The Martins Of Cro' Martin Volume I Part 34

"Oh! certainly not," replied she, hastily. "The company in which he found himself is the best answer to that. He could not presume--"

"It was, then, downright fear," broke in Ma.s.singbred; "the terror that even clever men cannot even shake off when thrown amongst a cla.s.s they're unused to."

"And very naturally so. I'm sure he must be puzzled to imagine why he is here. Indeed, we have only known him a few days back. It was one of Mr.

Martin's sudden caprices to ask him to Cro' Martin. He fancied he ought to conciliate--I believe that's the phrase in vogue--the borough people, and this young man's father is the chief of them." And now Lady Dorothea turned from the topic as one unworthy of further thought, and entered upon the more congenial theme of her own high relatives and connections in England. It was strange enough that Ma.s.sing-bred's remote alliance with her family was sufficient to induce an intimacy and familiarity with him which years of mere acquaintanceship could not have effected.

That his grand-aunt had been a Conway, and his great-grandfather's half-brother was married to a Jernyngham, were all a species of freemasonry by which he was admitted at once to the privilege of confidential discussion.

It was no small mortification to Ma.s.singbred to spend his evening in these genealogical researches; he had seen the two young girls move off into an adjoining room, from which at times the sound of a piano, and of voices singing, issued, and was half mad with impatience to be along with them. However, it was a penalty must be exacted, and he thought that the toll once paid he had secured himself against all demands for the future.

Not caring to partic.i.p.ate in the many intricacies of those family discussions wherein the degrees of relationship of individuals seem to form the sole points of interest, we shall betake ourselves to the little blue drawing-room, where, seated at the piano together, the two young girls talked, while their fingers strayed along the notes as though affording a species of involuntary accompaniment to their words.

Nelligan, it is true, was present; but, unnoticed by either, he sat apart in a distant corner, deep in his own brooding thoughts.

Mary had only made Miss Henderson's acquaintance on that evening, but already they were intimate. It was, indeed, no common boon for her to obtain companionship with one of her own age, and who, with the dreaded characteristics of a governess, was in reality a very charming and attractive person. Miss Henderson sang with all the cultivated knowledge of a musician; and, while she spoke of foreign countries where she had travelled, lapsed at times into little s.n.a.t.c.hes of melody, as it were, ill.u.s.trative of what she spoke. The delight Mary experienced in listening was unbounded; and if at moments a sad sense of her own neglected education shot through her mind, it was forgotten the next instant in her generous admiration.

"And how are _you_, who have seen this bright and brilliant world you speak of," said Mary, "to sit quietly down in this unbroken solitude, where all the interests are of the humblest and more ordinary kind?"

"You forget that I saw all these things, as it were, on sufferance,"

replied she. "I was not born to them, nor could ever hope for more than a pa.s.sing glance at splendors wherein I was not to share. And as for the quiet monotony here, an evening such as this, companionship like yours, are just as much above my expectations."

"Oh, no, no!" cried Mary, eagerly. "You were as surely destined for a salon as I was for the rude adventures of my own wayward life. You don't know what a strange existence it is."

"I have heard, however!" said the other, calmly.

"Tell me--do tell me--what you have been told of me, and don't be afraid of wounding my vanity; for, I pledge you my word, I do think of myself with almost all the humility that I ought."

"I have heard you spoken of in the cabins of the poor as their only friend, their comforter, and their hope; the laborer knows you as his succor,--one by whose kind intervention he earns his daily bread; their children love you as their own chosen protector."

"But it's not of these things I 'm speaking," said Mary, rapidly. "Do they not call me self-willed, pa.s.sionate, sometimes imperious?"

"Yes; and capricious at times!" said the other, slowly.

Mary colored, and her voice faltered as she said,--

"There they were unjust. The impracticable tempers I have to deal with--the untutored minds and undisciplined natures--often lead me into seeming contradictions."

"Like the present, perhaps," said Miss Henderson.

"How! the present?" said Mary.

"That, while claiming the merit of humility, you at once enter upon a self-defence."

"Well, perhaps I _am_ capricious!" said Mary, smiling.

"And haughty?" asked the other, slowly.

