Englefield Grange Part 31

Mr. Armstrong's family also saw a notice of it in the

_Times_ obituary, and Mary and her mother were both surprised when her father suggested that a message of condolence and kind inquiry should be sent to Englefield Grange. The messenger brought back a formal acknowledgment, and also the information that Mrs. Halford was dangerously ill.

How Mary grieved over the conviction that she could not go and offer her services to soothe and tend the mother of Henry Halford in her terrible griefs! She had never heard of Kate Marston, Henry's cousin, who had for so many years supplied to him and his parents the place of sister and daughter. In spite of what appeared to Mary something like neglect and indifference on the part of the schoolmaster's son, she would have been glad to show him and his family that no proud or resentful feeling on her part could raise a barrier between them as neighbours and acquaintance.

Mary Armstrong possessed a good share of what is called common sense.

She had reflected deeply on the occurrences at Oxford, and she reasoned thus with herself:--

"I daresay Mr. Henry Halford is sorry for what he said to me at Oxford, or perhaps he meant nothing but a compliment. He is sensible enough not to think of being married till he is ordained, and so perhaps he keeps away for fear I should learn to love him;" and the young girl blushed as this thought arose in her heart, even when alone. "And besides, after what papa said that night in his pa.s.sion, I am very, very glad he has not paid us a visit. I could not marry any man without papa's consent, but I hope he wont ask me to marry any one else. I shall be twenty next July, but that doesn't matter; I should like to stay at home always, and there is nothing very dreadful to me in the prospect of being an old maid."

And so the young girl schooled her heart to try to forget that she had met her _beau ideal_ of what a husband should be, and that her father had forbidden her to a.s.sociate with him or to notice the family until their time of trouble called for neighbourly inquiries. How little poor Mary guessed that her father had effectually put a stop to any farther acquaintance, and that even this formal attention would have been withheld had he not supposed her to be quite indifferent to this schoolmaster's son who had presumed to ask him for the hand of his daughter! Perhaps Mr. Armstrong would have been very much surprised had he been told that another influence was at work in Mary's heart which would prevent her from disobeying her father by marrying against his wishes; an influence which had first made itself felt while listening to the teachings of her grandfather, and which would prove her support in the future through weary days of sorrow and trial.

During this twelve months other changes had also taken place; Charles Herbert's regiment had been ordered to Canada, and his mother in her loneliness pet.i.tioned Mr. Armstrong for his daughter's company. Sir James and Lady Elston had given up their house in Portland Place, and were now residing in the south of France on account of the old admiral's health.

"You see, Edward, I am quite alone now," said Mrs. Herbert when asking for Mary to be allowed to spend a month with them in Park Lane during the season; "and Mary has seen nothing of society yet, you have made her too much of a bookworm and a homebird."

"Not a bit of it," cried the colonel; "and for my part I do not see the necessity for Mary to acquire a knowledge of London society; however, we shall be glad to have her with us, Armstrong, for a time, and I don't think there is any danger of Mary's head being turned; she's much too sensible."

This conversation took place in Mr. Armstrong's office in Dover Street, and he was ready at once to accept the invitation, even before consulting the wishes of his wife and daughter. It was just what he wanted; the niece of Mrs. Herbert was sure to attract suitors at the house of Colonel Herbert, and soon put an end to this nonsense about the young parson. For in spite of his confidence in these young people he dreaded a chance meeting which might upset all his plans.

A few days after this interview Mary Armstrong stood at the window of her uncle's house in Park Lane, looking out over the Park, now radiant in the glorious beauty of a June morning. There had been a strange contest in Mary's heart at the proposal to spend a month with her aunt in London. She was very fond of her aunt Helen, and ready to accept the invitation with great delight. The house, the arrangements, the varied appliances of taste and refinement which belong to society when composed of the well-bred as well as the rich, were all congenial to Mary. At home the influence of her father was still too strong to allow Mrs.

Armstrong to carry out her own refined tastes even at the dinner-table.

The early habits at a farm-house were not so easily overcome, and the exquisite and tasteful style of Mrs. Herbert's table was not yet tolerated at Lime Grove. Good, solid, and in profusion, but plain and homely, and without flowers or other ornaments, was considered more suitable for a dinner-table than what Mr. Armstrong called useless trumpery or expensive nicknacks.

