Not Like Other Girls Part 75

"But I say that you do," he persisted, in quite a determined manner: "you are cold, and tired, and miserable,--there!"

"I--I am not particularly miserable," but there were tears in Mattie's voice, as she uttered this little fib. "I don't quite like going away and saying good-bye to people."

"Won't your people be kind to you?" Then changing his tone, "I tell you what, Miss Mattie, no one is in a hurry for you at home, and I don't see why we should not enjoy ourselves. You remember my old friend Mrs. Sparsit, who lives up at Rose Cottage,--you know I saved her poodle from drowning one rough day, when some boys got hold of it: well, Mrs. Sparsit and I are first-rate friends, and I will ask her to give us some tea."

"Oh, no," faltered Mattie, quite shocked at this; for what would Grace say? "I only know Mrs. Sparsit a very little."

"What does that matter?" returned Sir Harry, obstinately: "I am always dropping in myself for a chat. Now, it is no use your making any objection, Miss Mattie, for I have got a lot to say to you, and I don't mean to part with you yet. They will only think you are still at Rock Building, and I suppose you are old enough to act without Miss Grace's advice sometimes."

Mattie hung her head without replying to this. What a feeble, helpless sort of creature he must think her! his voice seemed to express a good-humored sort of contempt. Well, he was right; she was old enough to do as she pleased, and she would like very much to go with him to Mrs. Sparsit's. It was rather a reckless proceeding, perhaps; but Mattie was too down and miserable to argue it out, so she walked beside Sir Harry in a perfectly unresisting manner. Perhaps this was the last time she would enjoy his company for a long time: she must make the most of it.

"We need not walk quite so fast," he said, checking her, for she was hurrying again. "Look here, Miss Mattie, I want to ask you a queer sort of question, if only this confounded wind will let me make myself heard. Please don't laugh; I don't want to be laughed at, for I am quite in earnest. But have you any special objection to red hair?--I mean, do you particularly dislike it?"

Mattie opened her eyes rather widely at this. "No, I rather like it,"

she returned, without a moment's hesitation, and quite in the dark as to his possible meaning.

"Oh, that is all right," he returned, cheerfully. "You won't believe it, Miss Mattie, but, though I am such a great big fellow, I am as bashful as anything; and I have always had a fancy that no one would have me because of my red hair."

"What an idea!" observed Mattie, with a little laugh, for she thought this so droll, and had not the dimmest idea of his real purpose in asking her such a question.

"Don't laugh, please," he remonstrated, "for I am quite serious; I never was more serious in my life; for this sort of thing is so awkward for a fellow. Then, Miss Mattie, you won't say 'No' to me?"

Mattie stared; but Sir Harry's face, red and embarra.s.sed as it was, gave her no clue to his meaning.

"I don't think you understand me," he said, a little impatiently; "and yet I am sure I am putting it very plainly. You don't object to me, do you, Miss Mattie? I am sure I will do my best to make you happy.

Gilsbank is a pretty place, and we shall have Aunt Catherine and the girls near us. We shall all be as merry as larks, if you will only promise to marry me, for I have liked you from the first; I have indeed, Miss Mattie."

Sir Harry was a gentleman, in spite of his rough ways. He understood in a moment, when Mattie's answer to this was a very feeble clutch at his arm, as though her strength were deserting her. What with the sudden surprise of these words, and the force of the wind, the poor little woman felt herself reeling.

"Stand here for a moment, and I will shelter you from the wind. No, don't speak; just hold on, and keep quiet: there is no hurry. No one shall scold you, if I can help it. I am afraid"--speaking as gently as to a child--"that I have been a little rough and sudden with you. Do you feel faint? I never saw you look so pale. What a thoughtless brute I have been!"

"No,--oh, no," panted Mattie; "only I am so giddy, and--so happy." The last words were half whispered, but he caught them. "Are you sure you really mean this, Sir Harry?"

"As sure as that the wind blows," he returned, cheerfully. "Well, that's settled. You and I are to be in the same boat for good and all,--eh, Miss Mattie? Now let us walk on; and I won't say another word until we reach Mrs. Sparsit's."

Perhaps he had taken this resolution because he saw that Mattie found speech impossible. Her very footsteps tottered as she struggled against the opposing wind. Only the arm on which she leaned seemed to give her strength; and yet Mattie no longer shivered in the cutting blast. She was no longer cold, and numb, and desolate. Something wonderful and incredible and altogether unreal had befallen her,--something that had turned her dizzy with happiness, and which she could not in the least believe. All she knew was that he had told her that no one should scold her now.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Sir Harry, stopping at a trim little cottage, with a side-view of the sea; "and, by Jove, there is the poodle himself at the window. How do you do, Mrs. Sparsit?" as a pleasant, wrinkled dame appeared on the threshold. "You know Miss Drummond, I believe? though not as well as you know me. How is Popples? Oh, there you are, old fellow,--ready to give me your paw, as usual! Look at him, Miss Mattie! Now, Mrs. Sparsit," in a coaxing voice, "this lady is dreadfully tired; and I know your kettle is boiling----" but here Mrs. Sparsit interrupted him:

"Oh, yes, indeed, Sir Harry; and you shall have some tea directly.

