Wych Hazel Part 24

Falkirk's range of years, though making more attempts to conceal the fact. Rich, well educated, well mannered, a little heavy, he had married very young; and now a widower of twenty years standing, the sight of Wych Hazel had suggested to him what a nice thing it would be to be married again. The estates too suited each other, even touched at one point. With this gentleman Wych Hazel had some slight acquaintance, and he introduced Mr. Dell; thinking privately to himself how absurd it was for such men to come visiting such women.

'I see with pleasure that you have quite recovered from the fatigues of your journey, Miss Kennedy. A day's rest will often do wonders.'

'Yes, sir. Especially if you spend a good piece of it on horseback, as I did.'

'On horseback!' said Mr. Morton, looking doubtful--(he hoped she was not going to turn out one of those riding damsels, who went rough shod over all his ideas of propriety.) 'Did you go out so soon to explore the country?'

'No, sir. I went out on business.'

'Ah!'--(how admirable in so young a person.)

'There is business enough in city or country,' said straightforward Mr. Dell--'if you are disposed to take hold of it. Even our little Crocus will give you plenty.'

'All the year round, sir?--or does Crocus go to sleep in the winter like most other bulbs?'

'It is another species from any that you are acquainted with, I am afraid,' said the clergyman, looking at her with mingled curiosity and admiration. 'Bulbs when they go to sleep require no attention, I believe; but our Crocus wants most of all in the cold season. We want lady gardeners too,' said Mr. Dell, following the figure.

'It is a most healthful exercise,' said Mr. Morton, 'and the slight disadvantages of dress, etc., rather form a pleasant foil, I think, to the perfection of attire at other times. Are you fond of gardening, Miss Kennedy?'

'Very fond!' said Miss Kennedy, demurely. 'But that is one of the times when I like to be particularly perfect in my attire, Mr. Norton. Why, Mr. Dell, the bulbs must be kept from freezing, you know, if they _are_ asleep. Isn't Miss Maryland one of your successful gardeners?'

'Miss Maryland does all she can, madam,' said Mr. Dell, earnestly. 'She has been the good angel of the village for five years past.'

'That is just what she looks like,' said Wych, with a glow of pleasure. 'And I'm going to help her all I can.'

'But do you not think,' said Mr. Morton, with the dubious look again--'you are talking, I imagine, of Miss Maryland's visits among the lower cla.s.ses,--do not you think they make a young lady too prominent--too public--Mr. Dell? They bring her among very rough people, Miss Kennedy, I a.s.sure you.'

'But, sir, one would not lose the chance of being a good angel for the fear of being prominent.'

'Or for the fear of anything else,' said Mr. Dell.

'Truly not,' said Mr. Morton. 'But we gentlemen think, Miss Kennedy, that ladies of a certain stamp can scarcely fail of so desirable a position.'

'Ah, but I want a pair of bona fide wings!' said Wych Hazel, and she looked so comically innocent and witch-like that Mr.

Morton forgot all else in admiration; and Mr. Dell looked at her with all his eyes as he remarked,--

'Not to fly away from the poor and needy--as many of Mr.

Morton's angels do.'

'Do they?' said Wych Hazel,--'where do they fly to? Mr. Morton, what becomes of your angels?'

'My angels,' said Mr. Morton with some emphasis on the p.r.o.noun, 'would never be in the majority. When I said "ladies of a certain stamp," I by no means intended to say that the cla.s.s was a large one.'

'No, sir, of course not. If the cla.s.s were large, I should suppose the stamp would become very uncertain. Mr. Dell, what does Crocus want most, just now?'

'I should say--angels,' said Mr. Dell. He spoke with a smile, but with a shrewd and sensible eye withal. He was not a beauty, but he had mettle in him.

'That's a bad want in the present state of the case, as set forth by Mr. Morton. Are gold angels good for anything as a subst.i.tute?'

