Part 4 (2/2)
”You will not forget that you have given me permission to call,” he said, hesitating slightly.
”Oh, dear no!” she answered. ”I shall not forget. We are always glad to see people--in Vagabondia.”
And as the cab drove off, she waved the hand he had held in an airy gesture of adieu, gave him a bewildering farewell nod, and, withdrawing her face from the window, disappeared in the shadow within.
”Great Jove!” meditated Ralph Gowan, when he had seen the last of her.
”And this is a nursery governess,--a sort of escape-valve for the spleen and ill moods of that woman in copper-color. She teaches them French and music, I dare say, and makes those spicy little jokes of hers over the dog-eared arithmetic. Ah, well! such is impartial Fortune,” And he strolled back into the house again, to make his adieus to Lady Augusta, with the bewitching Greuze face fresh in his memory.
But, for her part, Dolly, having left him behind in the Philistine camp, was nestling comfortably in the dark corner of her cab, thinking of Griffith, as she always did think of him when she found herself alone for a moment.
”I wonder if he will be at home when I get there,” she said. ”Poor fellow! he would find it dull enough without me, unless they were all in unusually good spirits. I wonder if the time ever will come when we shall have a little house of our own, and can go out together or stay at home, just as we like.”
CHAPTER III. ~ IN WHICH THE TRAIN IS LAID.
”After a holiday comes a rest day.” The astuteness of this proverb continually proved itself in Vagabondia, and this was more particularly the case when the holiday had been Dolly's, inasmuch as Dolly was invariably called upon to ”fight her battles o'er again,” and recount her experiences the day following a visit, for the delectation of the household. Had there appeared in the camps a Philistine of notoriety, then that Philistine must play his or her part again through the medium of Dolly's own inimitable powers of description or representation; had any little scene occurred possessing a spice of flavoring, or ill.u.s.trating any Philistine peculiarity, then Dolly was quite equal to the task of putting it upon the family stage, and re-enacting it with iniquitous seasonings and additions of her own. And yet the fun was never of an ill-natured sort. When Dolly gave them a correct embodiment of Lady Augusta in reception of her guests, with an accurate description of the ”great Copper-Boiler costume,” the bursts of applause meant nothing more than that Dolly's imitative gifts were in good condition, and that the ”great Copper-Boiler costume” was a success. Then, the feminine mind being keenly alive to an interest in earthly vanities, an enlargement on Philistine adornments was considered necessary, and Dolly always rendered herself popular by a minute description of the reigning fas.h.i.+ons, as displayed by the Bilberry element. She found herself quite repaid for the trouble of going into detail, by the unsophisticated pleasure in Mollie's eyes alone, for to Mollie outward furnis.h.i.+ngs seemed more than worthy of description and discussion.
Accordingly, the morning after Lady Augusta's _conversazione_, Dolly gave herself up to the task of enlivening the household. It was Sat.u.r.day morning, fortunately, and on Sat.u.r.day her visits to the Bilberry mansion were dispensed with, so she was quite at liberty to seat herself by the fire, with Tod in her arms, and recount the events of the evening.
Somehow or other, she had almost regarded him as a special charge from the first. She had always been a favorite with him, as she was a favorite with most children. She was just as natural and thoroughly at home with Tod in her arms, or clambering over her feet, or clutching at the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of her dress, as she was under any other circ.u.mstances; and when on this occasion Griffith came in at noon to hear the news, and found her kneeling upon the carpet with outstretched hands teaching the pretty little tottering fellow to walk, he felt her simply irresistible.
”Come to Aunt Dolly,” she was saying. ”Tod, come to Aunt Dolly.” And then she looked up laughing. ”Look at him, Griffith,” she said. ”He has walked all the way from that arm-chair.” And then she made a rush at the child, and caught him in her arms with a little whirl, and jumped up with such a light-hearted enjoyment of the whole affair that it was positively exciting to look at her.
It was quite natural--indeed, it would have been quite unnatural if she had not found her usual abiding-place in her lover's encircling arm at once, even with Tod conveniently established on one of her own, and evidently regarding his own proximity upon such an occasion as remarkable if nothing else. That arm of Griffith's usually _did_ slip around her waist even at the most ordinary times, and long use had so accustomed Dolly to the habit that she would have experienced some slight feeling of astonishment if the familiarity had been omitted.
It was rather a surprise to the young man to find that Miss MacDowlas had appeared upon the scene, and that she had partaken of coffee and conversation in the flesh the evening before.
”But it's just like her,” he said. ”She is the sort of relative who always _does_ turn up unexpectedly, Dolly. How does she look?”
”Juvenescent,” said Dolly; ”depressingly so to persons who rely upon her for the realizing of expectations. A very few minutes satisfied me that I should never become Mrs. Griffith Donne upon _her_ money. It is a very fortunate thing for us that we are of Vagabondian antecedents, Griffith,--just see how we might trouble ourselves, and wear our patience out over Miss MacDowlas, if we troubled ourselves about anything. This being utterly free from the care of worldly possessions makes one touchingly disinterested. Since we have nothing to expect, we are perfectly willing to wait until we get it.”
She had thought so little about Ralph Gowan,--once losing sight of him, as he stood watching her on the pavement, that in discussing other subjects she had forgotten to mention him, and it was only Mollie's entrance into the room that brought him upon the carpet.
Coming in, with her hair bunched up in a lovely, disorderly knot, and the dimple on her left cheek artistically accentuated by a small patch of black, the youngest Miss Crewe yet appeared to advantage, when, after appropriating Tod, she slipped down into a sitting posture with him on the carpet, in the midst of the amplitude of folds of Lady Augusta's once gorgeous wrapper.
”Have you told him about the great Copper-Boiler costume, Dolly?” she said, bending down so that one brown tress hung swaying before Tod's eyes. ”Has she, Griffith?”
”Yes,” answered Griffith, looking at her with a vague sense of admiration. He shared all Dolly's enthusiasm on the subject of Mollie's prettiness.
”Was n't it good? I wish I was as cool as Dolly is. And poor Phemie--and the gentleman who made love to you all the evening, Dolly. What was his name? Was n't it Gowan?”
Griffith's eyes turned toward Dolly that instant.
”Gowan!” he exclaimed. ”You didn't say anything about him. You didn't even say he was there.”
”Did n't she?” said Mollie, looking up with innocently wide-open eyes.
”Why, he made love to her all--”
”I wish you would n't talk such rubbish, Mollie,” Dolly interrupted her--a trifle sharply because she understood the cloud on her lover's face so well. ”Who said Mr. Gowan made love to me? Not I, you may be sure. I told you he talked to me, and that was all.”