The Days of My Life: An Autobiography. Oliphant Margaret
me, and a fire was burning in my room, to make it more cheerful. When Alice loosed off the great shawl I was wrapped in, I could not comprehend, for a moment, what caused her sudden exclamation of pleasure, and the heavy sigh with which it was followed. It was the little diamond ornament which I wore round my neck. I had forgotten it. Yes, this had been my mother’s too; but I was tired and sleepy, and not communicative. Had I liked the party? Yes, I thought I had – pretty well – quite as much as I expected; sometimes it was very pretty, that was taking it in the picture point of view – for I did not think it necessary to tell Alice how I had been interested by the stranger. What a pity, I thought, that he was a young man! for people would laugh at me, if I expressed any interest in him.
So I lay down to rest in the firelight, to watch the ruddy shadows dancing on the walls, and wakefully and long to consider this evening and all its novelties. It was all novel to me. My dress and my jewels were enough to have woke me for a little out of the usual torpor of my life; but this party which I had been rather ashamed of desiring to go to, I felt I should never forget it now. Why? I could not tell why – but I went to sleep wondering which was Harry Edgar’s college, and what he might be thinking of. I even looked into the future with a little eagerness, marvelling what sort of career his was to be, and if I should ever know more of him. It was very strange – for certainly his thoughts, and the subjects they might be occupied with, were nothing to me.
THE SIXTH DAY
I WAS out upon a household errand to order something for Alice. My father and Alice conspired to keep me still as free of cares and almost of duties, as a child. Alice attended to everything; she was a good careful housekeeper, long accustomed to our house and ways, and needed no help in the administration of our domestic economy; though, perhaps, it would have been better for me, if I had been led to these homely occupations, and found something tangible to employ my mind and thoughts. It was Spring, one of those fresh, sunny, showery, boisterous days, which are so pleasant to youth. I liked my quiet walk along the narrow, old-fashioned streets – I liked the wind which blew my hair loose from my bonnet, and swept the clouds along the blue, blue sky, rushing past the turrets and pinnacles of the collegiate buildings. I was young, and my heart rose with the vague and causeless exhilaration of youth. I scarcely cared to think, but went on with a pure delight in the motion and life which I had within me. I was pleased to feel the shawl escaping from my hand, and my hair curling upon the breeze; and if my step was not quite so bold as its girlish freedom permitted five years ago, it was as firm a tread as it had been among our own fields, or in the lanes that led to Cottiswoode.
I had done my errand and was going home; but I was scarcely contented to return so soon, and would have walked a mile or two with pleasure. When I came to the paved alley, by St. Benet’s, which was the nearest way to our house, I paused a moment in uncertainty, thinking where I should go – but just as I was about to return in the opposite direction, I started to hear Mr. Osborne’s voice behind me. “Running away, Hester? – nay, I want you at home to-day; come back and tell me how your father is.”
I turned round – Mr. Osborne was not alone – standing a little apart from him, out of regard to his meeting with me, was the young man who had so strangely interested me at the party. I glanced at him involuntarily, and so did he at me; but we had no warrant for knowing each other, and I drew apart as he did, as if by instinct. Mr. Osborne was not paying the least attention to his companion, and seemed quite careless of him, whether he stayed or went away, and the wind at that moment was playing very strange pranks with the elder gentleman’s gown, so that, what with keeping it in order, and addressing me, Mr. Osborne had quite enough to do.
“My father is very well,” I said. “He is at home, of course; are you going to see him?”
“I am going to tell him how his daughter behaved on her entrance into the world,” said Mr. Osborne with much importance. “Were you very much impressed by your first experiences, Hester? There now, that is a little better. We are, at least, out of the road of that vagabond breeze.”
We had turned into the alley, and I had been waiting for Mr. Osborne’s young acquaintance to leave us; but he walked on steadily at the other side, and showed no disposition to go away. I did not quite like answering Mr. Osborne’s questions before this stranger; he made me feel so strangely conscious of all my own words and movements. I no longer did anything easily, but became aware of every step I made.
“Have you not seen him since that night?” said I, “it is quite a long time ago.”
“That night – so it did make some impression on my young debutante,” said Mr. Osborne, with a smile. “Do you know I have been out of Cambridge for nearly three weeks, you forgetful young lady? Well, Hester, what of that night?”
“What of it, Mr. Osborne?” said I, with some little indignation. “I suppose there was nothing very extraordinary about it.”
Mr. Osborne laughed, and I was provoked. “There only was a crowd of people – there is nothing remarkable in a crowd,” said I, impetuously. “Why should I think about it – you do not suppose that I take a party like that for the world?”
“What do you call the world then, Hester?” said Mr. Osborne.
“I do not know,” said I, hesitating a little. “I cannot tell,” I repeated, after another pause, “but I suppose there is as much of it here as there was yonder. I think so, at least.”
“So that is the verdict of youth, is it?” said Mr. Osborne. “Henry, my boy, what say you?”
I could not help turning my head quickly towards him, but I did not raise my eyes; how I wondered what he would say.
“The party has sometimes more influence on a life than the street can have,” said the young man, with hesitation, “otherwise, I have no doubt, a thronged and busy street in London would look more like the world than a Cambridge drawing-room – but sometimes the drawing-room makes a greater mark in a life.”
“My good youth, you are less intelligible than Hester,” said Mr. Osborne, “but the young lady has no metaphysical bias that I know of, so we will not discuss the question. So we were very prosy, were we, the other night? and you were nearly smothered under the Professor’s shadow, and had nothing but pictures to look at, poor child! The next one will be better, Hester, do not be dismayed.”
I made no answer. I was piqued at Mr. Osborne’s mockery; but I wondered over what the other had said – what did he mean by the drawing-room making a mark in his life. Had it made any mark in mine? why should it? and why was he walking along so quietly by Mr. Osborne’s side, without the least intention of going away? I saw that he kept his eyes away from me, as carefully as I kept mine from him; but how I observed him for all that. His walk was rather slow and steady – he was not quick and impetuous as I was – I wanted to hasten on, for I was embarrassed a little, not knowing anything about “society,” and being quite at a loss to know whether I was acquainted with this stranger or not; but, of course, Mr. Osborne continued his leisurely pace, and so did his young companion. They made me impatient and almost irritated me; they went on so quietly.
When we came to the door, I opened it hastily, for it was an old-fashioned, unsuspicious door, and opened from the outside. Then in my awkwardness I went down the two steps which led from it, and stood below in the door, waiting for Mr. Osborne. I was in a little tremor of expectation – what was he going to do?
“I think I may presume on your father and yourself, Hester, so far as to ask my young friend to come in with me,” said Mr. Osborne, “for we have some business together. This is Mr. Harry Edgar, Miss Southcote – will you admit him within your precincts.”
Of course I had to make a little awkward bow to him, and I do not think his was much more graceful; and then I hurriedly led the way into the house. Mr. Osborne went directly to the library, and I called Alice to show Mr. Edgar up-stairs, then I ran to my own room to take off my bonnet. Must I go to the drawing-room where he was sitting alone – I thought it was very unpleasant – I felt extremely confused and awkward, yet I smoothed my hair, and prepared to go.
When I went into the room, he was looking at the pictures – those dark, hard