Part 29 (1/2)

”What! you have seen him, then?” cries Molly, full of her own idea, and oblivious of dignity. ”Is he handsome, Sarah? Young? Describe him to me.”

”He is short, miss, and stoutish, and--and----”

”Yes! Do go on, Sarah, and take that smile off your face: it makes you look downright imbecile. 'Short!' 'Stout!' Good gracious! of what on earth could Teddy have been thinking.”

”His manners is most agreeable, miss, and altogether he is a most gentleman-like young man.”

”Well, of course he is all that, or he isn't anything; but stout!----”

”Not a bit stiffish, or uppish, as one might expect, considering where he come from. And indeed, Miss Molly,” with an irrepressible giggle, ”he did say as how----”

”What!” icily.

”As how I had a very bewidging look about the eyes.”

”Sarah,” exclaims Miss Ma.s.sereene, sinking weakly into a chair, ”do you mean to tell me my cousin Philip--Captain Shadwell--told you--had the impertinence to speak to you about----”

”Law, Miss Molly, whatever are you thinking about?--Captain Shadwell!

why, I haven't so much as laid eyes on him! I was only speaking of his young man, what goes by the name of Peters.”

”Ridiculous!” cries Molly, impatiently; then bursting into a merry laugh, she laughs so heartily and so long that the somewhat puzzled Sarah feels compelled to join.

”'Short, and stout, and gentlemanly'--ha, ha, ha! And so Peters said you were bewidging, Sarah? Ah! take care, and do not let him turn your head: if you _do_, you will lose all your fun, and gain little for it. Is that a bell? Oh, Sarah! come, dispatch, dispatch, or I shall be late, and eternally disgraced.”

The robing proceeds, and when finished leaves Molly standing before her maid with (it must be confessed) a very self-satisfied smirk upon her countenance.

”How am I looking, Sarah? I want a candid opinion; but on no account say anything disparaging.”

”Lovely!” says Sarah, with comfortable haste. ”There's no denying it, Miss Molly. Miss Amherst below, for all her dark hair and eyes (and I don't say but that she is handsome), could not hold a candle to you, as the saying is--and that's a fact.”

”Is there anything in all the world,” says Miss Ma.s.sereene, ”so sweet as sincere praise? Sarah, you are a charming creature. Good-bye; I go--let us hope--to victory. But if not,--if I find the amiable relatives refuse to acknowledge my charms I shall at least know where to come to receive the admiration I feel I so justly deserve!”

So saying, with a little tragic flourish, she once more wends her way down-stairs, trailing behind her her pretty white muslin gown, with its flecks of coloring, blue as her eyes, into the drawing-room.

The close of autumn brings to us a breath of winter. Already the daylight has taken to itself wings and flown partially away; and though, as yet, a good deal of it through compa.s.sion lingers, it is but a half-hearted dallying that speaks of hurry to be gone.

The footman, a young person, of a highly morbid and sensitive disposition, abhorrent of twilights, has pulled down all the blinds in the sitting-rooms, and drawn the curtains closely, has lit the lamps, and poked into a blaze the fire, that Mr. Amherst has the wisdom to keep burning all the year round in the long chilly room.

Before the fire, with one arm on the mantel-piece, and one foot upon the fender, stands a young man, in an att.i.tude suggestive of melancholy. Hearing the rustling of a woman's garments, he looks up, and, seeing Molly, stares at her, first lazily, then curiously, then amazedly, then----

She is quite close to him; she can almost touch him; indeed, no farther can she go without putting him to one side; and still he has not stirred. The situation grows embarra.s.sing, so embarra.s.sing that, what with the ludicrous silence and Philip Shadwell's eyes which betray a charmed astonishment, Molly feels an overpowering desire to laugh. She compromises matters by smiling, and lowering her eyelids just half an inch.

”You do not want all the fire, do you?” she asks, demurely, in a low tone.

”I beg your pardon,” exclaims Philip, in his abstraction, moving in a direction closer to the fire, rather than from it. ”I had no idea I was. I”--doubtfully, ”am I speaking to Miss Ma.s.sereene?”

”You are. And I--I know I am speaking to Captain Shadwell.”

”Yes,” slowly. ”That is my name,--Philip Shadwell.”

”We are cousins, then,” says Molly, kindly, as though desirous of putting him at his ease. ”I hope we shall be, what is far better, friends.”