The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly. Lever Charles James
of women altogether when I think these are the fellows that always meet their favor.”
“Women would be very ungrateful if they did not like the people who try to please them. Now, certainly, as a rule, Jack, you will admit foreigners are somewhat more eager about this than you gentlemen of England.”
“I have about as much of this as I am likely to bear well from my distinguished stepmother,” said he, roughly, “so don’t push my patience further.”
“What do you say to our little ‘salon’ now?” said she. “Have you ever seen ferns and variegated ivy disposed more tastefully?”
“I wish – I wish” – stammered he out, and then seemed unable to go on.
“And what do you wish?”
“I suppose I must not say it. You might feel offended besides.”
“Not a bit, Jack. I am sure it never could be your intention to offend me, and a mere blunder could not do so.”
“Well, I ‘ll go round and tell you what it is I wish,” and with this he entered the house and passed on into the drawing-room, and taking his place at one side of the fire, while she stood at the other, said seriously, “I was wishing, Julia, that you were less of a coquette.”
“You don’t mean that?” said she, roguishly, dropping her long eyelashes, as she looked down immediately after.
“I mean it seriously, Julia. It is your one fault; but it is an immense one.”
“My dear Jack,” said she, very gravely, “you men are such churls that you are never grateful for any attempts to please you except they be limited strictly to yourselves. You would never have dared to call any little devices, by which I sought to amuse or interest you, coquetry, so long as they were only employed on your own behalf. My real offence is that I thought the world consisted of you and some others.”
“I am not your match in these sort of subtle discussions,” said he, bluntly, “but I know what I say is fact.”
“That I’m a coquette?” said she, with so much feigned horror that Jack could scarcely keep down the temptation to laugh.”
“Just so; for the mere pleasure of displaying some grace or some attraction, you ‘d half kill a fellow with jealousy, or drive him clean mad with uncertainty. You insist on admiration – or what you call ‘homage,’ which I trust is only a French name for it – and what’s the end of it all? You get plenty of this same homage; but – but – never mind. I suppose I’m a fool to talk this way. You ‘re laughing at me besides, all this while. I see it – I see it in your eyes.”
“I was n’t laughing, Jack, I assure you. I was simply thinking that this discovery – I mean of my coquetry – was n’t yours at all. Come, be frank and own it. Who told you I was a coquette, Jack?”
“You regard me as too dull-witted to have found it out, do you?”
“No, Jack. Too honest-hearted – too unsuspecting, too generous, to put an ill construction where a better one would do as well.”
“If you mean that there are others who agree with me, you’re quite right.”
“And who may they be?” asked she, with a quiet smile. “Come, I have a right to know.”
“I don’t see the right.”
“Certainly I have. It would be very ungenerous and very unjust to let me continue to exercise all those pleasing devices you have just stigmatized for the delectation of people who condemn them.”
“Oh, you could n’t help that. You’d do it just to amuse yourself, as I ‘m sure was the case yesterday, when you put forth all your captivations for that stupid old Viscount.”
“Did I?”
“Did you? You have the face to ask it?”
“I have, Jack. I have courage for even more, for I will ask you, was it not Marion said this? Was it not Marion who was so severe on all my little gracefulnesses? Well, you need not answer if you don’t like. I ‘ll not press my question; but own, it is not fair for Marion, with every advantage, her beauty and her surroundings – ”
“Her what?”
“Well, I would not use a French word; but I meant to say, those accessories which are represented by dress, and ‘toilette’ – not mean things in female estimation. With all these, why not have a little mercy for the poor curate’s sister, reduced to enter the lists with very uncouth weapons?”
“You won’t deny that Ellen loves you?” said he, suddenly.
“I ‘d be sorry, very sorry, to doubt it; but she never said I was a coquette?”
“I ‘m sure she knows you are,” said he, doggedly.
“Oh, Jack, I hope this is not the way you try people on court-martial?”
“It’s the fairest way ever a fellow was tried; and if one does n’t feel him guilty he ‘d never condemn him.”
“I ‘d rather people would feel less, and think a little more, if I was to be ‘the accused,’” said she, half pettishly.
“You got that, Master Jack; that round shot was for you,” said he, not without some irritation in his tone.
“Well,” said she, good-humoredly, “I believe we are firing into each other this morning, and I declare I cannot see for what.”
“I ‘ll tell you, Julia. You grew very cross with me, because I accused you of being a coquette, a charge you ‘d have thought pretty lightly of if you had n’t known it was deserved.”
“Might there not have been another reason for the crossness, supposing it to have existed?” said she, quietly.
“I ‘cannot imagine one; at least, I can’t imagine what reason you point at.”
“Simply this,” said she, half carelessly, “that it could have been no part of your duty to have told me so.”
“You mean that it was a great liberty on my part – an unwarrantable liberty?”
“Something like it.”
“That the terms which existed between us” – and now he spoke with a tremulous voice, and a look of much agitation – “could not have warranted my daring to point out a fault, even in your manner; for I am sure, after all, your nature had nothing to do with it?”
She nodded, and was silent.
“That’s pretty plain, anyhow,” said he, moving towards the table, where he had placed his hat. “It’s a sharp lesson to give a fellow though, all the more when he was unprepared for it.”
“You forget that the first sharp lesson came from you.”
“All true; there ‘s no denying it.” He took up his hat as she spoke, and moved, half awkwardly, towards the window. “I had a message for you from the girls, if I could only remember it. Do you happen to guess what it was about?”
She shrugged her shoulders slightly as a negative, and was silent.
“I ‘ll be shot if I can think what it was,” muttered he; “the chances are, however, it was to ask you to do something or other, and as, in your present temper, that would be hopeless, it matters little that I have forgotten it.”
She made no answer to this speech, but quietly occupied herself arranging a braid of her hair that had just fallen down.
“Miss L’Estrange!” said he, in a haughty and somewhat bold tone.
“Mr. Bramleigh,” replied she, turning and facing him with perfect gravity, though her tremulous lip and sparkling eye showed what the effort to seem serious cost her.
“If you will condescend to be real, to be natural, for about a minute and a half, it may save us, or at least one of us, a world of trouble and unhappiness.”
“It ‘s not a very courteous