seem fond of it, Aunt Catherine," for her tone was full of regret.

"My dear," she answered, seriously, "I always loved that cottage so!