"I believe so!" said Mary, with a degree of dignity that seemed to display the sentiment while confessing to it.

"I have never heard a heavier accusation against Miss Martin than these," said she, "and I have lived with those who rarely scruple how to criticise their betters."

Mary was silent and thoughtful; she knew not how to interpret the mingled praise and censure she had just listened to.

"But tell me rather of yourself," said Mary, as though willing to turn the topic of conversation. "I should like to hear your story."

"At thirteen years of age--I believe even a year later--I was the playfellow of the young gentleman you see yonder," said Kate Henderson, "but who, to-night, seems incapable of remembering anything or anybody."

"Of Mr. Nelligan?" repeated Mary. And Joseph started as he heard his name, looked up, and again relapsed into revery.

"I 'm not sure that we were not in love. I almost confess that I was, when my father sent me away to France to be educated. I was very sad--very, very sad--at being taken away from home and thrown amongst strangers, with none of whom I could even interchange a word; and I used to sit and cry for hours by myself, and write sorrowful love-letters to 'dearest Joseph,' and then imagine the answers to them; sometimes I actually wrote them, and would suffer agonies of anguish before I dared to break the seal and learn the contents. Meanwhile I was acquiring a knowledge of French, and knew a little of music, and used to sing in our choir at chapel, and learned to believe the world was somewhat larger than I had hitherto thought it, and that St. Gudule was finer than the mean little church at Oughterard; and worse still--for it _was_ worse--that the sous-lieutenants and cadets of the Military College had a much more dashing, daring look about them than 'poor Joseph;' for so I now called him to myself, and gave up the correspondence soon after.

"Remember, Miss Martin, that I was but a child at this time--at least, I was little more than fourteen--but in another year I was a woman, in all the consciousness of certain attractions, clever enough to know that I could read and detect the weak points in others, and weak enough to fancy that I could always take advantage of them. This incessant spirit of casuistry, this pa.s.sion for investigating the temper of those about you, and making a study of their natures for purposes of your own, is the essence of a convent life; you have really little else to do, and your whole bent is to ascertain why Sister Agnes blushes, or why Beatrice fainted twice at the Angelus. The minute anatomy of emotions is a very dangerous topic. At this very moment I cannot free myself from the old habit; and as I see young Mr. Nelligan there sitting with his head in his hand, so deep in thought as not to notice us, I begin to examine why is it he is thus, and on what is he now brooding?"

"And can you guess?" asked Mary, half eagerly.

"I could be certain, if I were but to ask him a question or two."

"Pray do then, if only to convince me of your skill."

"But I must be alone, and that is scarcely possible,--scarcely becoming."

"Let us contrive some way,--think of something."

"It is too late now; he is about to leave the room," said Kate, cautiously. "How pale he looks, and how anxious his eye has become!

I thought at first there was some constraint at meeting _me_ here; he feared, perhaps--but no, that would be unworthy of him."

She ceased, for Nelligan had now drawn nigh to where they sat, and stood as if trying to collect himself to say something.

"Do you sing, Mr. Nelligan?" asked Kate.

"No; I am ignorant of music," said he, half abstractedly.

"But you like it?" asked Mary.

"Yes, I believe I do,--that is, it calms and quiets me. If I could understand it, it would do more."

"Then why not understand it, since that is the way you phrase it?" asked Kate. "Everybody can be a musician to a certain degree of proficiency.

There is no more ear required than you want to learn a language."

"Then you shall teach me," cried Mary, eagerly.

Kate took up her hand and pressed it to her lips for a reply.

"Foreigners--men, I mean--are all so well aware of this that they cultivate music as a necessary part of education; few attain high eminence, but all know something of it. But somehow we have got to believe that cultivation in England must always tend to material profit.

We learn this, that, and t' other, to be richer or greater or higher, but never to be more acceptable in society, more agreeable or pleasanter company."

"We have n't time," said Nelligan, gravely.

"For what have we not time? Do you mean we have no time to be happy?"

cried Repton, suddenly stepping in amongst them. "Now, my dear young ladies, which of you will bid highest for the heart of an old lawyer--by a song?"