That Unfortunate Marriage Volume Ii Part 2

"Yes; the horse ought to have his choice in that matter of drinking."

"I'm glad you agree with me. My dear old friend Jo Weatherhead is half inclined to think me wrong. He says I ought to consider the child's happiness first and foremost, and that, if being with fine folks don't make her happy, I ought to let her give them up. But May is very young still--barely eighteen; she hasn't had time to judge. I wouldn't have her think, later on, that this or that good thing might have befallen her if she had had her chance and seen more of the world. It's bitter to look back on opportunities lost or wasted, and that," added Mrs. Dobbs, changing her tone, and shaking hands with the young man, who had risen to go away, "is why I take the liberty of scolding _you_ now and then.

But I hope an old granny like me may speak her mind without offence?

That's one of our privileges."

It seemed clear that Owen Rivers, at all events, was not offended. His visits to Jessamine Cottage grew longer and more frequent. It became an established custom for him to drop in at tea-time. Very often when May had been spending the afternoon at the Canon's house, he would escort her home through the fields. That was a longer way than by the streets; but so much pleasanter, that their preference for it was surely very natural.

Oh, those rambles by the Wend, with the pearly evening sky above them, the dewy, flower-speckled gra.s.s under foot, and in their ears the sound of the sweet chimes, which seemed but to accompany some still sweeter melody, felt not heard. May gave herself no account of the charm which encompa.s.sed her. She looked not "before and after," but was happy, as youth alone can be happy, in the intense sweetness of the present. Later life has happiness of its own; but not that. It may be more or less, but it is different. Those young delights can no more return than a rose can furl itself again into a rosebud. And as to Owen, if his day-dream was sometimes pierced by a sharp ray of common sense from the work-a-day world, he turned his eyes away, and plunged still deeper into the rainbow-tinted cloudland of young love.

It could not hurt _her_, he argued. It could hurt no one but himself, and he was prepared to suffer. She was sweet and kind; but she had not--she could not have--any special feeling of tenderness for him. If, indeed, that could be possible----! But what was there in him to attract so lovely and lovable a creature as May Cheffington? A strongly-marked trait in Owen's character was what Mrs. Hadlow, being hotly provoked by some manifestation of it, had once designated as "pig-headed modesty!"

It was obstinate enough, truly, at times; and it had a warp of inflexible pride in the woof of it. But it was genuine modesty for all that. Still he would not so resolutely have shut his eyes to the possibility that this matter of falling in love might be mutual, but for Mrs. Dobbs's well-meant words of warning. May was going away in a week or two--away out of his reach, perhaps for ever. Since she was in no danger, he need, surely, have no scruple in enjoying these few happy moments in her company. They would probably be the last. No one suspected his feeling, and he could keep his own counsel.

He honestly believed that no one suspected him. His Aunt Jane, whose observation might have been the most to be dreaded, was in truth blind to what was going on under her eyes. In the first place, it was nothing new or unusual for Owen to spend his afternoons under the yew tree in her garden; nor for May Cheffington to be there also. And it did not occur, it scarcely could have occurred, to Conny's mother, that Conny was being a second time supplanted by this girl so much her inferior in beauty. And then, too, it must be acknowledged, that neither May nor Owen thought it necessary to trouble Mrs. Hadlow with any detailed report of the number of visits which her nephew paid to Jessamine Cottage; nor with a chronicle of their many evening strolls beside the Wend. Such strange tricks does love play with all: making the simple cunning, and the straightforward wily, almost in spite of themselves!

While as for Mrs. Dobbs, her usual keenness with regard to her grand-daughter was baffled by a vision of "the gentleman of princely fortune" on whom May had been said to look favourably; and there were but few opportunities for other eyes to note the behaviour of Owen and May towards each other.

The custom of the Sat.u.r.day evening whist-parties, at which Mr. and Mrs.

Simpson and Mr. Weatherhead were the only guests, had been unavoidably broken through at the time of Mrs. Dobbs's removal from Friar's Row: and, although efforts had been made to renew it, it had somehow languished, like a plant whose roots have been disturbed. Sometimes two or three weeks would elapse without the Simpsons appearing at Jessamine Cottage on the accustomed Sat.u.r.day evening. The amiable Amelia tried to compensate for these gaps in their social intercourse by running in at odd moments to see Mrs. Dobbs. She would frequently call on her way home from Mrs. Bransby's, or some other house where she gave lessons, and chat in her discursive style: smilingly unconscious, for the most part, whether Mrs. Dobbs vouchsafed her any attention or not; but always too sweet-tempered to resent it, if she chanced to discover that Mrs. Dobbs had not heard three sentences of all she had been saying. On one topic she was, at any rate, sure of being listened to: the words "our dear Miranda" were certain to arouse Mrs. Dobbs from her deepest fit of musing; and fits of musing had become more and more frequent with her of late.