'Good for very little. When I said angels, I spoke of what the world most wants, as well as Crocus; angels in human form, I mean, or rather, in their human state of initiation. There is no subst.i.tute. Gold will do something; but nothing of what a good man or a good woman will do--anywhere.'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Morton, rising, 'I regret much that a business appointment calls me away. But if you will indulge me, I will call again the day after to-morrow, in the afternoon, and perhaps I may hope for your company on a drive.

You must make acquaintance with this fine region.'

'Thank you'--Wych Hazel hesitated, looking for some retreat, finally took shelter behind her guardian. 'Thank you, sir, I will ask Mr. Falkirk.'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Morton, extending his hand, 'you must allow me to express my admiration! I wish other young ladies were so thoughtful and prudent. But if they were, it would not make your conduct less remarkable.' And Mr. Morton departed, while Wych Hazel, turning a sharp pirouette on one toe, dropped into her chair like a thistle down. But all that appeared to the eyes of Mr. Dell was a somewhat extensive flutter of muslin. He had no time to remark upon it nor upon anything else, as there immediately succeeded a flutter of muslin in another direction, just entering in by the door; which secondary flutter was furnished by the furbelows of Mrs.

Fellows, the lawyer's wife, and the scarf of Mrs. Dell, the mother of the clergyman himself. There was no more question about angels.

CHAPTER XV.

TO MOSCHELOO.

The next morning Mr. Falkirk appeared in the breakfast-room, as was his very frequent, though not invariable wont.

'I want your orders, Miss Hazel, about horses.'

Hazel--deep in a great wicker tray of flowers--looked up to consider the question.

'Well, sir,--we want carriage horses of course,--and saddle horses. And I want a pony carriage.'

'I don't think you need two carriages at present. The pony carriage would have to have a pony.'

'Yes, sir. Pony carriages, I believe, generally do. I am not well enough known in the neighbourhood yet to expect other means of setting my wheels in motion. But if I have nothing _but_ that, Mr. Falkirk, then you and I can never go together.'

'And if you do _not_ have that, then you could not go alone.'

'Precisely, sir. Mr. Falkirk, don't you want a rose--what shall I say! --to--do something to your meditations?' And before Mr.

Falkirk had time to breathe, she was down on her knees at his side, and fastening an exquisite "d.u.c.h.ess of Thuringia" in his b.u.t.tonhole.

'Yes, I look like it,' said he grimly, but suffering her fingers to do their will nevertheless. 'Miss Hazel, if the princess goes about in a pony carriage, I shall be in daily expectation of its turning into a pumpkin, and leaving her on the ground somewhere.'

'No, sir. Not the least fear of your turning into an amiable G.o.dmother,--and you know that was essential.'

'Ponies are ugly things,' said Mr. Falkirk ruefully. 'However, I'll ask Rollo; and if he can find one, that suits him----'

'Then do let him keep it!' interposed Miss Hazel, facing round. 'What possible concern of Mr. Rollo's are my horses?'

'Simply that I am going to ask him to choose them. He knows more about such things than any one else, and I dare say he will give me his help. I wanted to know your fancy, though very likely it can't be met, about the other horses; colour and so forth.'

'Not white--and not black,' said Wych Hazel. 'And not sorrel-- nor cream.'

'That is lucid. You said saddle horses--Ah! what's this?'

It was a little combination of brisk sounds in the hall, followed by the entrance of Rollo himself in a gray fisherman's dress. Unless he was very hard to suit he might have enjoyed the picture now opened before him. The pretty room, with its garden outlook; the breakfast table, bright and quaint together, with its old-time furnis.h.i.+ngs; and flowers everywhere, arranged and un-arranged. As he came in, Wych Hazel had just (quite surrept.i.tiously) hung a garland of pansies on the high carved peak of Mr. Falkirk's chair, and then dropped into her own place; with a De Rohan rose in the belt of her gray dress. Not in the least like Roll's gray, but white with the edge taken off, like a pale cloud.

'So!' she said, looking up at him as he stood beside her,-- 'have you come to confess?'