Wych Hazel Part 25

'Not this time. I have come to ask if I may catch some of your trout--if I can.'

'_Not_ this time! If you wait for another the score will be heavier.'

'May I have your trout?'

'Really, if they give their consent I will. Good morning, Mr.

Rollo!--will you sit down and let me give you some coffee?'

'As I came for that too, I will, thank you. Will you lend me Vixen to-day?'

'Why yes--as I am going fishing myself, and so cannot use her,'

said Miss Hazel, giving critical attention to cream and sugar.

'But it is very good of me--after the way you have behaved.'

'It is very good of you. Is that thing all you have got to ride, except the respectable cob?'

'Half broken, isn't she?' asked Mr. Falkirk.

'Half--hardly. She shies wickedly.'

'I am glad Hazel hears you. I hope she will not mount her again after that.'

Rollo's eyes came over to Wych Hazel's with an expression she could not quite read. It was not pet.i.tioning; it might be a little inquisitive. But she chose rather to answer Mr.

Falkirk.

'I needed no help to find out that she shied, sir. Then I have a little sympathy with that particular species of what Mr.

Rollo is pleased to call "wickedness." '

'It is very unfair, of course,' said Rollo, 'to speak of an action from its results--but we all do it. Now a horse's shying may break your neck. It is true a lady's shying may break your heart; but that don't count.'

'We are just talking about horses, Rollo. I want your help.'

'I will give it with promptness--if Miss Kennedy command me.'

'Mr. Rollo's innocent way of talking about commands would deceive anybody but me,' said Wych Hazel. 'But I am learning to know him by slow and painful degrees.'

The only answer to this was a mischievous smile, which did not embolden further charges. But whether boldly or not, Hazel went on with a fair show at least of bravery.

'What was that I was told so impressively yesterday?' she said. ' "There are circ.u.mstances where fear is highly commendable in a woman, when it is yet not desirable in a man." And after all that, did you not speed away like a very poltroon, and leave me to face everything by myself? Confess, Mr. Rollo!' The demure eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with fun.

'How much did you have to face?' asked the gentleman taking another roll.

'Ten people and two catechisms. And if Madame Lasalle says true--Have you a sketching club here? and is she its president?'

'We have no such club--and it has no such president--and whether Madame Lasalle says true is a matter entirely unknown to me.

Do you say you are going fishing to-day, Miss Kennedy?'

'Mr. Falkirk told Madame Lasalle I might. And she is to "tell me everything,"--fill up her sketches, I suppose; so the sport may be extensive. Yesterday her pencil marks were delightfully indistinct, and made the most charming confusion between cats and dogs and canary birds. Miss Maryland was a preacher, her father the personification of imprudence, and you--'

She had run on in a sort of gleeful play, not at all guessing what the pencil marks really meant, and stopped short now only for fear her play might chafe.

'What was I?' said Rollo, with a quietness that was evidently careless.

'You,' said Wych Hazel impressively, 'were (in a general way) a Norwegian, a Dane,--making your way everywhere and laying waste the country.'

Something in Mr. Falkirk's face as she finished these words made her instinct take alarm. The colour mounted suddenly.

'O, please do not speak to me again--anybody!' she said, looking down. 'I was all alone yesterday afternoon, and had to descend into the depths of Morton Hollow--and I believe I am a little wild at getting back. And Mr. Morton, sir--O, you have not asked what he said to me!' She checked her self again, too late! Whatever should she do with her tongue to keep it still.

The Camille de Rohan at her belt was hardly deeper dyed than she.

'What about Mr. Morton?' said Rollo. 'Forgive somebody for speaking--but it was impossible to ask without!'

'O--nothing--only a compliment for Mr. Falkirk,' said the girl, trying to rally. 'And Mr. Falkirk had said--And I have lived so long alone with Mr. Falkirk that I have got into a very bad habit of forgetting that anybody else can be present!'

It did not exactly help on the progress of self-control, that at this point Dingee came in, bearing in both hands a lovely basket of hot-house grapes and nectarines, themselves specimens of perfection, with a long wreathing stem of wonderful white orchids laid across its other treasures.

Dingee evidently enjoyed his share in the business, for his white teeth were in a glitter.

'Ma.s.s' Morton, Miss Hazel. He done send 'em to my young mistiss, wid his greatest 'spects. He say he done percolate de Hollow and couldn't find nuffin more gorgeous, or he's send _him_.'

'Dingee!' said his young mistress, flashing round upon him, 'do you venture to bring me a made-up message? Take the basket to Mr. Falkirk!'

But she shrank back then, as they saw, with extreme shyness.

The little fingers trembled, trying to busy themselves among spoons and cups; and one pitiful glance towards Mr. Falkirk besought him to take the affair into his own hands, and send whatever return message might be needful. O to be a child, and put her head down under the table! And instead of that she must keep her place--and she did, with the most ladylike quietness. Mr. Falkirk had reason to be content with her for once.

'n.o.body waiting, is there, Dingee?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'Ye' sir.'

'Take him this, and send him off politely; but no message, Dingee, if you want to wag your tongue in _this_ house!'

'Ye' sir. Got to be one somehow, sure!' said Dingee. ' 'Bout sumfin Ma.s.s' Morton done say to Miss Hazel. Real stupid feller he is dat come--can't make out what he says, nohow.'

'About a drive,' said Wych Hazel, looking over once more at her guardian. 'I expect you to say no, sir.'

'What did _you_ say, my dear?'

'I said I would ask you, sir--the shortest way to a negative.'

Her lips were getting in a curl again.

Mr. Falkirk went out to speak to Mr. Morton's messenger, and coming back again stood looking down at the basket of fruit with the wreath of white orchids lying across it.

'I hope you are grateful to fortune, my dear,' he remarked rather grimly.

'I hope you are, sir,--_I_ have nothing to do with that concern,'

said Wych Hazel with prompt decision.

'You don't know,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'It's an enchanted basket, Miss Hazel. Looks innocent enough; but I know there are several little shapes lurking in its depths--ants or flies or what not--which a little conjuration from you would turn into carriage horses, pony and all.'