I Say No

  CHAPTER XLIV. COMPETING.

  Time at Monksmoor had advanced to the half hour before dinner, onSaturday evening.

  Cecilia and Francine, Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel, were loitering in theconservatory. In the drawing-room, Emily had been considerately leftalone with Alban. He had missed the early train from Netherwoods; buthe had arrived in time to dress for dinner, and to offer the necessaryexplanations.

  If it had been possible for Alban to allude to the anonymous letter, hemight have owned that his first impulse had led him to destroy it, andto assert his confidence in Emily by refusing Mr. Wyvil's invitation.But try as he might to forget them, the base words that he had readremained in his memory. Irritating him at the outset, they had endedin rousing his jealousy. Under that delusive influence, he persuadedhimself that he had acted, in the first instance, without dueconsideration. It was surely his interest--it might even be his duty--togo to Mr. Wyvil's house, and judge for himself. After some last wretchedmoments of hesitation, he had decided on effecting a compromise withhis own better sense, by consulting Miss Ladd. That excellent lady didexactly what he had expected her to do. She made arrangements whichgranted him leave of absence, from the Saturday to the Tuesdayfollowing. The excuse which had served him, in telegraphing to Mr.Wyvil, must now be repeated, in accounting for his unexpected appearanceto Emily. "I found a person to take charge of my class," he said; "and Igladly availed myself of the opportunity of seeing you again."

  After observing him attentively, while he was speaking to her, Emilyowned, with her customary frankness, that she had noticed something inhis manner which left her not quite at her ease.

  "I wonder," she said, "if there is any foundation for a doubt that hastroubled me?" To his unutterable relief, she at once explained what thedoubt was. "I am afraid I offended you, in replying to your letter aboutMiss Jethro."

  In this case, Alban could enjoy the luxury of speaking unreservedly. Heconfessed that Emily's letter had disappointed him.

  "I expected you to answer me with less reserve," he replied; "and Ibegan to think I had acted rashly in writing to you at all. When thereis a better opportunity, I may have a word to say--" He was apparentlyinterrupted by something that he saw in the conservatory. Looking thatway, Emily perceived that Mirabel was the object which had attractedAlban's attention. The vile anonymous letter was in his mind again.Without a preliminary word to prepare Emily, he suddenly changed thesubject. "How do you like the clergyman?" he asked.

  "Very much indeed," she replied, without the slightest embarrassment."Mr. Mirabel is clever and agreeable--and not at all spoiled by hissuccess. I am sure," she said innocently, "you will like him too."

  Alban's face answered her unmistakably in the negative sense--butEmily's attention was drawn the other way by Francine. She joined themat the moment, on the lookout for any signs of an encouraging resultwhich her treachery might already have produced. Alban had been inclinedto suspect her when he had received the letter. He rose and bowed as sheapproached. Something--he was unable to realize what it was--told him,in the moment when they looked at each other, that his suspicion had hitthe mark.

  In the conservatory the ever-amiable Mirabel had left his friends fora while in search of flowers for Cecilia. She turned to her father whenthey were alone, and asked him which of the gentlemen was to take her into dinner--Mr. Mirabel or Mr. Morris?

  "Mr. Morris, of course," he answered. "He is the new guest--and he turnsout to be more than the equal, socially-speaking, of our other friend.When I showed him his room, I asked if he was related to a man whobore the same name--a fellow student of mine, years and years ago, atcollege. He is my friend's younger son; one of a ruined family--butpersons of high distinction in their day."

  Mirabel returned with the flowers, just as dinner was announced.

  "You are to take Emily to-day," Cecilia said to him, leading the way outof the conservatory. As they entered the drawing-room, Alban was justoffering his arm to Emily. "Papa gives you to me, Mr. Morris," Ceciliaexplained pleasantly. Alban hesitated, apparently not understanding theallusion. Mirabel interfered with his best grace: "Mr. Wyvil offersyou the honor of taking his daughter to the dining-room." Alban's facedarkened ominously, as the elegant little clergyman gave his arm toEmily, and followed Mr. Wyvil and Francine out of the room. Cecilialooked at her silent and surly companion, and almost envied her lazysister, dining--under cover of a convenient headache--in her own room.

  Having already made up his mind that Alban Morris required carefulhandling, Mirabel waited a little before he led the conversation asusual. Between the soup and the fish, he made an interesting confession,addressed to Emily in the strictest confidence.

  "I have taken a fancy to your friend Mr. Morris," he said. "Firstimpressions, in my case, decide everything; I like people or dislikethem on impulse. That man appeals to my sympathies. Is he a goodtalker?"

  "I should say Yes," Emily answered prettily, "if _you_ were notpresent."

  Mirabel was not to be beaten, even by a woman, in the art of payingcompliments. He looked admiringly at Alban (sitting opposite to him),and said: "Let us listen."

  This flattering suggestion not only pleased Emily--it artfully servedMirabel's purpose. That is to say, it secured him an opportunity forobservation of what was going on at the other side of the table.

