CHAPTER XXV.
"SOMEBODY ELSE."
But Barold did not make any very ardent search for Lucia. He stopped towatch a game of lawn-tennis, in which Octavia and Lord Lansdowne hadjoined, and finally forgot Lady Theobald's errand altogether.
For some time Octavia did not see him. She was playing with great spirit,and Lord Lansdowne was following her delightedly.
Finally a chance of the game bringing her to him, she turned suddenly,and found Barold's eyes fixed upon her.
"How long have you been there?" she asked.
"Some time," he answered. "When you are at liberty, I wish to speak toyou."
"Do you?" she said.
She seemed a little unprepared for the repressed energy of his manner,which, he strove to cover by a greater amount of coldness than usual.
"Well," she said, after thinking a moment, "the game will soon be ended.I am going through the conservatories with Lord Lansdowne in course oftime; but I dare say he can wait."
She went back, and finished her game, apparently enjoying it as much asever. When it was over, Barold made his way to her.
He had resented her remaining oblivious of his presence when he stoodnear her, and he had resented her enjoyment of her surroundings; and now,as he led her away, leaving Lord Lansdowne rather disconsolate, heresented the fact that she did not seem nervous, or at all impressed byhis silence.
"What do you want to say to me?" she asked. "Let us go and sit down inone of the arbors. I believe I am a little tired--not that I mind it,though. I've been having a lovely time."
Then she began to talk about Lord Lansdowne.
"I like him ever so much," she said. "Do you think he will really go toAmerica? I wish he would; but if he does, I hope it won't be for a yearor so--I mean, until we go back from Europe. Still, it's rather uncertainwhen we _shall_ go back. Did I tell you I had persuaded aunt Belinda totravel with us? She's horribly frightened, but I mean to make her go.She'll get over being frightened after a little while."
Suddenly she turned, and looked at him.
"Why don't you say something?" she demanded. "What's the matter?"
"It is not necessary for me to say any thing."
She laughed.
"Do you mean because I am saying every thing myself? Well, I suppose Iam. I am--awfully happy to-day, and can't help talking. It seems to makethe time go."
Her face had lighted up curiously. There was a delighted excitement inher eyes, puzzling him.
"Are you so fond of your father as all that?"
She laughed again,--a clear, exultant laugh.
"Yes," she answered, "of course I am as fond of him as all that. It'squite natural, isn't it?"
"I haven't observed the same degree of enthusiasm in all the young ladiesof my acquaintance," he returned dryly.
He thought such rapture disproportionate to the cause, and regarded itgrudgingly.
They turned into an arbor; and Octavia sat down, and leaned forward onthe rustic table. Then she turned her face up to look at the vinescovering the roof.
"It looks rather spidery, doesn't it?" she remarked. "I hope it isn't;don't you?"
The light fell bewitchingly on her round little chin and white throat;and a bar of sunlight struck on her upturned eyes, and the blonde ringson her forehead.
"There is nothing I hate more than spiders," she said, with a littleshiver, "unless," seriously, "it's caterpillars--and caterpillars Iloathe."
Then she lowered her gaze, and gave her hat--a large white Rubens, allsoft, curling feathers and satin bows--a charming tip over her eyes.
"The brim is broad," she said. "If any thing drops, I hope it will dropon it, instead of on me. Now, what did you want to say?" He had not satdown, but stood leaning against the rustic wood-work. He looked pale, andwas evidently trying to be cooler than usual.
"I brought you here to ask you a question."
"Well," she remarked, "I hope it's an important one. You look seriousenough."
"It is important,--rather," he responded, with a tone of sarcasm. "Youwill probably go away soon?"
"That isn't exactly a question," she commented, "and it's not asimportant to you as to me."
He paused a moment, annoyed because he found it difficult to go on;annoyed because she waited with such undisturbed serenity. But at lengthhe managed to begin again.
"I do not think you are expecting the question I am going to ask," hesaid. "I--do not think I expected to ask it myself,--until to-day. I donot know why--why I should ask it so awkwardly, and feel--at such adisadvantage. I brought you here to ask you--to marry me."
He had scarcely spoken four words before all her airy manner had takenflight, and she had settled herself down to listen. He had noticed this,and had felt it quite natural. When he stopped, she was looking straightinto his face. Her eyes were singularly large and bright and clear.
"You did not expect to ask me to marry you?" she said. "Why didn't you?"
It was not at all what he had expected. He did not understand her mannerat all.
"I--must confess," he said stiffly, "that I felt at first that therewere--obstacles in the way of my doing so."
"What were the obstacles?"
He flushed, and drew himself up.
"I have been unfortunate in my mode of expressing myself," he said. "Itold you I was conscious of my own awkwardness."
"Yes," she said quietly: "you have been unfortunate. That is a good wayof putting it."
Then she let her eyes rest on the table a few seconds, and thought alittle.
"After all," she said, "I have the consolation of knowing that you musthave been very much in love with me. If you had not been very much inlove with me, you would never have asked me to marry you. You would haveconsidered the obstacles."
