Volume II Part 14 (2/2)
”Unless he has had a few of the original ones knocked out in the hunting-field, mamma. They go over a good many stone walls in Ireland, you know, and he may have come to grief.”
”If you would only leave off talking in that horrid way, Violet. He is a very agreeable young man. How he enjoyed a cup of tea after his journey, instead of wanting soda-water and brandy. Conrad tells me he has a lovely place near Mallow--on the slope of a hill, sheltered on the north with pine woods; and I believe it is one of the prettiest parts of Ireland--so green, and fertile, and sweet, and such a happy peasantry.”
”I think I'd better leave you to dress for dinner, mamma. You like a clear hour, and it's nearly half-past six.”
”True, love; you may ring for Pauline. I have been wavering between my black and maize and my amethyst velvet, but I think I shall decide upon the velvet. What are you going to wear?”
”I? oh, anything. The dress I wore last night.”
”My love, it is positively dowdy. Pray wear something better in honour of Lord Mallow. There is the gown you had for my wedding,” suggested Mrs. Winstanley, blus.h.i.+ng. ”You look lovely in that.”
”Mamma, do you think I'm going to make a secondhand bridesmaid of myself to oblige Lord Mallow? No; that dress too painfully bears the stamp of what it was made for. I'm afraid it will have to rot in the wardrobe where it hangs. If it were woolen, the moths would inevitably have it; but, I suppose, as it is silk it will survive the changes of time; and some clay it will be made into chair-covers, and future generations of Tempests will point to it as a relic of my great-aunt Violet.”
”I never heard anything so absurd,” cried Mrs. Winstanley fretfully.
”It was Theodore's _chef-d'oeuvre_, and no doubt I shall have to pay an awful price for it.”
”Ah, mamma, we are continually doing things for which we have to pay an awful price,” said Vixen, with one of her involuntary bursts of bitter sadness.
CHAPTER X.
Something like a Ride.
It was impossible to go on hating Lord Mallow for ever. He was a man whose overflowing good-nature would have conciliated the direst foe, could that enemy have been exposed long enough to its softening influence. He came upon the dull daily life of the Abbey House like a burst of sudden suns.h.i.+ne on a gloomy plain. The long winter evenings, when there was no company, had been sorely oppressive to Vixen. Out of respect to her mother she had kept her place in the drawing-room, reading, or working at some uninteresting strip of point-lace, which she had no hope of ever finis.h.i.+ng, though it had been promised to Mr.
Scobel for his church. Captain Winstanley read the newspapers or the quarterlies, and paced the room thoughtfully at intervals. He talked to his wife just enough to escape the charge of neglect, but rarely spoke to or noticed Violet. Sometimes Mrs. Winstanley asked for a little music; whereupon Violet went to the piano and played her scanty recollections of Mozart or Beethoven--all ”tuney” bits, remembered out of the sonatas or symphonies Miss McCroke had taught her; or, if asked to sing, the girl sang a ballad or two, to order, in her full round mezzo-soprano, which had a thrilling expression at times, when feeling got the better of her proud reserve, and all the pent-up sorrow of her heart broke loose into her song. But Captain Winstanley took no notice of these efforts, and even her mother's praises were not enthusiastic.
”Very sweet, very nice,” was the most Vixen ever heard from those maternal lips as she closed the piano.
But here was Lord Mallow, pa.s.sionately fond of music and singing, and the beauties of nature, and all things that appeal to the sensitive Hibernian character. It seemed a new thing to Violet to have someone standing by the piano, turning over the leaves, applauding rapturously, and entreating for another and yet another Irish melody. When she sang ”The Minstrel Boy,” he joined in with a rich baritone that harmonised finely with her full ripe notes. The old room vibrated with the strong gush of melody, and even Captain Winstanley was impelled to praise.
”How well your voices harmonise,” he said. ”You ought to try some duets. I remember that fine baritone of yours in days of old, Mallow.”
Thereupon Lord Mallow asked Miss Tempest if she had any duets, and Vixen produced her small stock of vocal music. They tried one or two of Mendelssohn's, ”I would that my love,” and ”Greeting,” and discovered that they got on wonderfully well together. Vixen fell asleep that night wondering at her own amiability.
”To think that I should sing sentimental duets with him,” she said to herself. ”The man who has Bullfinch!”
Lord Mallow's presence at the Abbey House had a marked effect upon Captain Winstanley's treatment of his stepdaughter. Hitherto there had been a veiled bitterness in all his speeches, a constrained civility in his manners. Now he was all kindness, all expansion. Even his wife, who admired him always, and thought him the soul of wisdom in all he did, could not be blind to the change, and a new sense of peacefulness stole into her feeble mind. It was so pleasant to see dear Conrad so sweetly kind to Violet.
”What are we going to do with Lord Mallow this morning, Violet?” asked the Captain at breakfast, the day after the Irishman's arrival. ”We must try to amuse him somehow.”
”I don't think I have much to do with it,” Vixen answered coldly. ”You will find plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt. I daresay, in the billiard-room, in the stables, or in showing Lord Mallow your improvements.”
”That would do very well for a wet morning, but it would be a profligate waste of fine weather. No; I propose that you should show Mallow some of the prettiest bits in the Forest. I am not half so accomplished a guide as you; but we'll all go. I'll order the horses at once if you like my plan, Mallow,” said Captain Winstanley, turning to his friend, and taking Violet's consent for granted.
”I shall be quite too delighted, if Miss Tempest will honour us with her company,” replied the Irishman, with a pleasant look at Vixen's fresh morning face, rosy-red with vexation.
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