  Alban's instincts as a gentleman had led him to control his irritationand to regret that he had suffered it to appear. Anxious to please, hepresented himself at his best. Gentle Cecilia forgave and forgot theangry look which had startled her. Mr. Wyvil was delighted with the sonof his old friend. Emily felt secretly proud of the good opinions whichher admirer was gathering; and Francine saw with pleasure that he wasasserting his claim to Emily's preference, in the way of all otherswhich would be most likely to discourage his rival. These variousimpressions--produced while Alban's enemy was ominously silent--beganto suffer an imperceptible change, from the moment when Mirabel decidedthat his time had come to take the lead. A remark made by Alban offeredhim the chance for which he had been on the watch. He agreed with theremark; he enlarged on the remark; he was brilliant and familiar, andinstructive and amusing--and still it was all due to the remark. Alban'stemper was once more severely tried. Mirabel's mischievous object hadnot escaped his penetration. He did his best to put obstacles in theadversary's way--and was baffled, time after time, with the readiestingenuity. If he interrupted--the sweet-tempered clergyman submitted,and went on. If he differed--modest Mr. Mirabel said, in the mostamiable manner, "I daresay I am wrong," and handled the topic from hisopponent's point of view. Never had such a perfect Christian sat beforeat Mr. Wyvil's table: not a hard word, not an impatient look, escapedhim. The longer Alban resisted, the more surely he lost ground in thegeneral estimation. Cecilia was disappointed; Emily was grieved; Mr.Wyvil's favorable opinion began to waver; Francine was disgusted. Whendinner was over, and the carriage was waiting to take the shepherd backto his flock by moonlight, Mirabel's triumph was complete. He had madeAlban the innocent means of publicly exhibiting his perfect temper andperfect politeness, under their best and brightest aspect.

  So that day ended. Sunday promised to pass quietly, in the absence ofMirabel. The morning came--and it seemed doubtful whether the promisewould be fulfilled.

  Francine had passed an uneasy night. No such encouraging result as shehad anticipated had hitherto followed the appearance of Alban Morrisat Monksmoor. He had clumsily allowed Mirabel to improve hisposition--while he had himself lost ground--in Emily's estimation. Ifthis first disastrous consequence of the meeting between the two men waspermitted to repeat itself on future occasions, Emily and Mirabel wouldbe brought more closely together, and Alban himself would be the unhappycause of it. Francine rose, on the Sunday morning, before the tablewas laid for breakfast--resolved to try the effect of a timely word ofadvice.

  Her bedroom was situated in the front of the house. The man she waslooking for presently passed within her range of view from the window,on his way to take a mornin
g walk in the park. She followed himimmediately.

  "Good-morning, Mr. Morris."

  He raised his hat and bowed--without speaking, and without looking ather.

  "We resemble each other in one particular," she proceeded, graciously;"we both like to breathe the fresh air before breakfast."

  He said exactly what common politeness obliged him to say, and nomore--he said, "Yes."

  Some girls might have been discouraged. Francine went on.

  "It is no fault of mine, Mr. Morris, that we have not been betterfriends. For some reason, into which I don't presume to inquire, youseem to distrust me. I really don't know what I have done to deserveit."

  "Are you sure of that?" he asked--eying her suddenly and searchingly ashe spoke.

  Her hard face settled into a rigid look; her eyes met his eyes with astony defiant stare. Now, for the first time, she knew that he suspectedher of having written the anonymous letter. Every evil quality inher nature steadily defied him. A hardened old woman could not havesustained the shock of discovery with a more devilish composure thanthis girl displayed. "Perhaps you will explain yourself," she said.

  "I _have_ explained myself," he answered.

  "Then I must be content," she rejoined, "to remain in the dark. I hadintended, out of my regard for Emily, to suggest that you might--withadvantage to yourself, and to interests that are very dear to you--bemore careful in your behavior to Mr. Mirabel. Are you disposed to listento me?"

  "Do you wish me to answer that question plainly, Miss de Sor?"

  "I insist on your answering it plainly."

  "Then I am _not_ disposed to listen to you."

  "May I know why? or am I to be left in the dark again?"

  "You are to be left, if you please, to your own ingenuity."

  Francine looked at him, with a malignant smile. "One of these days, Mr.Morris--I will deserve your confidence in my ingenuity." She said it,and went back to the house.

  This was the only element of disturbance that troubled the perfecttranquillity of the day. What Francine had proposed to do, with the oneidea of making Alban serve her purpose, was accomplished a few hourslater by Emily's influence for good over the man who loved her.

  They passed the afternoon together uninterruptedly in the distantsolitudes of the park. In the course of conversation Emily found anopportunity of discreetly alluding to Mirabel. "You mustn't be jealousof our clever little friend," she said; "I like him, and admire him;but--"

  "But you don't love him?"

  She smiled at the eager way in which Alban put the question.

  "There is no fear of that," she answered brightly.

  "Not even if you discovered that he loves you?"

  "Not even then. Are you content at last? Promise me not to be rude toMr. Mirabel again."

  "For his sake?"

  "No--for my sake. I don't like to see you place yourself at adisadvantage toward another man; I don't like you to disappoint me."

  The happiness of hearing her say those words transfigured him--themanly beauty of his earlier and happier years seemed to have returned toAlban. He took her hand--he was too agitated to speak.

  "You are forgetting Mr. Mirabel," she reminded him gently.

  "I will be all that is civil and kind to Mr. Mirabel; I will like himand admire him as you do. Oh, Emily, are you a little, only a verylittle, fond of me?"

  "I don't quite know."

  "May I try to find out?"

  "How?" she asked.

  Her fair cheek was very near to him. The softly-rising color on it said,Answer me here--and he answered.