Love Me Little, Love Me Long Part 32

Eve knew what was in the man's blood. She sat trembling at home till she could bear it no longer. She put on her bonnet, and sallied out on the road to Royston, determined to stop the carriage, profess to have business at Royston, and take a seat beside Mr. Fountain. She felt that the very sight of her might prevent David from committing any great rashness or folly. On reaching the high road, she observed a fresh track of narrow wheels, that her rustic experience told her could only be those of a four-wheeled carriage, and, making inquiries, she found she was too late; carriage and riders had gone on before.

Her heart sank. Too late by a few minutes; but somehow she could not turn back. She walked as fast as she could after the gay cavalcade, a prey to one of those female anxieties we have all laughed at as extravagant, proved unreasonable, and sometimes found prophetic.

Meantime Lucy and Mr. Talboys cantered gayly along; Mr. Fountain rolled after in a phaeton; the traveling carriage came last. Lucy was in spirits; motion enlivens us all, but especially such of us as are women. She had also another cause for cheerfulness, that may perhaps transpire. Her two companions and unconscious dependents were governed by her mood. She made them larks to-day, as she had owls for some weeks past, last night excepted. She would fall back every now and then, and let Uncle Fountain pa.s.s her; then come das.h.i.+ng up to him, and either pull up short with a piece of solemn information like an _aid-de-camp_ from headquarters, or pa.s.s him shooting a shaft of raillery back into his chariot, whereat he would rise with mock fury and yell a repartee after her. Fountain found himself good company--Talboys himself. It was not the lady; oh dear no! it never is.

At last all seemed so bright, and Mr. Talboys found himself so agreeable, that he suddenly recalled his high resolve not to pop in a county desecrated by Dodds. "I'll risk it now," said he; and he rode back to Fountain and imparted his intention, and the senior nearly bounded off his seat. He sounded the charge in a stage whisper, because of the coachman, "At her at once!"

"Secret conference? hum!" said Lucy, twisting her pony, and looking slyly back.

Mr. Talboys rejoined her, and, after a while, began in strange, melodious accents, "You will leave a blank--"

"Shall we canter?" said Lucy, gayly, and off went the pony. Talboys followed, and at the next hill resumed the sentimental cadence.

"You will leave a sad blank here, Miss Fountain."

"No greater than I found," replied the lady, innocently (?). "Oh, dear!" she cried, with sudden interest, "I am afraid I have dropped my comb." She felt under her hat. [No, viper, you have not dropped your comb, but you are feeling for a large black pin with a head to it.

There, you have found it, and taken it out of your hair, and got it hid in your hand. What is that for?]

"Ten times greater," moaned the honeyed Talboys; "for then we had not seen you. Ah! my dear Miss Fountain--The devil! wo-ho, Goliah!"

For the pony spilled the treacle. He lashed out both heels with a squeak of amazement within an inch of Mr. Talboys' horse, which instantly began to rear, and plunge, and snort. While Talboys, an excellent horseman, was calming his steed, Lucy was condoling with hers. "Dear little naughty fellow!" said she, patting him ["I did it too hard"].

"As I was saying, the blessing we have never enjoyed we do not miss; but, now that you have shone upon us, what can reconcile us to lose you, unless it be the hope that--Hallo!"

Lucy. "Ah!"

The pony was off with a bound like a buck. She had found out the right depth of pin this time. "Ah! where is my whip? I have dropped it; how careless!" Then they had to ride back for the whip, and by this means joined Mr. Fountain. Lucy rode by his side, and got the carriage between her and her beau. By this plan she not only evaded sentiment, but matured by a series of secret trials her skill with her weapon.

Armed with this new science, she issued forth, and, whenever Mr.

Talboys left off indifferent remarks and sounded her affections, she probed the pony, and he kicked or bolted as the case might require.

"Confound that pony!" cried Talboys; "he used to be quiet enough."

"Oh, don't scold him, dear, playful little love. He carries me like a wave."

At this simple sentence Talboys' dormant jealousy contrived to revive.

