Out in the Forty-Five Part 30

"Then you had better have none!" cried my Aunt Dorothea, petulantly.

"That would be worse than wearing all white. Cary, I never knew you were so horribly obstinate."

"I suppose I am older, Aunt, and understand things better now," said I.

"Dear, I wish girls would stay girls!" said my Aunt Dorothea. "Well, Perkins, let it alone. Just do up that lace a little to the left, that the white ribbon may not show so much. There, that will do.--Cary, if your Grandmamma notices this, I must tell her it is all your fault."

Well, down-stairs we went, and found the company beginning to come. My Aunt Dorothea, I knew, never cares much about anything to last, but I was in some fear of Grandmamma. (By the way, I find this house is Grandmamma's, not my Uncle Charles's, as I thought.) There was one lady there, a Mrs Francis, who was here the other evening when we came, and she spoke kindly to us, and began to talk with Annas and Flora. I rather shrank into a corner by the window, for I did not want Grandmamma to see me. People were chattering away on all sides of me; and very droll it was to listen first to one and then to another.

I was amusing myself in this way, and laughing to myself under a grave face, when all at once I heard three words from the next window. Who said "By no means!" in that soft velvet voice, through which ran a ripple of silvery laughter? I should have known that voice in the desert of Arabia. And the next moment she moved away from the window, and I saw her face.

We stood fronting each other, Cecilia and I. That she knew me as well as I knew her, I could not doubt for an instant. For one moment she hesitated whether to speak to me, and I took advantage of it. Dropping the lowest courtesy I could make, I turned my back upon her, and walked straight away to the other end of the room. But not before I had seen that she was superbly dressed, and was leaning on the arm of Mr Parmenter. Not, also, before I caught a fiery flash gleaming at me out of the tawny eyes, and knew that I had made an enemy of the most dangerous woman in my world.

But what could I have done else? If I had accepted Cecilia's hand, and treated her as a friend, I should have felt as though I were conniving at an insult to my father.

At the other end of the room, I nearly ran against a handsome, dark-haired girl in a yellow satin slip, who to my great astonishment said to me,--

"Well played, Miss Caroline Courtenay! I have been watching the little drama, and I really compliment you on your readiness and spirit. You have taken the wind out of her Ladyship's sails."

"Hatty!" I cried, in much amazement. "Is it you?"

"Well, I fancy so," said she, in her usual mocking way. "My beloved Cary, do tell me, have you brought that delicious journal? Do let me read to-night's entry!"

"Hatty!" I cried all at once. "You--"

"Yes, Madam?"

If she had not on my best purple scarf--my lost scarf, that my Aunt Kezia could not find! But I did not go on. I felt it was of no earthly use to talk to Hatty.

"Seen it before, haven't you?" said Hatty, in her odious teasing way.

"Yes, I thought I had better have it: mine is so shabby; and you are only a little Miss--it does not matter for you. Beside, you have Grandmamma to look after you. You shall have it again when I have done with it."

I had to bite my tongue terribly hard, but I did manage to hold it. I only said, "Where are you staying, Hatty?"

"At Mrs Crossland's, in Charles Street, where I shall be perfectly delighted to see my youngest sister."

"Oh! Not with the Bracewells?"

"With the Bracewells, certainly. Did you suppose they had pitch-forked me through the window into Mrs Crossland's drawing-room?"

"But who is Mrs Crossland?"

"A friend of the Bracewells," said Hatty, with an air of such studied carelessness that I began to wonder what was behind it.

"Has Mrs Crossland daughters?" I asked.

"One--a little chit, scarce in her teens."

"Is there a Mr Crossland?"

"There isn't a Papa Crossland, if you mean that. There is a young Mr Crossland."

"Oh!" said I.

"Pray, Miss Caroline, what do you mean by 'Oh'?" asked Hatty, whose eyes laughed with fun.

"Oh, nothing," I replied.

"Oh!" replied Hatty, so exactly in my tone that I could not help laughing. "Take care, her Ladyship may see you."

"Hatty, why do you call Cecilia 'her Ladyship'?"

"Well, it doesn't know anything, does it?" replied Hatty, in her teasing way. "Only just up from the country, isn't it? Madam, Mr Anthony Parmenter as was (as old Will says) is Sir Anthony Parmenter; and Miss Cecilia Osborne as was, is her Ladyship."

"Do you mean to say Cecilia has married Mr Parmenter?"

"Oh dear, no! she has married Sir Anthony."

"Then she jilted our father for a t.i.tle? The snake!"

"Don't use such charming language, my sweetest; her Ladyship might not admire it. And if I were you, I would make myself scarce; she is coming this way."

"Then I will go the other," said I, and I did.

To my astonishment, as soon as I had left her, what should Hatty do but walk up and shake hands with Cecilia, and in a few minutes they and Mr Parmenter were all laughing about something. I was amazed beyond words.

I had always thought Hatty pert, teasing, disagreeable; but never underhand or mean. But just then I saw a good-looking young man join them, and offer his arm to Hatty for a walk round the room; and it flashed on me directly that this was young Mr Crossland, and that he was a friend of Mr--I mean Sir Anthony--Parmenter.

When we were undressing that night, I said,--

"Annas, can a person do anything to make the world better?"

"What person?" asked she, and smiled.

"Well, say me. Can I do anything?"

"Certainly. You can be as good as you know how to be."

"But that won't make other people better."

"I do not know that. Some other people it may."

"But that will be the people who are good already. I want to mend the people who are bad."

"Then pray for them," said Annas, gravely.

Pray for Cecilia Osborne! It came upon me with a feeling of intense aversion. I could not pray for her!

Nor did I think there would be a bit of good in praying for Hatty. And yet--if she were getting drawn into Cecilia's toils--if that young Mr Crossland were not a good man--I might pray for her to be kept safe. I thought I would try it.

But when I began to pray for Hatty, it seemed unkind to leave out f.a.n.n.y and Sophy. And then I got to Father and my Aunt Kezia; and then to Maria and Bessy; and then to Sam and Will; and then to old Elspie; and then to Helen Raeburn, and my Uncle Drummond, and Angus, and Mr Keith, and the Laird, and Lady Monksburn--and so on and on, till the whole world seemed full of people to be prayed for.