"I am very much in love with you," he said vehemently, his feelingsgetting the better of his pride for once. "However badly I may haveexpressed myself, I am very much in love with you. I have been wretchedfor days."
"Was it because you felt obliged to ask me to marry you?" she inquired.
The delicate touch of spirit in her tone and words fired him to freshadmiration, strange to say. It suggested to him possibilities he had notsuspected hitherto. He drew nearer to her.
"Don't be too severe on me," he said--quite humbly, considering allthings.
And he stretched out his hand, as if to take hers.
But she drew it back, smiling ever so faintly.
"Do you think I don't know what the obstacles are?" she said. "I willtell you."
"My affection was strong enough to sweep them away," he said, "or Ishould not be here."
She smiled slightly again.
"I know all about them, as well as you do," she said. "I rather laughedat them at first, but I don't now. I suppose I'm 'impressed by theirseriousness,' as aunt Belinda says. I suppose they _are_ prettyserious--to you."
"Nothing would be so serious to me as that you should let them interferewith my happiness," he answered, thrown back upon himself, and bewilderedby her logical manner. "Let us forget them. I was a fool to speak as Idid. Won't you answer my question?"
She paused a second, and then answered,--
"You didn't expect to ask me to marry you," she said. "And I didn'texpect you to"--
"But now"--he broke in impatiently.
"Now--I wish you hadn't done it."
"You wish"--
"You don't want _me_," she said. "You want somebody meeker,--somebodywho would respect you very much, and obey you. I'm not used to obeyingpeople."
"Do you mean also that you would not respect me?" he inquired bitterly.
"Oh," she replied, "you haven't respected me much!"
"Excuse me"--he began, in his loftiest manner.
"You didn't respect me enough to think me worth marrying," she said. "Iwas not the kind of girl you would have chosen of your own will."
"You are treating me unfairly!" he cried.
"You were going to give me a great deal, I suppose--
looking at it in yourway," she went on; "but, if I _wasn't_ exactly what you wanted, I hadsomething to give too. I'm young enough to have a good many years tolive; and I should have to live them with you, if I married you. That'ssomething, you know."
He rose from his seat pale with wrath and wounded feeling.
"Does this mean that you refuse me?" he demanded, "that your answer is'no'?"
She rose, too--not exultant, not confused, neither pale nor flushed. Hehad never seen her prettier, more charming, or more natural.
"It would have been 'no,' even if there hadn't been any obstacle,"she answered.
"Then," he said, "I need say no more. I see that I have--humiliatedmyself in vain; and it is rather bitter, I must confess."
"It wasn't my fault," she remarked.
He stepped back, with a haughty wave of the hand, signifying that sheshould pass out of the arbor before him.
She did so; but just as she reached the entrance, she turned, and stoodfor a second, framed in by the swinging vines and their blossoms.
"There's another reason why it should be 'no,'" she said. "I suppose Imay as well tell you of it. I'm engaged to somebody else."
CHAPTER XXVI.
"JACK."
The first person they saw, when they reached the lawn, was Mr. DugaldBinnie, who had deigned to present himself, and was talking to Mr.Burmistone, Lucia, and Miss Belinda.
"I'll go to them," said Octavia. "Aunt Belinda will wonder where I havebeen."
But, before they reached the group, they were intercepted by LordLansdowne; and Barold had the pleasure of surrendering his charge, andwatching her, with some rather sharp pangs, as she was borne off to theconservatories.
"What is the matter with Mr. Barold?" exclaimed Miss Pilcher. "Praylook at him."
"He has been talking to Miss Octavia Bassett, in one of the arbors," putin Miss Lydia Burnham. "Emily and I passed them a few minutes ago, andthey were so absorbed that they did not see us. There is no knowing whathas happened."
"Lydia!" exclaimed Mrs. Burnham, in stern reproof of such flippancy.
But, the next moment, she exchanged a glance with Miss Pilcher.
"Do you think"--she suggested. "Is it possible"--
"It really looks very like it," said Miss Pilcher; "though it is scarcelyto be credited. See how pale and angry he looks."
Mrs. Burnham glanced toward him, and then a slight smile illuminated hercountenance.
"How furious," she remarked cheerfully, "how furious Lady Theobald willbe!"
Naturally, it was not very long before the attention of numerous otherladies was directed to Mr. Francis Barold. It was observed that he tookno share in the festivities, that he did not regain his natural air ofenviable indifference to his surroundings,--that he did not approachOctavia Bassett until all was over, and she was on the point of goinghome. What he said to her then, no one heard.
"I am going to London to-morrow. Good-by."
"Good-by," she answered, holding out her hand to him. Then she addedquickly, in an under-tone, "You oughtn't to think badly of me. You won't,after a while."
As they drove homeward, she was rather silent, and Miss Belinda remarkedit.
"I am afraid you are tired, Octavia," she said. "It is a pity that Martinshould come, and find you tired."