Dear me, Miss Drummond, you do look poorly, to be sure! Let me stir the fire a little, and draw out the couch. Bettie has gone out to see her sick mother, Sir Harry; but if you don't mind my leaving you a minute, while I just brew the tea----" And without waiting for his answer, the worthy creature bustled off to her tiny kitchen, leaving Popples to entertain her guests.

Sir Harry closed the door, and then he helped Mattie to divest herself of her warm jacket, and placed her in a snug corner of the old-fashioned couch.

"You will be all right directly," he said, as he sat down beside her.

"The wind was too strong; and I was a little sudden: wasn't I, Mattie?" And now the color began to come into Mattie's face.

Sir Harry found plenty to tell her as Mrs. Sparsit brewed the tea and prepared the hot b.u.t.tered cakes.

Mattie shed tears of pure happiness when she heard from his own lips how good and unselfish and amiable he thought her, and how he had liked her from the first in a sort of way,--"not quite the right way, you know," explained Sir Harry, candidly; "but every one was so hard on you, and you bore it so well, and were such a good little woman, that I quite longed to stand your friend; and we were friends,--were we not, Mattie? And then somehow it came to me what a nice little wife you would make; and so----" but here Mattie timidly interrupted him:

"But Grace,--I thought you liked Grace best!"

Sir Harry laughed outright at this; but he had the grace to look ashamed of himself:

"So I did like her very much; but I was only trying you, Mattie. I was not sure how much you liked me; but you seemed such a miserable little Cinderella among them all that I could hardly keep it up. If they snub you now, they will have to answer to me." And at this moment Mrs.

Sparsit entered with the tea-tray.

Dinner was nearly over at the vicarage when Mattie's step was heard in the hall. Archie, who was the soul of punctuality, frowned a little when the sound reached his ear.

"This is too bad of Mattie," he said, rather fretfully. "She has no right to put us to such inconvenience. I suppose we must have the fish up again?"

"Miss Drummond desires that you will go on with your dinner, sir,"

observed the maid, entering at that moment. "She has had a late tea, and will not require anything more."

"Very strange!" fumed Archie; but he was a little pacified by the message. But Grace slightly elevated her eyebrows with an expression of surprise. Such independence was new in Mattie.

The brother and sister had adjourned to the drawing-room, and Archie was about to ring for his coffee, before Mattie made her appearance.

Grace uttered a little exclamation when she saw her sister:

"My dear Mattie, we have no visitors coming in this evening! Why have you put on your best gown? You extravagant child!" for Mattie had come into the room rustling in her green silk dress, and her little dark face glowing from the wind. "She looked almost pretty," as Grace said afterwards; but at her sister's quizzical observation Mattie blushed and seemed confused.

"It is no use saving it," she began. "Sir Harry is coming in by and by. And, oh, Archie! he told me to say it, but I don't know how to do it." And then, to Archie's intense surprise,--for she had never done such a thing in her life,--she suddenly threw her arms round his neck.

"Oh, Archie! he says you are never to scold me again,--any of you,"

she sobbed, "because I belong to him now. And he--Sir Harry, I mean--is so good to me; and I am so happy. And won't you wish me joy, both of you? And what--what will mother say?" finished Mattie, as though this were the climax of everything.

"Good heavens, Mattie!" gasped Archie; but he did not shake her off: on the contrary, he kissed her very kindly. "Do you mean you are going to marry Sir Harry Challoner?"

"He means to marry me," returned Mattie, smiling, in spite of her tears; and then Grace came forward, and took her in her arms.

"I am so glad, dear Mattie," she whispered, soothingly. "Of course we none of us expected it; and we are all very much surprised. Oh, dear!

how happy mother will be!"

"I tell you what," exclaimed Archie, in great excitement, "I will take you down myself to Lowder Street, and see what she says. They will all be out of their senses with joy; and, upon my word, Mattie, I never was so pleased about anything in my life. He is a right-down good fellow, I am sure of that; and you are not such a bad little thing yourself, Mattie. There!"

CHAPTER XLIX.

MATTIE IN A NEW CHARACTER.

The family at Lowder Street were all gathered together when the travellers made their appearance. There was a general shout of delight when Archie's face peered in at them from the dusky hall over Mattie's shoulder. Mrs. Drummond's thin face flushed with the unexpected pleasure.

"Oh, Archie! my dear boy, I never thought you would surprise us in this way!" she said, throwing down her work with tremulous hands. She kissed Mattie affectionately; but that dark glow of tenderness in her eyes was for Archie. In spite of her ordinary undemonstrativeness, she seldom spoke to him without that involuntary softening of her voice.

However much she loved her other children, her maternal pa.s.sion was reserved for her first-born son.