The Heir of Redclyffe. Charlotte M. Yonge
heard, it refused to snap at all; and Guy, much discomfited, made many apologies.
Amy laughed; Philip was much too well-bred to do anything but curl his lip unconsciously. Mrs. Edmonstone waited till he was gone, then, when she was wishing Guy ‘good-night’ at Charles’s door, she said—
‘The spectacle-case forestalled me in giving you a lecture on sparing our nerves. Don’t look so very full of compunction—it is only a trick which your mother would have stopped at five years old, and which you can soon stop for yourself.’
‘Thank you, I will!’ said Guy; ‘I hardly knew I did it, but I am very sorry it has teased you.’
Thenceforward it was curious to see how he put down and pushed away all he had once begun to touch and torture. Mrs. Edmonstone said it was self command in no common degree; and Philip allowed that to cure so inveterate a habit required considerable strength of will.
‘However,’ he said, ‘I always gave the Morvilles credit for an iron resolution. Yes, Amy, you may laugh; but if a man is not resolute in a little, he will never be resolute in great matters.’
‘And Guy has been resolute the right way this time,’ said Laura.
‘May he always be the same,’ said Philip.
Philip had undertaken, on his way back to Broadstone, to conduct Charlotte to East-hill, where she was to spend the day with a little niece of Mary Ross. She presently came down, her bonnet-strings tied in a most resolute-looking bow, and her little figure drawn up so as to look as womanly is possible for her first walk alone with Philip. She wished the party at home ‘goodbye;’ and as Amy and Laura stood watching her, they could not help laughing to see her tripping feet striving to keep step, her blue veil discreetly composed and her little head turned up, as if she was trying hard to be on equal terms with the tall cousin, who meanwhile looked graciously down from his height, patronising her like a very small child. After some space, Amy began to wonder what they could talk about, or whether they would talk at all; but Laura said there was no fear of Charlotte’s tongue ever being still, and Charles rejoined—
‘Don’t you know that Philip considers it due to himself that his audience should never be without conversation suited to their capacity?’
‘Nonsense, Charlie!’
‘Nay, I give him credit for doing it as well as it is in nature of things for it to be done. The strongest proof I know of his being a superior man, is the way he adapts himself to his company. He lays down the law to us, because he knows we are all born to be his admirers; he calls Thorndale his dear fellow and conducts him like a Mentor; but you may observe how different he is with other people—Mr. Ross, for instance. It is not showing off; it is just what the pattern hero should be with the pattern clergyman. At a dinner party he is quite in his place; contents himself with leaving an impression on his neighbour that Mr. Morville is at home on every subject; and that he is the right thing with his brother officers is sufficiently proved, since not even Maurice either hates or quizzes him.’
‘Well, Charlie,’ said Laura, well pleased, I am glad you are convinced at last.’
‘Do you think I ever wanted to be convinced that we were created for no other end than to applaud Philip? I was fulfilling the object of our existence by enlarging on a remark of Guy’s, that nothing struck him more than the way in which Philip could adapt his conversation to the hearers. So the hint was not lost on me; and I came to the conclusion that it was a far greater proof of his sense than all the maxims he lavishes on us.’
‘I wonder Guy was the person to make the remark,’ said Laura; ‘for it is strange that those two never appear to the best advantage together.’
‘Oh, Laura, that would be the very reason,’ said Amy.
‘The very reason?’ said Charles. Draw out your meaning, Miss.’
‘Yes,’ said Amy, colouring, ‘If Guy—if a generous person, I mean—were vexed with another sometimes, it would be the very reason he would make the most of all his goodness.’
‘Heigh-ho!’ yawned Charles. What o’clock is it? I wonder when Guy is ever coming back from that Lascelles.’
‘Your wonder need not last long,’ said Laura; ‘for I see him riding into the stable yard.’
In a few minutes he had entered; and, on being asked if he had met Philip and Charlotte, and how they were getting on, he replied—‘A good deal like the print of Dignity and Impudence,’ at the same time throwing back his shoulders, and composing his countenance to imitate Philip’s lofty deportment and sedate expression, and the next moment putting his head on one side with a sharp little nod, and giving a certain espiegle glance of the eye, and knowing twist of one corner of the mouth, just like Charlotte.
‘By the by,’ added he, ‘would Philip have been a clergyman if he had gone to Oxford?’
‘I don’t know; I don’t think it was settled,’ said Laura, ‘Why?’
‘I could never fancy him one’ said Guy. ‘He would not have been what he is now if he had gone to Oxford,’ said Charles. ‘He would have lived with men of the same powers and pursuits with himself, and have found his level.’
‘And that would have been a very high one,’ said Guy.
‘It would; but there would be all the difference there is between a feudal prince and an Eastern despot. He would know what it is to live with his match.’
‘But you don’t attempt to call him conceited!’ cried Guy, with a sort of consternation.
‘He is far above that; far too grand,’ said Amy.
‘I should as soon think of calling Jupiter conceited,’ said Charles; and Laura did not know how far to be gratified, or otherwise.
Charles had not over-estimated Philip’s readiness of self adaptation. Charlotte had been very happy with him, talking over the “Lady of the Lake”, which she had just read, and being enlightened, partly to her satisfaction, partly to her disappointment, as to how much was historical. He listened good-naturedly to a fit of rapture, and threw in a few, not too many, discreet words of guidance to the true principles of taste; and next told her about an island, in a pond at Stylehurst, which had been by turns Ellen’s isle and Robinson Crusoe’s. It was at this point in the conversation that Guy came in sight, riding slowly, his reins on his horse’s neck, whistling a slow, melancholy tune, his eyes fixed on the sky, and so lost in musings, that he did not perceive them till Philip arrested him by calling out, ‘That is a very bad plan. No horse is to be trusted in that way, especially such a spirited one.’
Guy started, and gathered up his reins, owning it was foolish.
‘You look only half disenchanted yet,’ said Philip. ‘Has Lascelles put you into what my father’s old gardener used to call a stud?’
‘Nothing so worthy of a stud,’ said Guy, smiling and colouring a little. ‘I was only dreaming over a picture of ruin—
‘The steed is vanish’d from the stall,
No serf is seen in Hassan’s hall,
The lonely spider’s thin grey pall
Waves, slowly widening o’er the wall.’
‘Byron!’ exclaimed Philip. ‘I hope you are not dwelling on him?’
‘Only a volume I found in my room.’
‘Oh, the “Giaour”!’ said Philip. ‘Well, there is no great damage done; but it is bad food for excitable minds. Don’t let it get hold of you.’
‘Very well;’ and there was a cloud, but it cleared in a moment, and, with a few gay words to both, he rode off at a quick pace.
‘Foolish fellow!’ muttered Philip, looking after him.
After some space of silence, Charlotte