Margaret Capel, vol. 3. Ellen Wallace
with the tribute to his father's goodness of heart. "He once ruined a splendid pointer of mine with his nonsense; and even Hubert, a fellow who has spent his life in a frigate, could not help seeing how things were going on."
Here Mr. Humphries, whose extraordinary face had brightened up as much as it could, during this discussion, attempted to express incoherently, his admiration of Captain Gage's conduct.
"Depend on it, Mr. Humphries," said Harriet, "that sailors are the best people extant. They are all that is left of the romance of warfare. Like the knights of the Middle Ages, there is a simple reality about them that does not belong to the present time."
"Harriet means to say, they are the only people who are not humbugs," said Evan Conway, translating his sister's remark.
"It is very true, Miss Conway," said Mr. Humphries; who, it need not be said, did not understand one word that she had uttered; "I always liked sailors very much. Don't you think Miss Capel would be generally considered pretty?"
"Undoubtedly, Mr. Humphries. I was sure your good taste would discover that."
"They are bringing round the horses, Miss Conway. I wish we were to have the pleasure of your company."
"It is a great temptation, Mr. Humphries; but another time. How well you look in your red coat—it is the most becoming dress—"
"No—do you think so!" said Mr. Humphries, with a visible desire to vanish under the table. "No—I never noticed. I say, Miss Conway, I hope we shall have another duet this evening."
"So do I. You cannot suppose I often meet with such a second; and I am very fond of music."
"Come, Humphries," said Mr. Gage, stalking past them as he spoke; "there is your horse playing the deuce out yonder, standing so long."
This was a summons he could not neglect; and after scrambling for his pocket handkerchief, which had dropped under his chair, Mr. Humphries quitted the room.
"Oh, Harriet!" exclaimed Margaret, with a serious look, when the other ladies had disappeared in company with Mrs. Singleton.
"Oh, little Puritan! what is the matter now?" returned Harriet, catching her round the waist, and whirling her in a rapid waltz round and round the large room.
"How you do flirt," said Margaret, pausing, with her hand to her side.
"You should be the last person to accuse me," said Harriet, laughing. "I asked you, if you would have the man. You declined the honour, and therefore it is no business of yours."
"It is a business of some other persons, then," said Margaret, archly.
"What other person?"
"Mr. Gage."
"You don't say so!" returned Harriet, crossing the room, and leaning through the deep oaken door-way, "Evan!"
"At your service," returned her brother, coming in with the morning paper in his hand.
"We mean to ride at two; and you may accompany us."
"Thank you very much."
"Will this be your first essay in horsemanship?" asked Margaret, smiling.
"Ha! Miss Capel, you remember what I said to you. A great point that—I feel highly flattered by it."
Margaret smiled quietly, and moved away. She had too much self-possession to be either flattered or pleased by his ironical civility.
When they went up-stairs to prepare for their ride, Harriet, whose ways were singularly independent, came into Margaret's room, half attired, and stood before the large glass arranging her habit.
"Look here, Margaret," said she, "you should wear a waistcoat."
"Masculine?"
"Not at all; copy me, my dear, I dress very well on horseback."
"So you do at all times, I think," said Margaret.
"Much obliged. I say, what do you think of Evan?"
"I should be so very likely to tell you truly," said Margaret.
"Then I will tell you what to think of him," said Harriet, "he has an excellent head, my dear, but no heart; he thinks he will be a very great man. I differ from him; no very great man ever was heartless. He will be only a little above the middle size. I like him very much."
"How odd you are, Harriet."
"Do you think so, ma mie? What a pretty Victorine you have—sable I see."
"Now, Mr. Humphries—ha! ha! one cannot help laughing when one thinks of him—has a capital heart, but no head. Which do you like best, Margaret?"
"The heart," replied Margaret.
"But then, my dear, like most Englishmen, his nerves are actually made of pack thread; he has not a grain of sensibility. He is ugly. I tell Evan sometimes that he is ugly to a misfortune; but this man is ugly to a fault. But he is an excellent son to a very tiresome old mother; honest, good-natured, rich, obstinate. I do not know if he has any other qualities, or I would tell you. I think it my duty to walk you over the course, you perceive."
"You make an excellent chaperon, Harriet."
"But Margaret," said Harriet with a hurried change of manner, "I never knew any-thing so good as George coming here just now. It gives me pleasure to see that I can torment his pride, not his feelings; but his absurd haughty conceit, that I was to remain his slave under all treatment. I do not care for him the least atom, and I despise his coming to pry into my concerns, to investigate and to triumph in my distress, as he thinks, on Lucy's marriage. I can turn the tables on him, and I will!"
"Indeed, Harriet," said Margaret, "it is hardly generous in you to take that view of Mr. Gage's conduct. I think he would not have taken so much trouble, if he had not been very much interested about you. I think ever since I have known you both, he has appeared to feel any-thing but indifference to you; and if you cannot return his feelings, is it fair to treat them with contempt?"
Margaret spoke earnestly, yet half afraid of giving offence; but to her surprise, as soon as she had finished, her eccentric friend caught her in her arms, and kissed her heartily; then gathering up the long folds of her habit she hastened down stairs.
Mr. Evan Conway was leaning against the neck of his sister's horse, without his hat, or any sign of being prepared to accompany the ladies; a groom was mounted, and in waiting. He helped them both to mount, arranged their dresses with great care and then left them.
"So we are not to have the honour of your company," Harriet called after him.
He replied by a shake of the head, and went into the house.
They paid their visit. Mrs. Vesey was a young married woman, with four or five small children, who very much occupied her time and thoughts. The conversation was chiefly made up of things which Johnny and Matilda had said; of the quarrel which Harry had with the nurse, and the beautiful cake which uncle Richard had sent to Mary on her birthday. Then the children were produced, in velvet frocks, and long trained ringlets of white hair, and these having been kissed and praised enough, the two friends took their leave.
"Ah, that is over!" said Harriet, when they rode off, "I like children well enough, Margaret, to make hay with, or play at blindman's buff; but I always long to pinch those little dressed up dolls. If Lucy should have any olive branches, I shall make them as rude and as natural as possible."
"How soft the wind is," said Margaret, "it is often colder than this in summer."
It was certainly a mild day for November. Although the twilight was coming on, there was nothing chilly in the air. The wind drove slowly before it large floating masses of grey clouds; the leafless trees rocked majestically to and fro in the dim light; and the scent of the air, and of the fallen leaves was soft and refreshing.
Before they had gone very far they were overtaken by Mr. Gage and Mr. Humphries, who were returning from hunting.
"Well—oh! now—come!" exclaimed Mr. Humphries, who was sometimes troubled with incoherence, "how glad I am that we came home this way."
"It is, indeed, a very fortunate circumstance,"