Part 14 (1/2)
Still dissembling, though I'm trembling, Thus you know we're trained and taught.
For I like you, doesn't it strike you?
Like you more than p'raps I ought!
Yes--I like you, doesn't it strike you?
Like you more than p'raps I ought!
When I meet you, must I treat you As a stranger, calm and cold, Softer feeling, half revealing,-- Are you _waiting_ to be told?
D' you suppose, sir, that a rose, sir, Picks _itself_ to reach your breast?
And I like you, doesn't it strike you?
Like you more than all the rest.
Yes--I like you, &c.
When I meet you, I could eat you, Dining with my Uncle John; Sitting next you, so perplexed, you Ought to guess my heart is gone.
While I'm choking, 'tis provoking You can munch, and talk, and drink, Though I like you, doesn't it strike you?
Like you more than you may think!
Yes--I like you, &c.
When I meet you, I could beat you, For your solemn face and glum.
Don't you see, sir, _you_ are free, sir, I have all the worst to come!
Mother's warning, sisters' scorning-- Qualms of prudence, pride and pelf.
Oh! I like you--doesn't it strike you?
Like you more than life itself!
Yes--I like you, &c.
There was no mistaking the hint conveyed in this touching ditty; but whether he accepted it or not, the song was hardly concluded ere Frank took leave of the company. Certain regimental duties, he said, looking hard at Helen, required his presence in barracks, and therefore he had come on horseback, so as to return at his own time. He regretted it extremely, of course. He had spent a delightful day, and could not thank his entertainers enough. This civil little speech he addressed indeed to Uncle Joseph and Mrs. Lascelles, but his eyes sought Miss Hallaton's the while, and their imploring expression cut her to the heart.
There is a code of signals in use amongst young people situated as these were, far more intelligible than that employed by her Majesty's Navy or the Royal Yacht Squadron. They never shook hands, they exchanged no good-bye, but Helen hoisted something in reply to his flag of distress that appeared perfectly satisfactory to both. Though Miss Ross looked longingly after him as he went away, Frank never turned to meet her glance; and Helen, thoroughly enjoying the homeward trip at sunset, seemed in better spirits and more like herself than she had been all day.
Mrs. Lascelles was puzzled. She had missed the exchange of signals, and could not make it out.
CHAPTER XIII.
SUNDAY IN LONDON.
There is a late train from Maidenhead to Paddington that always reminds me of Charon's bark chartered to carry deceased pa.s.sengers across the Styx. It seems, like that fatal ferry-boat, to fix a limit between two separate stages of existence,--the river, the flowers, the cup, the pleasant friends, the tender well-wisher, in short, ”the bright precincts of the cheerful day,” and that dark region, forbidding though unavoidable, where we meet our fellow-creatures on more equal, more practical, more distant, and more uncomfortable terms.
Goldthred, who was obliged to be in London the same night, sank into the lowest depths of despondency while bidding adieu to Mrs. Lascelles and her party, as they embarked under a purple sunset for their homeward voyage. He felt sadly alone in the world, even at the station, and getting into a vast and gloomy compartment, of which he was sole occupant, under a dim lamp, began to reflect seriously on life and its vexations. His cigars were done, his boots were wet, he suffered from headache, heartache, and premonitory symptoms of a dreadful disorder called the fidgets. Had he only known that Frank Vanguard, who got in at Slough, was in the very next carriage, how gladly would he have communicated with that migratory young officer, by knocking, shouting, or any other riotous mode of attracting attention; but, for aught he could tell, there was no pa.s.senger in the train but himself, and the sense of solitude became nearly insupportable. Pa.s.sing Hanwell, he found himself envying the unfortunate inmates their varied society, and the liveliness of their manners. Goaded at last by his reflections, and summoning that most daring of all courage which is furnished by despair, he resolved to turn over a new leaf, to a.s.sert himself and his own value, to push the siege briskly, and asking Mrs. Lascelles an important question point-blank, stand or fall by her answer like a man. _Se faire valoir_, he well knew, was the winning game; but, alas! the more precious the heart the lower the price it seems to place on itself, and Goldthred, with all his short-comings, possessed in his character a vein of the true metal, which makes men honest servants if not successful masters. Taking counsel, then, of his very fears, he determined to open the trenches by organising another pic-nic, somewhere lower down the river, to which he would invite all the party of to-day, and such other additions from London as he considered worthy of the honour. Miss Hallaton, of course. Nice girl, Miss Hallaton, and civil to _him_!
Distant, but that was manner. Ah! she would make a charming wife to a fellow who admired that kind of beauty. It was not _his_ style, of course; and with this reflection, the image of a lovely laughing face, and a pair of kind blue eyes, seemed to brighten even the gloom of his dismal railway carriage.
Thinking of Mrs. Lascelles somehow called Sir Henry unpleasantly to mind. And he bethought him how that easy-going personage had expressed certain vague intentions of starting on an expedition of his own, to see some yearlings, leaving his daughter at The Lilies. ”Then I'll write to Miss Hallaton herself,” thought Goldthred. ”Why shouldn't I? That will prevent the possibility of a mistake, and perhaps Mrs. Lascelles won't quite like it. I wonder if she would care. I _couldn't_ make her unhappy, the angel, to save my life, but I wish I was sure I had the power.”
By the time he reached Paddington, Goldthred's spirits had risen considerably, as is usually the case with a man who has resolved to take his own part; and, after extricating an overblown rose from his b.u.t.ton-hole, and planting it carefully in the neck of his water-bottle, he went to bed, feeling keenly that the time was fast approaching to decide his fate, and that the next week, or say, perhaps, ten days, must settle his business and make him ”a man or a mouse.”