And yet, with all that could satisfy her most refined tastes, Mary Armstrong, as she stood at the open French window, sighed at the memory of home. The country lanes which still remained near Lime Grove, the broad high road which pa.s.sed Englefield Grange as well as her father's house, and along which she and her little brother Freddy had walked to school on that cold morning that seemed now so long ago; the carriage drive home after that fascinating evening at Mr. Drummond's, even the meeting in the road when her father offered hospitality to Mr. Halford, which he was never to accept--all this was connected with the rural suburb surrounding her home. Still onward flew the rapid thoughts to a pleasant hotel at Oxford, and all the happy hours of that never-to-be-forgotten week, the strolls from college to college, from chapel to chapel, the soul-stirring music of the choirs, the boat excursions on the Thames beneath a June sky as bright as that now casting a radiant but somewhat misty glow upon the Park, and that last evening in Christ Church meadows beneath the moonlight, when those trivial words were uttered which had stirred in her girlish heart thoughts and feelings before unknown.

Very lovely she looked as she stood in the reflected sunlight from the Park. The pretty lilac-sprigged muslin, finished at the throat and wrists with lace collar and wristlets, bows from the throat down the front of lilac ribbon, and one of the same colour in her hair, were truly becoming to the fair face and bright brown tresses. The only ornaments she wore consisted of a silver brooch and the chain belonging to her watch.

So deeply were Mary's thoughts occupied, that her uncle and his friend had reached the centre of the room before she was aware of their presence. She started as her uncle said--

"Why, Mary, my dear, what a reverie!"

"I beg your pardon, uncle, I did not hear your approach. Good morning, Captain Fraser," she continued, turning to the visitor with a laugh, and holding out her hand. "I am not in general so easily alarmed; did you and uncle enter purposely on tiptoe?"

The young officer cast upon the speaker a look of unmistakable admiration, which deepened the flush on her cheek, but he did not possess the tact with which to relieve the young lady and place her at her ease with a retort as playful as her own.

Colonel Herbert was, however, more ready.

"Well, upon my word, Mary, you must have a very vivid imagination to picture to yourself a stout old fellow like me tripping along the carpet on tiptoe;" and her uncle's merry laugh restored Mary's self-possession at once. "But now," he continued, "let me tell you the object which brought us here. Would you like to join us in a canter this morning in the Row? Captain Fraser and I have just been inspecting Daisy, she has quite recovered from the effects of her journey by train, and I have desired the groom to bring her round in half an hour; can you be ready?"

"Oh yes, uncle, thank you, I shall be delighted, if aunt Helen approves."

"Aunt Helen is here to speak for herself;" and Mrs Herbert entered the room as she thus announced her presence.

"Of course I approve; go, darling, and dress quickly; an hour's ride will do you good after such a long practice."

"Mary was not practising when we entered the room," said her uncle, "but lost in contemplation of our London landscape--quite a compliment to Hyde Park I consider it."

"I am afraid I was making comparisons in my mind not very complimentary to the Park, uncle, but I shall enjoy my ride nevertheless." And the young girl ran gaily out of the room without waiting for a reply.

During the time the gentlemen had been in the room Captain Fraser had not spoken; indeed, in reply to Mary he had only bowed a silent good morning. Now, however, he entered into conversation with Mrs. Herbert, showing that he could make himself in a certain sense agreeable as a companion.

Mary had met him twice already during the few days she had been in Park Lane, but while the memory of a gentleman who could fascinate her with his conversation on intellectual and poetical subjects was still fresh, the style in which Captain Fraser made himself agreeable was not likely to attract Mary Armstrong.

"I'm afraid--aw--we alarmed--aw--Miss Armstrong this morning," said the young man, pulling violently at his whiskers as he spoke.

"My niece is not easily frightened, Captain Fraser."

"No--aw--not exactly frightened, but startled I mean--aw--just for a minute, and she turned it off--aw--and laughed as she spoke in such a captivating manner that--aw--there was nothing left for a fellah to say."

"But you should say something, and not allow young ladies to have it all their own way, Captain Fraser."

"Oh dear me--aw--I couldn't possibly; besides--aw--Mrs. Herbert, I don't think--aw--I ever saw a handsomer girl in my life--aw--than Miss Armstrong; but now I don't mind telling you, she's so clever--aw--that I'm half afraid to speak to her."

"Ah, well, you can get better acquainted with her this morning during your ride; she is perfectly at home on horseback, and a fearless rider."