It was not clear whether Mrs. Simpson had taken to call May "Miranda" by way of ceremoniously acknowledging her place in the world as a young lady who had been presented at Court; or whether she considered three syllables to be intrinsically more genteel than one; or whether she had simply caught the word from the fashionable journals which had chronicled the appearance of Miss Miranda Cheffington at various festivities of the season. Mrs. Simpson's reasons for doing or leaving undone were usually of a tangled kind, and an endeavour to extricate one of them often resulted in pulling up a number of others by the roots. At all events, Mrs. Simpson had taken to speak of May as "our dear Miranda," and the words infallibly insured her an attentive hearing from Mrs. Dobbs for whatever might follow them. If Mr. Weatherhead chanced to be present at any of Amelia's erratic visits, he listened willingly to all the gossip she might pour forth. It was always good-natured gossip.

Sebastian might bear a grudge here and there, and might impute shabby motives to the conduct of his fellow-creatures; but Amelia never. There seemed to be an excess of saccharine matter in her disposition which flavoured every word she said. This species of excess being somewhat uncommon, many persons p.r.o.nounced poor Mrs. Simpson to be an arrant humbug. But, had she been consciously a humbug, she would a.s.suredly have distributed her sweet speeches with more discretion; for nothing is less popular than uncritical eulogy--of other people.

There was an unusual air of excitement about her when she appeared one afternoon in Jessamine Cottage. She found its mistress knitting in her accustomed arm-chair, with Jo Weatherhead seated opposite to her reading aloud paragraphs from a local newspaper.

"My _dear_ Mrs. Dobbs," cried Amelia, bursting in breathlessly, "how do you do? _And_ Mr. Weatherhead! Now this is quite against rules--or, at least, against custom; for I am sure you would never make such a rule.

You are far too hospitable. But as I _was_ pa.s.sing--so nice to be neighbours instead of Friar's Row, though I shall ever look on Friar's Row with affection for the sake of old times. What is it the poet says about 'portions and parcels of the dreadful past'? Only there was nothing dreadful in our little suppers; and Martha's stewed tripe beyond praise."

"I hope you are going to eat some of our little supper to-night," said Mrs. Dobbs, composedly. "It's Sat.u.r.day, you know."

"How odd you should say that! It is exactly the remark I made to Ba.s.sy this morning! Oh yes; certainly. And, as I was saying just now, it's quite _hors ligne_, as the French express it, to inflict myself on you twice in one day."

"You know you are very welcome."

"You're always _so_ kind, dear Mrs. Dobbs! I have been busy teaching all the morning. This very moment I have come from Miss Piper's and----"

"You are not giving _her_ lessons, are you?" asked Mrs. Dobbs, looking up with a smile.

"Oh dear, no! Not, I'm sure, that she would not be an excellent pupil; indeed, both of them in their different styles. One the accomplished musician, and the other so domesticated. No doubt you will hear of it from our dear Miranda, for of course she will be invited. But I thought I would mention it."

"Mention what?--eh?" asked Jo Weatherhead, with impatient curiosity.

"The party. They are going to give a musical party. Though really I might omit the adjective, for who could imagine the Miss Pipers giving a party that _wasn't_ musical? To be sure some persons find it rather trying. Ba.s.sy, for instance, _cannot_ altogether approve the new school.

But then he was brought up in the strictest cla.s.sical principles, and he is so very clever himself, that of course----!"

Some native gift of incoherency which distinguished Mrs. Simpson's mind enabled her to reconcile the most conflicting claims on her admiration.

"Ho, ho! a party, eh? A musical party?" said Mr. Weatherhead.

"Yes; but of course there is nothing remarkable in _that_," replied Mrs.

Simpson, very unexpectedly.

"Nothing at all remarkable, I should think," a.s.sented Mrs. Dobbs.

"Ah! But the _point_ is--oh, p.u.s.s.y! Poor old p.u.s.s.y, _did_ I hurt her?

Dear, dear, dear!"

In the act of throwing herself forward from her place on the sofa, in order to touch Mrs. Dobbs's arm, and thus emphasize her communication, Amelia had accidentally set her foot on the tail of the old tabby cat, who at once protested in the frankest manner.

"I'm so sorry! I am so very nearsighted. Poor old pussums! Come and let us make it up--won't you, like a dear?"

Poor old pussums, however, declined these advances, and took up her position on the other side of her mistress's ample skirts; whence for some time she glared distrustfully at every fresh manifestation of Mrs.

Simpson's playful vivacity.

"Well, for goodness' sake tell us the point, if there is one!" cried Mr.

Weatherhead, who had been irritably rubbing his nose during this episode.

"Ah! Naughty impatience! That is so like a gentleman! Gentlemen are dreadfully impatient in general; don't you agree with me, Mrs. Dobbs?

However, it really will be quite a musical treat. Mr. Cleveland Turner is one of the most rising musicians of the day; I believe n.o.body can understand his compositions without severe preliminary training. Mr.

