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A Flat Iron for a Farthing, a novel by Juliana Horatia Ewing |
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Chapter 31. My Lady Frances--The Future Lady Damer... |
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_ CHAPTER XXXI. MY LADY FRANCES--THE FUTURE LADY DAMER--WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER AT LAST It was true. My theories and my disappointment went to the winds. We had few common acquaintances or social interests to talk about, and yet the time we spent together never seemed long enough for our fluent conversation. We had always a thousand things to say when we met, and feeling as if we had been together all our lives, I felt also utterly restless and wretched when I was not with her. Of course, I learnt her history. She and her sister were the little ladies I had seen in my childhood. The St. John family were their cousins, and as the boy, of whom mention has been made, did die in Madeira, the property eventually came to Frances Chislett and her sister. The estate was sold, and they were co-heiresses. Adeline, the other sister, soon came to the Towers. She was more like her old self than Frances. The exquisitely, strangely fair hair, the pale-blue eyes, the gentle helpless look, all were the same. She was very lovely, but Frances was like no other woman I had ever seen before, or have ever met with since. I resolved to ask Lionel Damer how matters really stood between them, and, if he were not engaged to her, to try my luck. One day when she was with us at the Hall I decided upon this. I was told that Lionel was in the library, and went to seek him. As I opened the door I saw him standing in front of Polly, who was standing also. He was speaking with an energy rare with him, and in a tone of voice quite strange to me. "It's not like you to say what's not true," he was saying. "You are _not_ well, you are _not_ happy. You may deceive every one else, Polly, but you can never deceive me. All these years, ever since I first knew you--" I stole out, shut the door, and went to seek Frances. I found her by Rubens' grave, and there we plighted our troth. * * * * * It was in the evening of the same day that Polly and I met in the hall, on our way to attempt the difficult task of dressing for dinner in five minutes. The grey-eyed lady of my love had just left me for the same purpose, and I was singing, I don't know what, at the top of my voice in pure blitheness of heart. Polly and I fairly rushed into each other's arms. "My dear child!" said I, swinging her madly round, "I am delirious with delight, and so is Sweep, for she kissed his nose." Poor Polly buried her head on my shoulder, saying, "And, oh, Regie! I _am_ so happy!" It was thus that my father and Aunt Maria found us. Fate, spiteful at our happiness, had sent my father, stiff with an irreproachable neckcloth, and Aunt Maria, rustling in amber silk and black laces, towards the drawing-room, five minutes too early for dinner, but just in time to catch us in the most sentimental of attitudes, and to hear dear, candid, simple-hearted Polly's outspoken confession--"I _am_ so happy!" "And how long are you going to keep your happiness to yourselves, young people?" said my father, whose face beamed with a satisfaction more sedately reflected in Aunt Maria's countenance. "Do you grudge the old folks a share? Eh, sir? eh?" And the old gentleman pinched my shoulder, and clapped me on the back. He was positively playful. "Stop, my dear father," said I, "you're mistaken." "Eh, what?" said my father, and Aunt Maria drew her laces round her and prepared for war. "Polly and I are not engaged, sir, if that's what you think," said I, desperately. My father and Aunt Maria both opened their mouths at once. "Dinner's on the table, sir," the butler announced. My father lacked a subject for his vexation, and turned upon old Bowles: "Take the dinner to ----" "--the kitchen," said I, "and keep it warm for ten minutes; we are not ready. Now, my dear father, come to my room, for I have something to tell you." There was no need for Polly to ask Aunt Maria to go with her. That lady drove her daughter before her to her bedroom, with a severity of aspect which puzzled and alarmed poor Leo, whom they passed in the corridor. A blind man could have told by the rustle of her dress that Mrs. Ascott would have a full explanation before she broke bread again at our table. I fancy she was not severe upon the future Lady Damer, when Polly's tale was told. As to my father, he was certainly vexed and put out at first. But day by day my lady-love won more and more of his heart. One evening, a week later, he disappeared mysteriously after dinner, and then returned to the dining-room, carrying some old morocco cases. "My dear boy," he said, in an almost faltering voice, "I never dared to hope my dear wife's diamonds would be so worthily worn by yours. Your choice has made an old man very happy, sir. For a thoroughly high-bred tone, for intelligence, indeed, I may say, brilliancy of mind, and for every womanly grace and virtue, I have seen no one to approach her since your mother's death. I should have loved little Polly very much, but your choice has been a higher one--more refined--more refined. For, strictly between ourselves, my dear boy, our dear little Polly has, now and then, just a thought too much of your Aunt Maria about her." The Rector and Maria were made happy. My father "carried it through," by my desire. Uncle Ascott was delighted, and became a benefactor to the parish; but it took Aunt Maria some years to forget that the patronised curate had scorned the wife she had provided for him, only to marry her own daughter. When I bade farewell to Adeline on our wedding day, she gave me her cheek to kiss with a pretty grace, saying, "You see, Regie, I _am_ your sister after all!" _ |
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