"Oh! I'm not tired. I was only--thinking. It has been a queer day."
"A queer day, my dear!" ejaculated Miss Belinda. "I thought it a charmingday."
"So it has been," said Octavia, which Miss Belinda thought ratherinconsistent.
Both of them grew rather restless as they neared the house.
"To think," said Miss Belinda, "of my seeing poor Martin again!"
"Suppose," said Octavia nervously, as they drew up, "suppose they arehere--already."
"They?" exclaimed Miss Belinda. "Who"--but she got no farther. A cryburst from Octavia,--a queer, soft little cry. "They are here," shesaid: "they are! Jack--Jack!"
And she was out of the carriage; and Miss Belinda, following herclosely, was horrified to see her caught at once in the embrace of atall, bronzed young man, who, a moment after, drew her into the littleparlor, and shut the door.
Mr. Martin Bassett, who was big and sunburned, and prosperous-looking,stood in the passage, smiling triumphantly.
"M--M--Martin!" gasped Miss Belinda. "What--oh, what does this mean?"
Martin Bassett led her to a seat, and smiled more triumphantly still.
"Never mind, Belinda," he said. "Don't be frightened. It's JackBelasys, and he's the finest fellow in the West. And she hasn't seenhim for two years."
"Martin," Miss Belinda fluttered, "it is not proper--it really isn't."
"Yes, it is," answered Mr. Bassett; "for he's going to marry her beforewe go abroad."
It was an eventful day for all parties concerned. At its close LadyTheobald found herself in an utterly bewildered and thunderstruckcondition. And to Mr. Dugald Binnie, more than to any one else, herdemoralization was due. That gentleman got into the carriage, in rather abetter humor than usual.
"Same man I used to know," he remarked. "Glad to see him. I knew him assoon as I set eyes on him."
"Do you allude to Mr. Burmistone?"
"Yes. Had a long talk with him. He's coming to see you to-morrow. Toldhim he might come, myself. Appears he's taken a fancy to Lucia. Wants totalk it over. Suits me exactly, and suppose it suits her. Looks as if itdoes. Glad she hasn't taken a fancy to some haw-haw fellow, like thatfool Barold. Girls generally do. Burmistone's worth ten of him."
Lucia, who had been looking steadily out of the carriage-window, turned,with an amazed expression. Lady Theobald had received a shock which madeall her manacles rattle. She could scarcely support herself under it.
"Do I"--she said. "Am I to understand that Mr. Francis Barold does notmeet with your approval?" Mr. Binnie struck his stick sharply upon thefloor of the carriage.
"Yes, by George!" he said. "I'll have nothing to do with chaps like that.If she'd taken up with him, she'd never have heard from _me_ again. Makesure of that."
When they reached Oldclough, her ladyship followed Lucia to her room. Shestood before her, arranging the manacles on her wrists nervously.
"I begin to understand now," she said. "I find I was mistaken in myimpressions of Mr. Dugald Binnie's tastes--and in my impressions of_you_. You are to marry Mr. Burmistone. My rule is over. Permit me tocongratulate you."
The tears rose to Lucia's eyes.
"Grandmamma," she said, her voice soft and broken, "I think I should havebeen more frank, if--if you had been kinder sometimes."
"I have done my duty by you," said my lady.
Lucia looked at her pathetically.
"I have been ashamed to keep things from you," she hesitated. "And I haveoften told myself that--that it was sly to do it--but I could not helpit."
"I trust," said my lady, "that you will be more candid with Mr.Burmistone."
Lucia blushed guiltily.
"I--think I shall, grandmamma," she said.
It was the Rev. Alfred Poppleton who assisted the rector of St. James tomarry Jack Belasys and Octavia Bassett; and it was observed that he wasalmost as pale as his surplice.
Slowbridge had never seen such a wedding, or such a bride as Octavia. Itwas even admitted that Jack Belasys was a singularly handsome fellow, andhad a dashing, adventurous air, which carried all before it. There was arumor that he owned silver-mines himself, and had even done something indiamonds, in Brazil, where he had spent the last two years. At allevents, it was ascertained beyond doubt, that, being at last a marriedwoman, and entitled to splendors of the kind, Octavia would not lackthem. Her present to Lucia, who was one of her bridesmaids, dazzled allbeholders. When she was borne away by the train, with her father andhusband, and Miss Belinda, whose bonnet-strings were bedewed with tears,the Rev. Alfred Poppleton was the last man who shook hands with her. Heheld in his hand a large bouquet, which Octavia herself had given him outof her abundance. "Slowbridge will miss you, Miss--Mrs.
Belasys," hefaltered. "I--I shall miss you. Perhaps we--may even meet again. I havethought that, perhaps, I should like to go to America."
And, as the train puffed out of the station and disappeared, he stoodmotionless for several seconds; and a large and brilliant drop ofmoisture appeared on the calyx of the lily which formed the centre-pieceof his bouquet.
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