Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 685. Various
enjoy that view.'
He turned his eyes upon it for a moment. 'It is pretty enough in its way.'
'In its way, indeed!' Then I presently went on: 'It is a way of quiet loveliness, which has a great charm for me in its suggestions of peace and rest. That house amidst the trees, by the hillside, has a special attraction for me. Even you must allow it is a charming retreat.'
'That low house? It is well enough; but' – turning his eyes upon my face, he added sharply: 'What do you want with rest and peace and charming retreats? What right have you to be sighing for them?'
'Right? Surely every one has a right to them that can get them?'
'The right is only fairly won by working for it; and what have you done? I mean of course, in comparison with what you have the power to do.'
I suppose I looked my surprise. He went on more gravely: 'Pardon me, but I gave you credit for being one of the last to desire "inglorious ease." I believed that even your life here, with its many demands, is not quite enough for the exercise of your full strength. Rest and peace are for the weak and vanquished.'
'Then I suppose it is feeling weak and vanquished which makes me incline towards them.'
'A little morbidness, more likely; the need of something to fight against. And yet,' he added musingly, 'there ought to be enough to exercise your energies here.'
'There is enough to satisfy the most belligerent,' I replied, laughing outright. 'I assure you there is ample opportunity for the exercise of any power I may possess in that direction.'
'And you acknowledge yourself vanquished?'
'Not by anything here, Mr Wentworth.'
'I beg your pardon;' gravely. Then, with the abruptness of friendship, he presently added: 'Did Trafford give you the Westminster? The paper I marked ought to interest you.'
'No; he forgot, I suppose.'
'Oh, I see. I must be my own messenger next time, or – employ Becky. You shewed some discrimination in giving her a step in life.'
'Becky! Do you know her?'
'A little.'
'Please do not be mysterious.'
'I made her acquaintance when – You do not think I was so inhuman as to let you go that day without keeping you in sight, in order to make sure you came to no harm. And – Well, I did not feel quite sure about you, so kept about the place until I came upon Becky; and we two struck up a friendship.'
'It was good of you.'
'Was it? I am too much accustomed to analyse motives to be quite sure about that.'
'And you have been in Becky's confidence all this time!' I murmured a little confusedly, with the consciousness of what that might mean.
'More than she imagines, perhaps; since she is no match for me in diplomacy. I need not tell you she is leal.'
'No.'
'How different the ring of those two voices!' he presently added, as the others again approached by the path running parallel with the wall upon which we were sitting, and on the other side of the kitchen garden, separating and screening us from observation, and across which came the voices of Mrs Chichester and Lilian.
'I am glad that is evident to others as well as to me,' I rejoined. 'I like to think they are dissimilar in the least as well as the greatest points. Lilian will never become a woman of fashion.'
'Not while what she typifies is out of date.'
I knew that he meant the enthusiasm and romance – the delicate purity of her mind, which was so harmoniously typified by her style of beauty. Then following out my thought, I absently added: 'And you are his friend.'
'We were together at Eton and Oxford. Our families are distantly related; and he being four or five years my junior, was placed by his father in some degree under my charge, though we were in different sets.'
'I can imagine that.'
'He was a favourite at the university; and' – as though searching about in his mind for some other good thing to say – 'His love for her is sincere.'
'Yes; thank God, it is that!'
'Mr Wentworth and Miss Haddon! I had not the least idea of finding you here!' It was Mrs Chichester speaking, with the prettiest air of surprise as she emerged from the side-path, though the keen glance with which she measured the distance between him and me was not unobserved by one of us. 'What a delightful retreat! May I join you?' – sitting down by my side with a graceful little addendum about feeling fatigued, and having found herself somewhat de trop with the lovers.
'And gentlemen are so very frank with sisters in such cases – are they not? Are you blest with brothers, Miss Haddon?' And so on, a list of questions which brought out the facts that I was not only lacking in brothers, but many other blessings.
'Quite alone in the great world, and an orphan. How very sad!'
Someway, whenever Mrs Chichester attempted to talk sentiment, it was apt to degenerate into bathos; more perhaps from the contrast between her face and manner and what she said, than from the words themselves.
'And past the age for charity schools, Mrs Chichester,' I smilingly replied.
'Oh, but indeed, indeed, you must not think I meant anything of that kind!' Then, turning towards Mr Wentworth in a pretty distressed way, she entreated him to help her to persuade me that she had really meant no harm. 'I assure you I had not the slightest intention to give offence; do, pray, believe it, Miss Haddon.'
Mrs Chichester was always so terribly afraid of offending Miss Haddon, and so extremely and obviously cautious lest any word of hers should remind me of my position.
'Unfortunately the facts remain, however kind you may be about it, Mrs Chichester,' I gravely replied. 'I am an orphan, and alone in the great world.'
'And so completely defenceless – so weak, and easily vanquished,' gravely put in Robert Wentworth.
'Ah, now you are laughing at me!' she ejaculated, an angry light in her eyes. 'I expected more courtesy from you, Mr Wentworth.'
'I assure you I was only repeating Miss Haddon's own sentiments, Mrs Chichester.'
This was too bad. I suppose he meant it as a punishment for my little exhibition of weakness. But I decided that the punishment was too great for the offence, so quietly took up the gauntlet and bided my time.
Mrs Chichester diverged to other topics. Dear Lilian, so sweet and good and trusting; so entirely unsuspicious of people, and so forth; to which we could easily assent. But I was not sufficiently enthusiastic upon the subject to please Mrs Chichester, it seemed; and she took great pains to assure me that she did not in the least degree exaggerate dear Lilian's perfections. But though he gravely assured me that she did not, and even went so far as to hope that in time I should become as fully alive to Miss Farrar's good qualities, I was not to be piqued into giving warmer expression to my feelings. I only gave him a smile for reply. Then I did what I believe was more satisfactory than words to Mrs Chichester; rose and walked away, altogether unheeding Robert Wentworth's almost pleading protest.
'The moon is just rising, Miss Haddon; and the view will be at its best presently.'
But I chose to punish him for his bit of treachery; and walked off, reminding them that it still wanted half an hour to tea-time. When the half-hour had expired, they re-entered the drawing-room, where I was sitting in pleasant communion with Mrs Tipper – both looking rather grave, not to say out of humour.
'Do you always avenge yourself in that crushing way, Miss Haddon?' he asked, coming to my side for a moment.
'I always defend myself in the best way I can when it comes to blows, Mr Wentworth,' I gravely replied.
'And this is the young lady who fears being weak and vanquished!'
'Not with such weapons as have been used to-night, Mr Wentworth.'
'Well, do not talk any more about wanting