Sweeting, too, is _most_ amiable; he has taken a country house in the neighbourhood. And Miss Piper has invited a young lady down to stay with her who sings divinely--quite divinely, Miss Piper says; and, indeed, I have no doubt she does, for I _saw_ her name mentioned in the _Morning Post_ at a very aristocratic _soiree_. And Ba.s.sy and I are to be invited!"

"Are you, now? Well, I'm glad of it," said Mrs. Dobbs heartily. She knew this was a distinction which would give her friends pleasure.

"Yes; Ba.s.sy is to accompany the young lady's songs on the piano. Mr.

Cleveland Turner will not accompany;--or, at least, not anything of a tuneful sort. He doesn't like it. Well, you know, there's no accounting for tastes, is there? Most people think strawberries delicious. But I _have_ known a person who couldn't touch them--_invariably_ produced a rash!"

With which lucid ill.u.s.tration Mrs. Simpson rose, and declared she must positively be going. After an effusive leavetaking--in the course of which the old tabby leaped on to the back of Mrs. Dobbs's chair, where she sat arching her spine and growling--the good lady set forth on her way down the little garden-path in front of the house. But scarcely had she reached the gate, when she turned and tripped back again with a girlish step, which neither increase of years nor flesh had much sobered. "I never delivered my message," she said; "and really it is an extraordinary instance of my absence of mind, for that was the chief reason why I came at all at this hour. I was at Mrs. Bransby's about four o'clock, and left our dear Miranda there."

Here she paused so long that Mrs. Dobbs replied, "Yes; I knew May was going to call there."

"Now I dare say you will scarcely credit it," said Amelia, with her head on one side, her spectacles glistening, and an arch smile illumining her countenance, "but, for the moment, I had totally forgotten again what I was going to say!"

"Lord bless the woman!" muttered Jo Weatherhead, in a tone not, perhaps, quite so inaudible as politeness required.

"But I have it now. This is the message; our dear Miranda begged me to tell you that she will remain at Mrs. Bransby's for afternoon tea, and come home in the cool of the evening. Mrs. Bransby--indeed, all the family--are _most_ kind to her. Of course I don't mean to say that after the brilliant scenes of London society it can be any particular treat to her, although anything more truly elegant than Mrs. Bransby's new cream broche I never beheld in my life. However, they pressed our dear Miranda to stay. And she remarked to me that 'Granny would not be left alone, for she knew Mr. Weatherhead was coming.' And now"--looking at her watch--"I must _fly_, or I shall be too late for tea; and then what would Ba.s.sy say?" She tripped once more down the garden path, stopped at the gate to wave her hand, and at length finally departed.

CHAPTER III.

Meanwhile, May was playing with Mrs. Martin Bransby's children, in the delightful old walled garden; and Mrs. Martin Bransby herself was looking on from the shade of a trellised arbour. These two had become very good friends. Whether Mrs. Bransby was or was not aware of her stepson's rejected suit, May had no means of knowing; but she felt instinctively that Mrs. Bransby was not likely to be super-sensitive on her stepson's behalf, nor to bear her a grudge for having refused him.

Theodore's absence was not lamented in his own home. His young half-brothers and sisters openly rejoiced at it; and even his father felt that life went on more pleasantly without him.

May's popularity with the children was a sure pa.s.sport to their mother's heart; while on her side Mrs. Bransby had developed a most endearing trait of character: she liked Owen Rivers, and was always happy to welcome him to her house. Although Owen admired her beauty and elegance extremely, there was no alloy of coquetry in the preference she showed for his company. Indeed, Owen told his Aunt Jane that Mrs. Bransby's delight in adorning her graceful person came nearer to being a pure case of _l'Art pour l'Art_ than any he had ever witnessed. Nevertheless, the most transcendental of artists enjoys appreciation. So it chanced that on this special afternoon, Mr. Rivers being announced just when she was urging May to remain and drink tea with her, Mrs. Bransby at once suggested that perhaps Mr. Rivers would stay too, and be kind enough to see Miss Cheffington home. Mr. Rivers handsomely acceded to the proposal; and these three persons pa.s.sed a very agreeable afternoon together.

The romping, happy children, with that disregard for any "plurality of worlds" theory which belongs to their age, accepted the whole arrangement as being ordained for their sole and peculiar enjoyment.

Under this impression they declined to allow Owen to remain lounging beside their mother in the shade, but imperiously required him "not to be lazy," but to "come and play." He withstood the clamour of the boys for some time; but when three-year-old Enid toddled up to him, and gravely seized one of his hands with both hers, evidently under the conviction that she was quite able to drag him off with her by main force, it was impossible to resist any longer. A very noisy game--known to the younger Bransbys under the alliterative appellation of "Tiggy, Tiggy, touchwood," and which involved a great deal of confused rushing about, and shrill vociferation--was proceeding in the liveliest manner, when forth from the long window of the drawing-room stepped a figure at sight of whom Martin, the eldest boy, stopped short in a headlong course, and Bobby and Billy were so surprised that they checked a wild halloo in their very throats.