Volume I Part 44 (2/2)
said she, with a proud look, and for a few seconds it seemed as though their jesting was to have a serious ending. She was, however, the earliest to make terms, and in a tone of hearty kindliness said: ”Don't be angry, Freddy, and I 'll tell you a secret. If that theme be touched on, I lose my head: whether it be in the blood that circles in my veins, or in some early teachings that imbued my childhood, or long dreaming over what can never be, I cannot tell, but it is enough to speak of these things, and at once my imagination becomes exalted and my reason is routed.”
”I have no doubt your Ayah was to blame for this; she must have filled your head with ambitions, and hopes of a grand hereafter. Even I myself have some experiences of this sort; for as my father held a high post and was surrounded with great state and pomp, I grew at a very early age to believe myself a very mighty personage, and gave my orders with despotic insolence, and suffered none to gainsay me.”
”How silly!” said she, with a supercilious toss of her head that made Conyers flush up; and once again was peace endangered between them.
”You mean that what was only a fair and reasonable a.s.sumption in _you_ was an absurd pretension in me, Miss Barrington; is it not so?” asked he, in a voice tremulous with pa.s.sion.
”I mean that we must both have been very naughty children, and the less we remember of that childhood the better for us. Are we friends, Freddy?” and she held out her hand.
”Yes, if you wish it,” said he, taking her hand half coldly in his own.
”Not that way, sir. It is _I_ who have condescended; not _you_.”
”As you please, Fifine,--will this do?” and kneeling with well-a.s.sumed reverence, he lifted her hand to his lips.
”If my opinion were to be asked, Mr. Conyers, I would say it would _not_ do at all,” said Miss Dinah, coming suddenly up, her cheeks crimson, and her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.
”It was a little comedy we were acting, Aunt Dinah,” said the girl, calmly.
”I beg, then, that the piece may not be repeated,” said she, stiffly.
”Considering how ill Freddy played his part, aunt, he will scarcely regret its withdrawal.”
Conyers, however, could not get over his confusion, and looked perfectly miserable for very shame.
”My brother has just had a letter which will call us homeward, Mr.
Conyers,” said Miss Dinah, turning to him, and now using a tone devoid of all irritation. ”Mr. Withering has obtained some information which may turn out of great consequence in our suit, and he wishes to consult with my brother upon it.”
”I hope--I sincerely hope--you do not think--” he began, in a low voice.
”I do not think anything to your disadvantage, and I hope I never may,”
replied she, in a whisper low as his own; ”but bear in mind, Josephine is no finished coquette like Polly Dill, nor must she be the mark of little gallantries, however harmless. Josephine, grandpapa has some news for you; go to him.”
”Poor Freddy,” whispered the girl in the youth's ear as she pa.s.sed, ”what a lecture you are in for!” ”You mustn't be angry with me if I play Duenna a little harshly, Mr. Conyers,” said Miss Dinah; ”and I am far more angry with myself than you can be. I never concurred with my brother that romance reading and a young dragoon for a companion were the most suitable educational means for a young lady fresh from a convent, and I have only myself to blame for permitting it.”
Poor Conyers was so overwhelmed that he could say nothing; for though he might, and with a safe conscience, have answered a direct charge, yet against a general allegation he was powerless. He could not say that he was the best possible companion for a young lady, though he felt, honestly felt, that he was not a bad one. He had never trifled with her feelings, nor sought to influence her in his favor. Of all flirtation, such as he would have adventured with Polly Dill, for instance, he was guiltless. He respected her youth and ignorance of life too deeply to take advantage of either. He thought, perhaps, how ungenerous it would have been for a man of the world like himself to entrap the affections of a young, artless creature, almost a child in her innocence. He was rather fond of imagining himself ”a man of the world,” old soldier, and what not,--a delusion which somehow very rarely befalls any but very young men, and of which the experience of life from thirty to forty is the sovereign remedy. And so overwhelmed and confused and addled was he with a variety of sensations, he heard very little of what Miss Dinah said to him, though that worthy lady talked very fluently and very well, concluding at last with words which awoke Conyers from his half-trance with a sort of shock. ”It is for these reasons, my dear Mr.
Conyers,--reasons whose force and nature you will not dispute,--that I am forced to do what, were the occasion less important, would be a most ungenerous task. I mean, I am forced to relinquish all the pleasure that I had promised ourselves from seeing you our guest at the cottage. If you but knew the pain I feel to speak these words--”
”There is no occasion to say more, madam,” said he; for, unfortunately, so unprepared was he for the announcement, its chief effect was to wound his pride. ”It is the second time within a few months destiny has stopped my step on your threshold. It only remains for me to submit to my fate, and not adventure upon an enterprise above my means.”
”You are offended with me, and yet you ought not,” said she, sorrowfully; ”you ought to feel that I am consulting _your_ interests fully as much as ours.”
”I own, madam,” said he, coldly, ”I am unable to take the view you have placed before me.”
”Must I speak out, then?--must I declare my meaning in all its matter-of-fact harshness, and say that your family and your friends would have little scruple in estimating the discretion which encouraged your intimacy with my niece,--the son of the distinguished and highly favored General Conyers with the daughter of the ruined George Barring-ton? These are hard words to say, but I have said them.”
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