Love Works Wonders: A Novel. Charlotte M. Brame
consult her about some music. When they were alone, her air and manner changed abruptly. She turned eagerly to her, her eyes full of sharp, keen curiosity.
"Can you tell me one thing?" she asked. "Is Sir Oswald going to make that proud, stupid, illiterate girl his heiress – mistress of Darrell Court?"
"I do not know," replied Miss Hastings. "How should I be able to answer such a question?"
"Of course I ask in confidence – only in strict confidence; you understand that, Miss Hastings?"
"I understand," was the grave reply.
"All the county is crying shame on him," said her ladyship. "A French painter's daughter. He must be mad to think of such a thing. A girl brought up in the midst of Heaven knows what. He never can intend to leave Darrell Court to her."
"He must leave it to some one," said Miss Hastings; "and who has a better right to it than his own sister's child?"
"Let him marry," she suggested, hastily; "let him marry, and leave it to children of his own. Do you think the county will tolerate such a mistress for Darrell Court – so blunt, so ignorant? Miss Hastings, he must marry."
"I can only suppose," replied the governess, "that he will please himself, Lady Hampton, without any reference to the county."
CHAPTER VII.
CAPTAIN LANGTON
June, with its roses and lilies, passed on, the laburnums had all fallen, the lilies had vanished, and still the state of affairs at Darrell Court remained doubtful. Pauline, in many of those respects in which her uncle would fain have seen her changed, remained unaltered – indeed it was not easy to unlearn the teachings of a life-time.
Miss Hastings, more patient and hopeful than Sir Oswald, persevered, with infinite tact and discretion. But there were certain peculiarities of which Pauline could not be broken. One was a habit of calling everything by its right name. She had no notion of using any of those polite little fictions society delights in; no matter how harsh, how ugly the word, she did not hesitate to use it. Another peculiarity was that of telling the blunt, plain, abrupt truth, no matter what the cost, no matter who was pained. She tore aside the flimsy vail of society with zest; she spared no one in her almost ruthless denunciations. Her intense scorn for all kinds of polite fiction was somewhat annoying.
"You need not say that I am engaged, James," she said, one day, when a lady called whom she disliked. "I am not engaged, but I do not care to see Mrs. Camden."
Even that bland functionary looked annoyed. Miss Hastings tried to make some compromise.
"You cannot send such a message as that, Miss Darrell. Pray listen to reason."
"Sir Oswald and yourself agreed that she was – "
"Never mind that," hastily interrupted Miss Hastings. "You must not hurt any one's feelings by such a blunt message as that; it is neither polite nor well-bred."
"I shall never cultivate either politeness or good breeding at the expense of truth; therefore you had better send the message yourself, Miss Hastings."
"I will do so," said the governess, quietly. "I will manage it in such a way as to show Mrs. Camden that she is not expected to call again, yet so as not to humiliate her before the servants; but, remember, not at any sacrifice of truth."
Such contests were of daily, almost hourly, occurrence. Whether the result would be such a degree of training as to fit the young lady for taking the position she wished to occupy, remained doubtful.
"This is really very satisfactory," said Sir Oswald, abruptly, one morning, as he entered the library, where Miss Hastings awaited him. "But," he continued, "before I explain myself, let me ask you how are you getting on – what progress are you making with your tiresome pupil?"
The gentle heart of the governess was grieved to think that she could not give a more satisfactory reply. Little real progress had been made in study; less in manner.
"There is a mass of splendid material, Sir Oswald," she said; "but the difficulty lies in putting it into shape."
"I am afraid," he observed, "people will make remarks; and I have heard more than one doubt expressed as to what kind of hands Darrell Court is likely to fall into should I make Pauline my heiress. You see she is capable of almost anything. She would turn the place into an asylum; she would transform it into a college for philosophers, a home for needy artists – in fact, anything that might occur to her – without the least hesitation."
Miss Hastings could not deny it. They were not speaking of a manageable nineteenth century young lady, but of one to whom no ordinary rules applied, whom no customary measures fitted.
"I have a letter here," continued Sir Oswald, "from Captain Aubrey Langton, the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends. He proposes to pay me a visit, and – pray, Miss Hastings, pardon me for suggesting such a thing, but I should be so glad if he would fall in love with Pauline. I have an idea that love might educate and develop her more quickly than anything else."
Miss Hastings had already thought the same thing; but she knew whoever won the love of such a girl as Pauline Darrell would be one of the cleverest of men.
"I am writing to him to tell him that I hope he will remain with us for a month; and during that time I hope, I fervently hope, he may fall in love with my niece. She is beautiful enough. Pardon me again, Miss Hastings, but has she ever spoken to you of love or lovers?"
"No. She is in that respect, as in many others, quite unlike the generality of girls. I have never heard an allusion to such matters from her lips – never once."
This fact seemed to Sir Oswald stranger than any other; he had an idea that girls devoted the greater part of their thoughts to such subjects.
"Do you think," he inquired, "that she cared for any one in Paris – any of those men, for instance, whom she used to meet at her father's?"
"No," replied Miss Hastings; "I do not think so. She is strangely backward in all such respects, although she was brought up entirely among gentlemen."
"Among – pardon me, my dear madame, not gentlemen – members, we will say, of a gentlemanly profession."
Sir Oswald took from his gold snuff-box a pinch of most delicately-flavored snuff, and looked as though he thought the very existence of such people a mistake.
"Any little influence that you may possess over my niece, Miss Hastings, will you kindly use in Captain Langton's favor? Of course, if anything should come of my plan – as I fervently hope there may – I shall stipulate that the engagement lasts two years. During that time I shall trust to the influence of love to change my niece's character."
It was only a fresh complication – one from which Miss Hastings did not expect much.
That same day, during dinner, Sir Oswald told his niece of the expected arrival of Captain Langton.
"I have seen so few English gentlemen," she remarked, "that he will be a subject of some curiosity to me."
"You will find him – that is, if he resembles his father – a high-bred, noble gentleman," said Sir Oswald, complacently.
"Is he clever?" she asked. "What does he do?"
"Do!" repeated Sir Oswald. "I do not understand you."
"Does he paint pictures or write books?"
"Heaven forbid!" cried Sir Oswald, proudly. "He is a gentleman."
Her face flushed hotly for some minutes, and then the flush died away, leaving her paler than ever.
"I consider artists and writers gentlemen," she retorted – "gentlemen of a far higher stamp than those to whom fortune has given money and nature has denied brains."
Another time a sharp argument would have resulted from the throwing down of such a gantlet. Sir Oswald had something else in view, so he allowed the speech to pass.
"It will be a great pleasure for me to see my old friend's son again," he said. "I hope, Pauline, you will help me to make his visit a pleasant one."
"What can I do?" she