Volume II Part 23 (2/2)
Poor Mrs. Winstanley was horrified when she saw her husband's kinswoman attired for the ceremony, not a whit less wiggy and snuffy than usual, and with three lean ostrich feathers starting erect from her back hair, like the ladies in the proscenium boxes of Skelt's Theatre, whose gaily painted effigies were so dear to our childhood.
Poor Pamela felt inclined to shed tears. Even her confidence in the perfection of her own toilet could hardly sustain her against the horror of being presented by such a scarecrow.
The ceremony went off satisfactorily, in spite of Lady Susan's antiquated garments. n.o.body laughed. Perhaps the _habitues_ of St.
James's were accustomed to scarecrows. Violet's fresh young beauty attracted some little notice as she waited among the crowd of _debutantes;_ but, on its being ascertained that she was n.o.body in particular, curiosity languished and died.
Mrs. Winstanley wanted to exhibit her court-dress at the opera that evening, but her husband protested against this display as bad style.
Vixen was only too glad to throw off her finery, the tulle puffings and festoonings, and floral wreaths and bouquets, which made movement difficult and sitting down almost impossible.
Those six weeks in town were chiefly devoted to gaiety. Mrs.
Winstanley's Hamps.h.i.+re friends called on her, and followed up their calls by invitations to dinner, and at the dinners she generally met people who were on the eve of giving a garden-party, or a concert, or a dance, and who begged to be allowed to send her a card for that entertainment, spoken of modestly as a thing of no account. And then there was a hurried interchange of calls, and Violet found herself meandering about an unknown croquet-lawn, amongst unknown n.o.bodies, under a burning sun, looking at other girls, dressed like herself in dresses a la Theodore, with the last thing in sleeves, and the last cut in trains, all pretending to be amused by the vapid and languid observations of the cavalier told off to them, paired like companions of the chain at Toulon, and as almost as joyous.
Violet Tempest attended no less than eight private concerts during those six weeks, and heard the same new ballad, and the same latest gavotte in C minor, at everyone of them. She was taken to pianoforte recitals in fas.h.i.+onable squares and streets, and heard Bach and Beethoven till her heart ached with pity for the patient labour of the performers, knowing how poorly she and the majority of mankind appreciated their efforts. She went to a few dances that were rather amusing, and waltzed to her heart's content. She rode Arion in the Row, and horse and rider were admired as perfect after then kind. Once she met Lord Mallow, riding beside Lady Mabel Ashbourne and the Duke of Dovedale. His florid cheek paled a little at the sight of her. They pa.s.sed each other with a friendly bow, and this was their only meeting.
Lord Mallow left cards at the house in Mayfair a week before the Winstanleys went back to Hamps.h.i.+re. He had been working hard at his senatorial duties, and had made some telling speeches upon the Irish land question. People talked of him as a rising politician; and, whenever his name appeared in the morning papers, Mrs. Winstanley uplifted her voice at the breakfast-table, and made her wail about Violet's folly in refusing such an excellent young man.
”It would have been so nice to be able to talk about my daughter, Lady Mallow, and Castle Mallow,” said Pamela in confidence to her husband.
”No doubt, my dear,” he answered coolly; ”but when you bring up a young woman to have her own way in everything, you must take the consequences.”
”It is very ungrateful of Violet,” sighed the afflicted mother, ”after the pains I have taken to dress her prettily, ever since she was a baby. It is a very poor return for my care.”
CHAPTER XV.
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
They were all back at the Abbey House again early in June, and Vixen breathed more freely in her sweet native air. How dear, how doubly beautiful, everything seemed to her after even so brief an exile. But it was a grief to have missed the apple-bloom and the bluebells. The woods were putting on their ripe summer beauty; the beeches had lost the first freshness of their tender green, the amber glory of the young oak-leaves was over, the last of the primroses had paled and faded among the spreading bracken; ma.s.ses of snowy hawthorn bloom gleamed white amidst the woodland shadows; bean-fields in full bloom filled the air with delicate odours; the summer winds swept across the long lush gra.s.s in the meadows, beautiful with ever-varying lights and shadows; families of st.u.r.dy black piglings were grubbing on the waste turf beside every road, and the forest-fly was getting strong upon the wing.
The depths of Mark Ash were dark at noontide under their roof of foliage.
Vixen revelled in the summer weather. She was out from morning till evening, on foot or on horseback, sketching or reading a novel, in some solitary corner of the woods, with Argus for her companion and guardian. It was an idle purposeless existence for a young woman to lead, no doubt; but Violet Tempest knew of no better thing that life offered her to do.
Neither her mother nor Captain Winstanley interfered with her liberty.
The Captain had his own occupations and amus.e.m.e.nts, and his wife was given up to frivolities which left no room in her mind for anxiety about her only daughter. So long as Violet looked fresh and pretty at the breakfast-table, and was nicely dressed in the evening, Mrs.
Winstanley thought that all was well; or at least as well as it ever could be with a girl who had been so besotted as to refuse a wealthy young n.o.bleman. So Vixen went her own way, and n.o.body cared. She seemed to have a pa.s.sion for solitude, and avoided even her old friends, the Scobels, who had made themselves odious by their champions.h.i.+p of Lord Mallow.
The London season was at its height when the Winstanleys went back to Hamps.h.i.+re. The Dovedales were to be at Kensington till the beginning of July, with Mr. Vawdrey in attendance upon them. He had rooms in Ebury Street, and had a.s.sumed an urban air which in Vixen's opinion made him execrable.
”I can't tell you how hateful you look in lavender gloves and a high hat,” she said to him one day in Clarges Street.
”I daresay I look more natural dressed like a gamekeeper,” he answered lightly; ”I was born so. As for the high hat, you can't hate it more than I do; and I have always considered gloves a foolishness on a level with pigtails and hair-powder.”
Vixen had been wandering in her old haunts for something less than a fortnight, when, on one especially fine morning, she mounted Arion directly after breakfast and started on one of her rambles, with the faithful Bates in attendance, to open gates or to pull her out of bogs if needful. Upon this point Mrs. Winstanley was strict. Violet might ride when and where she pleased--since these meanderings in the Forest were so great a pleasure to her--but she must never ride without a groom.
Old Bates liked the duty. He adored his mistress, and had spent the greater part of his life in the saddle. There was no more enjoyable kind of idleness possible for him than to jog along in the suns.h.i.+ne on one of the Captain's old hunters; called upon for no greater exertion than to flick an occasional fly off his horse's haunch, or to bend down and hook open the gate of a plantation with his stout hunting-crop.
Bates had many a brief s.n.a.t.c.h of slumber in those warm enclosures, where the air was heavy with the scent of the pines, and the buzzing of summer flies made a perpetual lullaby. There was a delicious sense of repose in such a sleep, but it was not quite so pleasant to be jerked suddenly into the waking world by a savage plunge of the aggravated hunter's hindlegs, goaded to madness by a lively specimen of the forest-fly.
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