Part 6 (2/2)
”O, of course; Laura's going. I suppose you send some things from the Court?”
”Yes,” said Charley; but he added, laughing, ”What will be the use, when you are going to send such a prize blossom?”
”For shame, you naughty man!” said Mrs Bray. ”I shall certainly tell Laura you've turned flatterer.”
”I say, Charley Vining,” squeaked a loud voice from the next window, ”we're going to beat you Court folks.”
”We are, are we?” laughed Charley, turning in the direction of the voice, which proceeded from a very tall angular young lady of sixteen--a tender young plant, nearly all stem, and displaying very little blossom or leaf. She was supported on either side by two other tender plants, of fourteen and twelve respectively, forming a trio known at the Elms as ”the children.” ”I'm very glad to hear it, Miss Nell; but suppose we wait till after the judge's decision. But there goes the carriage.
Good-bye, all!”
And turning his horse's head, he soon overtook the brougham, when, after soothing Mr Dudgeon, the driver, with a s.h.i.+lling, the progress was pretty swift until they reached the tree, where, now finding shelter from the sun instead of the rain, yet stood Laura Bray and her companion.
”O, how good of you, Mr Vining! and to come back, too!” gushed Laura, with sparkling eyes. ”I shall never be out of debt, I'm sure. I don't know what I should have done if it had not been for you!”
”Walked home, and a blessed good job, too!” muttered Mr John Dudgeon.
”Don't name it!” said Charley. ”Almost a pity it's left off raining.”
”For shame--no! How can you talk so!” exclaimed Laura, shaking her sunshade at the speaker. ”But I really am so much obliged--I am indeed!”
Charley dismounted and opened the carriage-door, handing in first Miss Bray, who stepped forward, leaned heavily upon his arm, and then took her place, arranging her skirts so as to fill the back seat, talking gus.h.i.+ngly the while as she made play at Charley with her great dark eyes.
But the glances were thrown away, Charley's attention being turned to her companion, who bent slightly, just touched the proffered hand, and stepped into the brougham, taking her seat with her back to the horse.
”So much obliged--so grateful!” cried Laura, as Charley closed the door.
”I shall never be able to repay you, I'm sure. Thanks! So much!
Good-bye! See you at the flower-show to-morrow, of course?
Good-bye!--_good-bye_!”
”She's getting a precious deal too affectionate! Talk about wanting me to marry _her_, why she'll run away with _me_ directly!” grumbled Charley, as Mr Dudgeon impatiently drove off, leaving the young man with the impression of a swiftly pa.s.sing vision of Laura Bray showing her white teeth in a great smile as she waved her hand, and of a fair gentle face bent slightly down, so that he could see once more the rich ma.s.sive braids resting upon a shapely, creamy neck. ”Have they been saying anything to her?” said Charley, as the brougham disappeared.
”She's getting quite unpleasant. Grows just like the old woman: regularly parrot-beaked. Why didn't she introduce me? Took the best seat, too! Looks strange! I say, though, 'bai Jove'--as that sweet brother says--this sort of thing won't do! I should like to please the dad; but I don't think I could manage to do it 'that how,' as they say about here. She quite frightens me! Heigho! what a bother life is when you can't spend it just as you like! Wish I was out in Australia or Africa, or somewhere to be free and easy--to hunt and shoot and ride as one liked. Let's see: I shall not go over to the town now--it's nearly lunch-time, and I'm wet.”
He had mounted his horse, and was about to turn homeward, when something s.h.i.+ning in the gra.s.s caught his eye, and leaping down, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up from among the glistening strands, heavy with raindrops, a little golden cross--one that had evidently slipped from velvet or ribbon as the ladies stood beneath that tree.
”That's not Miss Laura's--can't be!” muttered Charley, as he gazed intently at the little ornament. ”Not half fine enough for her.”
Then turning it over, he found engraved upon the reverse:
”E.B. From her Mother, 1860.”
”E.B.--E.B.--E.B.! And pray who is E.B.?” muttered Charley, as, once more mounting, he turned his horse's head homeward. ”Eleanor B. or Eliza--no, that's a housemaid's name--Ernestine, Eva. Who can she be?
Not introduced--given the back seat--hardly spoken to, and yet so ladylike, and--There, get on, Beauty! What am I thinking about? We sha'n't be back to lunch.”
He cantered on for a mile: and then as they entered a sunny lane--a very arcade of gem-besprinkled verdure--he drew rein, and taking the little cross from his pocket, once more read the inscription.
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