Part 39 (1/2)

'Perhaps the first sincere attempt to gain the heiress's heart, without any thought of her park and its broad acres.'

'I declare, Serena, _vous m'impatientez_. I verily believe you are in his interest and confidence, and trying to plead his cause.'

This was said with great excitement; the answer, however, was calm.

'Scarcely possible, if probable, because I was never alone with him in my life, and have rarely seen him except in your presence.'

'Then, why do you take up his defence? You would not have me marry him, would you?'

'Certainly not, for many reasons. In the first place, you do not love him; in the second, your father would not approve of such a match; in the third, you are not suited to him.'

'I understand. Not good enough. But why do you defend him? Do you think it was right of him to say what he did to me?'

'Well, perhaps not. But I think he has been nursing these feelings for you so long, that he began to forget whether they were right or wrong, sensible or foolish; and last night, carried away by the excitement of the day and his own success, and finding himself alone with you--you, probably, more friendly than usual--he forgot his customary prudence, and overstepped the bounds of conventionality.'

'Very well said, Nita. Then it was wrong of me to be friendly, and right of him to make a dunce of himself.'

'Perhaps if you had ever felt as he does, Freda, you might make some excuse for him.'

'I am sure you must have been in love a hundred times, you are so sentimental, and would like to see him run away with me.'

'Quite wrong again.'

'Then what would you like, for I am sure you don't approve of my conduct?'

'Simply, that you should have treated a clergyman and a gentleman as such, and at least felt grateful that a good and honest heart was offered to you, even though you would not accept it.'

'But I don't believe in the heart, you see, Serena. There is not a more mercenary race under the sun than the clergy. They all marry for money.

I can mention quite a dozen; his own uncle at the head of them. Now, you cannot suppose that he married Mrs Jonathan Prothero for anything but her fortune and her family.'

'I think he is too simple-minded a man to have considered either the one or the other.'

'Then why didn't he marry some simple-minded girl, his equal? No, you are quite out of your depth now, Serena. Depend upon it, that Rowland Prothero will soon find some English lady just as rich as _I am to be_--always provided that Lady Mary Nugent doesn't carry off papa, and get him to leave her the property. These men don't seem to know that it is not entailed; and that, after all, I may be cut off with a s.h.i.+lling.

I think I may venture to affirm that were such the case, there is not one of my ninety-nine adorers who would have me, except, perhaps poor Sir Hugh.'

'Perhaps, Freda, I may have been imprudent, situated as I am here, in even saying what I have in favour of Rowland Prothero. The fact is, that not only do I particularly like what I know of him, but there is a little pa.s.sage in my early history that makes me have a great pity for young men who venture to fall in love with young ladies who consider themselves their superiors.'

'If you will tell me your story, Nita, I will forgive you all the rest, and finish this sketch of Abertewey for Colonel Vaughan, meanwhile.'

Freda drew well in water-colours, and had before her, as she sat in the embrasure of one of the windows of that charming morning-room, a half-finished sketch of Colonel Vaughan's place, which he had begged her to take for him. Hitherto it had been untouched; now she began to work at it with pretended vigour, whilst Miss Hall took up the little frock she was making for a poor child, which had been laid down during the discussion, and also made believe to st.i.tch and sew industriously.

But there was a flush on her cheek, and a tremor in her voice, as she began to tell Freda the little pa.s.sage in her life to which she had alluded. Freda was conscious of this, and accordingly devoted herself more energetically to her drawing.

'It was when I was just eighteen, Freda, and during my _beaux jours_, before my father had lost his fortune, or been obliged to retire from the army on half-pay on account of that dreadful paralytic stroke--before my sister's imprudent marriage, and consequent emigration to Australia--before my dear mother's death. We were a happy and gay family, and I had then more pride and higher spirits than you would probably give me credit for now.

'I was visiting a friend who had married the head-master of one of our princ.i.p.al grammar schools. Amongst his tutors there was a young man of whom he was very fond, and who used to be a good deal with his family after the duties of the day were over. It is just possible that he was a countryman of yours, for his name was Jones.'

'Oh, Serena! you don't mean to say that you fell in love with a Jones in England, and then came into Wales to be in the midst of that very ancient and numerous family.'

'I have not come to the love part yet, Freda. He was a very quiet and un.o.btrusive person, but, my friends said, very amiable and sufficiently clever. I know that I used to take an unkind delight in teasing him, and that he was rather clever in repartee, and never spared me in return. I liked him as an amusing companion, and had no objection to his getting me books or flowers, or whatever lay within his reach that might be agreeable to me. Moreover, I pitied him, because I was told that both his parents were dead, and that he was working hard to pay for his own course at college, whither he intended to go as soon as he could get the means.