"I believe that Miss Armstrong is clever in everything that she does,"

replied the young officer, with another firm tug at his whiskers.

The appearance of the young lady in equestrian attire, and the announcement that the horses were at the door, aroused the young man to offer his a.s.sistance. He escorted Mary to the entrance, and was ready and eager to be allowed to mount her; but he got so confused, and appeared so awkward about the matter, that Mary felt afraid to place her foot in his hand, and said quickly, "Thank you very much, Captain Fraser, but I am so used to be mounted by my uncle, pray do not trouble yourself to help me."

He drew back instantly to give place to Colonel Herbert, and looked so intensely miserable that Mary's kind heart pitied him, and she determined during her ride to endeavour by her attention to him to restore his self-appreciation.

But Mary made very little progress towards the completion of her object.

She addressed her conversation almost entirely to him while walking their horses; she tried various topics, but none proved of any interest until a friend whom they met admired Mary's beautiful grey mare, who pranced, and tossed her head, and curved her sleek neck as if she knew that she carried her young mistress, and considered herself and her rider the most attractive objects in the Park.

This notice of Daisy by the colonel's friend loosened Captain Fraser's tongue, and for the remainder of the ride he entertained his companion with descriptions of the turf, and advice about the treatment of horses, which to Mary were as incomprehensible as if uttered in Sanscrit. But this subject, so familiar to the young officer, set him at his ease, and by the time he reached home the shy awkwardness of the morning had quite disappeared.

When he joined them in the evening, Mary, whom he had taken down to dinner, found his loquacity almost as painful to endure as his shyness.

The long drawn out words, the constant repet.i.tion of "aw, aw," and the affected lackadaisical style of manner and speech, annoyed Mary even while it amused her. Indeed, at last nothing but the recollection that he was her uncle's guest could influence her to endure his society.

Gladly did she hail her aunt's signal to leave the dinner-table, and had she been alone would have openly expressed to Mrs. Herbert her opinion of their visitor. But quietly leaning back in her chair while the elder ladies talked, Mary Armstrong began to reflect. Had she any right to despise this young captain because he had peculiarities and foibles? She had heard her aunt say that Reginald Fraser had been motherless from his birth, and to his father's neglect might be attributed much that was disagreeable or affected in his manners, which in other respects she was obliged to acknowledge were those of a gentleman. "Would my dear grandfather have approved of my treating this young man with contempt?"

she asked herself. "With all his plain country manners he was a true Christian gentleman, one of those who would not for the world say or do anything to pain or mortify another. Again, how would Henry Halford treat Reginald Fraser?" she asked herself. The answer was plain; she knew how he would have acted, for Mr. Henry Halford would not forget the advantages of his own happy home, and the careful training he had received from his own mother. Thus reasoning, Mary Armstrong decided that during her visit to Park Lane she would bear with this weak-minded young man, and treat him kindly in spite of his foibles.

But too much crooked policy exists in the world for straightforward conduct and honest intentions to meet with a due reward.

Mary's innocent, unsuspecting proceedings were mistaken by Captain Fraser for a growing attachment to himself.

During the month of her stay in Park Lane she had been a.s.sociated with many men and women belonging to the best society, and more than one of the former had been attracted by the colonel's niece, and were ready to offer her a position in society quite sufficient to satisfy her father's pride.

But there was something in the manner of Mary Armstrong which repelled foolish flirtation, and completely prevented any attentions of a more honourable nature. These gentlemen were too greatly superior to Reginald Fraser for her to venture the kind of patronising notice she bestowed upon the tall, effeminate young soldier. And yet in her innocent ignorance of the world she was preparing for herself a bitter and unexpected trial.

On Mary's last evening at Park Lane no other visitor had been admitted excepting Captain Fraser, and after playing and singing, _to him_ (as he thought), all the evening, she felt tired of his exclusive attention, and rose to retire, something in his manner of bidding her farewell made her say to herself as she ascended the stairs, "Well, I am glad that's over; I do not think I could endure Captain Fraser's society for another day; and then to think that he should have the impertinence to squeeze my hand! At all events, uncle and aunt can never accuse me of being rude to their visitor."

Poor Mary! had she been able to hear the conversation that took place in the drawing-room on that evening, great would have been her surprise and regret. Captain Fraser only stayed a few moments after Mary had left the room, and when he was gone Colonel Herbert returned to his wife with a serious face, and said--

"Well, Helen, what do you think Armstrong will say to this?"