One Maid's Mischief. George Manville Fenn
she seems to have her share of jealousy. She’s a dear, good little woman, though, all the same.”
He walked to the side watching Helen where she stood beneath one of the newly lit lamps, looking very attractive in the faint reflected rays of the sunset mingled with those shed down from above upon her glossy hair.
“Why does she go so much to gossip with that chaplain? If it is to pique me it is labour in vain, for I have not a soupçon of jealousy in my composition. She is very beautiful and she knows it too. What a head and neck, and what speaking eyes!”
He stood smoking for a few minutes and then went on:
“Speaking eyes? Yes, they are indeed. It is no fancy, but it seems to have been to lead me on; and as I judge her, perhaps wrongfully, she loves to drag every man she sees in her train. Well, she has made a mistake this time if she thinks she is going to play with me. I feel ashamed of myself sometimes when I think of how easily I let her noose me, but it is done.”
He lit a fresh cigar, and still stood watching Helen.
“Sometimes,” he continued, “I have called myself idiot for this sudden awakening of a passion that I thought dead; but no, the man who receives encouragement from a woman like that is no idiot. It is the natural consequence that he should love her.”
Just then three or four of the passengers, officers and civil officials, sauntered up to Helen, and after the first few words she joined with animation in the conversation; but not without darting a quick glance once or twice in the Resident’s direction.
“No,” he said, softly; “the man who, receiving encouragement, becomes deeply in love with you, fair Helen, is no idiot, but very appreciative, for you are a beautiful girl and very fond of admiration.”
He did not move, but still watched the girl, who began to stand out clearly against the lamp-light now, more attractive than he had ever seen her.
“Yes,” he said; “you may flirt and coquet to your heart’s content, but it will have no effect upon me, my child. I don’t think I am a conceited man, but I know I am strong, and have a will. Let me see, I have known you since I went down, at Bolter’s request, to be his best man at the wedding, and I had you, my fair bridesmaid, under my charge, with the result that you tried to drag me at your car. Well, I am caught, but take care, my child, prisoners are dangerous sometimes, and rise and take the captor captive.”
“Yes,” he continued, “some day I may hold you struggling against my prisoning hands—hands that grasp you tenderly, so that your soft plumage may not be ruffled, for it is too beautiful to spoil.”
Just then there was a sally made by a French officer of the vessel, and Helen’s silvery laugh rang out.
“Yes, your laugh is sweet and thrilling,” he continued softly. “No doubt it was a brilliant compliment our French friend paid. I don’t think I am vain, if I say to myself even that laugh was uttered to pique me. It is an arrow that has failed, for I am in a prophetic mood. I have seen the maidens of every land almost beneath the sun, and allowing for savagery, I find them very much the same when they turn coquettes. You could not understand my meaning this evening, eh? Well, we shall see. Go on, coquette, and laugh and dance in the sun till you are tired. I’ll wait till then. The effervescence and froth of the cup will have passed away, and there will be but the sweet, clear wine of your woman’s nature left for me to drink. I’ll wait till then.”
Again Helen’s laugh rang out, but the Resident remained unmoved.
“Am I a coxcomb—a conceited idiot?” he said; then softly, “I hope not. Time will prove.”
“I don’t care, Harry; I will not have it!”
“But it is only girlish nonsense, my dear.”
“Then the young ladies in our charge shall not indulge in girlish nonsense. It is not becoming. Grey Stuart never gets a cluster of young men round her like a queen in a court.”
“More fools the young men, my dear,” said the doctor; “for Grey is really as sweet a maiden as—”
“Henry!”
“Well, really, my dear, I mean it. Hang it, my dear Mary! don’t think I mean anything but fatherly feeling towards the child. Hallo, Harley! you there? Why are you not paying your court yonder?”
“Because, my dear Bolter, your good lady here has given me one severe castigation to-day for the very sin.”
“There I think you are wrong, Mary,” said the doctor, quickly; “and I will say that I wish you, a stable, middle-aged man, and an old friend of her father’s, would go and spend more time by her side; it would keep off these buzzing young gnats.”
“If I said anything unkind, Mr. Harley,” said the little lady, holding out her hand, “please forgive me. I only wish to help my husband to do his duty towards the young lady who is in our charge.”
“My dear Mrs. Bolter,” said the Resident, taking the extended hand, “I only esteem my dear old friend’s wife the more for the brave way in which she behaved. I am sure we shall be the firmest of friends!”
“I hope we shall, I am sure,” said the little lady, warmly.
“What do you say, Bolter?”
“I know you will,” cried the doctor. “You won’t be able to help it, Harley. She is just the brave, true lady we want at the station to take the lead and rule the roost. She’ll keep all the ladies in order.”
“Now, Henry!”
“But you will, my dear; and I tell you at once that Neil Harley here will help you all he can.”
Five minutes later the doctor and his wife were alone, the former being called to account for his very warm advocacy of Mr. Harley.
“Well, my dear, he deserves it all,” said the doctor.
“But I don’t quite like his behaviour towards Helen Perowne,” said the little lady; “and now we are upon the subject, Harry, I must say that I don’t quite like your conduct towards that girl.”
The doctor turned, took her hands, held them, and laughed.
“Why, what a droll little body you are, Mary!”
“And why, sir, pray?” said the lady, rather sharply.
“Four or five months ago, my dear, I don’t believe you knew the real meaning of the word love, and now I honestly believe you are finding out the meaning of the word jealousy as well; but seriously, my dear, that girl makes me shiver!”
“Shiver, sir! Why?”
“She’s a regular firebrand coming amongst our young men. She’ll do no end of mischief. I see it as plain as can be, and I shall have to set to as soon as I get home to compound a fresh medicine—pills at night, draught in the morning—for the cure of love-sickness. She’ll give the lot the complaint. But, you dear, silly little old woman, you don’t think that I—oh!—oh! come, Mary, Mary, my dear!”
“Well, there, I don’t think so, Harry,” said the little lady, apologetically, “but she is so horribly handsome, and makes such use of those dreadful eyes of hers, that it makes me cross when I see the gentlemen obeying her lightest beck and call.”
“Well, she does lead them about pretty well,” chuckled the doctor. “She’s a handsome girl!”
“Henry!”
“Well, my dear, I’ll think she’s as ugly as sin if you like.”
“And in spite of all you say of Mr. Harley, I don’t think he is behaving well. She gave him a few of those looks of hers when he came down to our wedding, and he has been following her ever since. I’ve watched him!”
“What a wicked wretch!” chuckled the little