Part 32 (2/2)
”Yes, of course.”
”And now, to make you happy,” says Clarissa, meditatively.
”Don't take any thought about that. It is already an accomplished fact. I am with _you_, and therefore I am perfectly happy.”
”Still, you so seldom get a holiday,” goes on Clarissa, regretfully, which is a little unfair, as the Redmonds are the easiest-going people in the world, and have a sort of hankering after the giving of holidays and the encouragement of idleness generally. The vicar, indeed, is laden with a suppressed and carefully hidden theory that children should never do anything but laugh and sit in the sun. In his heart of hearts he condemns all Sunday-schools, as making the most blessed day one of toil, and a wearying of the flesh, to the little ones.
”Why,--why,” said he, once, in an unguarded moment, bitterly repented of afterwards, ”forbid them their rest on the Sabbath day?”
”What a pity the afternoon is so uncertain!” says Clarissa. ”We might have gone for a nice long drive.”
She goes over to the window, and gazes disconsolately at the huge s.h.i.+ning drops that fling themselves heavily against the panes, and on the leaves and flowers outside; while
”The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again.”
”I cannot feel anything to be a pity to-day,” says Georgie. ”I can feel only a sense of freedom. Clarissa, let us play a game of battledore and shuttlec.o.c.k. I used to beat you at Brussels; try if you can beat me now.”
Into the large hall they go, and, armed with battledores, commence their fray. Hither and thither flies the little white bird, backwards and forwards move the lithe figures of the girls. The game is at its height: it is just the absorbing moment, when 199 has been delivered, and received, and returned, when Georgie, stopping short suddenly, cries ”Oh!” and 200 flutters to the ground.
Clarissa, who is standing with her back to the hall door, turns instinctively towards it, and sees Dorian Brans...o...b...
”I have disturbed you. I have come in at the wrong moment?” asks that young man, fearfully.
”Ah! you have spoiled our game. And we were so well into it. Your sudden entrance startled Georgie, and she missed her aim.”
”I am sorry my mere presence should reduce Miss Broughton to a state of abject fright,” says Dorian, speaking to Clarissa, but looking at Georgie.
Her arm is still half raised, her color deep and rich, her eyes larger, darker than usual; the excitement of the game is still full upon her. As Dorian speaks, her lips part, and a slow sweet smile creeps round them, and she looks earnestly at him, as though to a.s.sure him that she is making him a free present of it,--an a.s.surance that heightens her beauty, to his mind. Gazing at her with open and sincere admiration, he tells himself that
”Nature might no more her child advance.”
”Your presence would not frighten me,” she says, shaking her head; ”but it was--I don't know what; I only know that I forgot myself for the moment and missed my aim. Now, that was hard, because we were so near our second hundred. Why did you not come a little sooner or a little later?”
”Because 'a thoughtless animal is man,'” quotes he, his blue eyes full of contrition. ”And the door was wide open, and the picture before me put all other thoughts out of my head. I wish I was a girl! I should do nothing but play battledore and shuttlec.o.c.k from morning till night.” Then, reproachfully, ”I think you might both shake hands with me, especially as I can say only 'how d'ye do' and 'good-by' in one breath: I am bound to meet Arthur at three precisely.”
”What a comfort!” says Clarissa, devoutly. ”Then there is some faint chance we may be allowed to end our afternoon in peace!”
”If there is one thing on earth for which I have a keen admiration, it is candor,” says Brans...o...b..; ”I thank you, Clarissa, for even this small touch of it. Miss Broughton, be candid too, and say you, at least, will regret me.”
”I shall,” says Georgie, with decided--and, it must be confessed, unexpected--promptness.
”Ha!” says Dorian, victoriously. ”Now I am content to go. A fig for your incivility, Clarissa! At least I leave one true mourner behind.”
”Two,” says Clarissa, relentingly.
”Too late now; apology is useless! Well, I'm off. Can I do anything for either of you?”
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