He turned sulky, and would not waste any more tenderness, and presently they rattled over the stones of Royston. Lucy commended her pony with peculiar earnestness to the ostler. "Pray groom him well, and feed him well, sir; he is a love." The ostler swore he would not wrong her ladys.h.i.+p's nag for the world.

Lucy then expressed her desire to go forward without delay: "Aunt will expect me." She took her seat in the carriage, bade a kind farewell to both the gentlemen now that no tender answer was possible, and was whirled away.

Thus the coy virgin eluded the pair.

Now her manner in taking leave of Talboys was so kind, so smiling (in the sweet consciousness of having baffled him), that Fountain felt sure it all had gone smoothly. They were engaged.

"Well?" he cried, with great animation.

"No," was the despondent reply.

"Refused?" screeched the other; "impossible!"

"No, thank you," was the haughty reply.

"What then? Did you change your mind? Didn't you propose after all?"

"I _couldn't._ That d--d pony wouldn't keep still."

Fountain groaned.

Lucy, left to herself, gave a little sigh of relief. She had been playing a part for the last twenty-four hours. Her cordiality with Mr.

Talboys naturally misled Eve and David, and perhaps a male reader or two. Shall I give the clue? It may be useful to you, young gentlemen.

Well, then, her s.e.x are compounders. Accustomed from childhood never to have anything entirely their own way, they are content to give and take; and, these terms once accepted, it is a point of honor and tact with them not to let a creature see the irksome part of the bargain is not as delicious as the other. One coat of their own varnish goes over the smooth and the rough, the bitter and the sweet.

Now Lucy, besides being singularly polite and kind, was _femme jusqu' au bout des ongles._ If her instincts had been reasons, and her vague thoughts could have been represented by anything so definite as words, the result might have appeared thus:

"A few hours, and you can bore me no more, Mr. Talboys. Now what must I do for you in return? _Seem not to be bored to-day? Mais c'est la moindre des choses. Seem to be pleased with your society?_ Why not?

it is only for an hour or two, and my seeming to like it will not prolong it. My heart swells with happiness at the thought of escaping from you, good bore; you shall share my happiness, good bore. It is so kind of you not to bore me to all eternity."

This was why the last night she sat like Patience on an ottoman smiling on Talboys and racking David's heart; and this was why she made the ride so pleasant to those she was at heart glad to leave, till they tried sentiment on, and then she was an eel directly, pony and all.

Lucy (sola). "That is over. Poor Mr. Talboys! Does he fancy he has an attachment? No; I please and I am courted wherever I go, but I have never been loved. If a man loved me I should see it in his face, I should feel it without a word spoken. Once or twice I fancied I saw it in one man's eyes: they seemed like a lion's that turned to a dove's as they looked at me." Lucy closed her own eyes and recalled her impression: "It must have been fancy. Ought I to wish to inspire such a pa.s.sion as others have inspired? No, for I could never return it. The very language of pa.s.sion in romances seems so extravagant to me, yet so beautiful. It is hard I should not be loved, merely because I cannot love. Many such natures have been adored. I could not bear to die and not be loved as deeply as ever woman was loved. I must be loved, adored and wors.h.i.+ped: it would be so sweet--sweet!" She slowly closed her eyes, and the long lovely lashes drooped, and a celestial smile parted her lips as she fell into a vague, delicious reverie.

Suddenly the carriage stopped at the foot of a hill. She opened her eyes, and there stood David Dodd at the carriage window.

Lucy put her head out. "Why, it is Mr. Dodd! Oh, Mr. Dodd, is there anything the matter?"

"No."

"You look so pale."

"Do I?" and he flushed faintly.

"Which way are you going?"

"I am going home again now," said David, sorrowfully.

"You came all this way to bid me good-by," and she arched her eyebrows and laughed--a little uneasily.

"It didn't seem a step. It will seem longer going back."

"No, no, you shall ride back. My pony is at the White Horse; will you not ride my pony back for me? then I shall know he will be kindly used; a stranger would whip him."

"I should think my arm would wither if I ill-used him."

"You are very good. I suppose it is because you are so brave."

"Me brave? I don't feel so. Am I to tell him to drive on?" and he looked at her with haggard and imploring eyes.

Her eyes fell before his.

"Good-by, then," said she.