The Living Link Part 21

"That is a pity," said Edith.

"Oh, they are so, I do a.s.sure you. Now that is the very thing that I have tried to impress upon the captain. 'My dearest boy,' I have always said, 'mind the ladies. That is the first and highest duty of a true gentleman. Particularly those ladies who are mature. Don't confine your attentions to giddy and thoughtless girls. There are many ladies at every ball of estimable character, and sometimes even of considerable wealth, who deserve your attentions far more than those poor young creatures who have nothing more to recommend them than their childish good looks.' And I trust my son has not failed to profit by my advice.

At b.a.l.l.s he does not often seek out the young, but rather the old.

Indeed, so marked is his preference for married ladies that all the younger ones notice it and resent it, so that they have formed really quite an aversion to him; and now, whether he will or not, he has to dance exclusively with the elder ones. Once he danced with me, and it was a proud moment for me, I a.s.sure you."

"I should think so," said Edith, with a look at Mowbray. "But still, is it not strange that young ladies should refuse to dance with one who is an officer and a gentleman?"

During the whole of this conversation the captain had said nothing, but had been sitting turning over the leaves of a book, and furtively watching Edith's face and manner. When the conversation turned upon him, however, his face flushed, and he looked angrily at Mrs. Mowbray.

At last, as Edith spoke, he started, and said:

"See here, now! I don't think it's altogether the correct thing to make remarks about a gentleman in his presence. I'm aware that ladies are given to gossip, but they generally do it behind a fellow's back. I've done nothing to deserve this just now."

"There was nothing offensive in my remark," said Edith, quietly.

"Oh," said Mrs. Mowbray, "my son is very quick and very sensitive, and very nice on a point of honor. He is the most punc-til-i-ous man you ever saw;" and Mrs. Mowbray held up her hands, lost in amazement at the conception which was in her mind of the punctiliousness of her son.

"But, my dear Miss Dalton," she continued, "he is quick to forgive. He don't bear malice."

"Haven't I said," growled Mowbray, "that I don't like this! Talk of me behind my back, if you choose. You can't imagine that it's particularly pleasant for a fellow to sit here and listen to all that rot."

"But, my son," said Mrs. Mowbray, fondly, "it's all love."

"Oh, bother your love!" muttered this affectionate son.

"Well, then, you naughty, sensitive boy," said Mrs. Mowbray, "I will come here by myself, and tell dear Miss Dalton all about you behind your back. I will tell her about some of your adventures in London, and she will see what a naughty, wicked, rakish fellow you have been. He is sadly like me, dear Miss Dalton--so sensitive, and so fond of society."

Edith gave a polite smile, but said nothing.

Then the conversation lagged for a little while. At length Edith, full of the idea that Wiggins had sent them for some purpose, and desirous of finding out whether her suspicions were correct or not, said, in a careless tone,

"I suppose you know this Wiggins very well?"

"Mr. Wiggins?" said Mrs. Mowbray, quickly. "Oh yes; my son and he often meet, though for my part I know little or nothing about the man."

"Pooh!" cried Mowbray, interrupting her. "Miss Dalton, Mrs. Mowbray is so talkative that she often says things that she does not mean, or, at least, things that are liable to mislead others. I have met Wiggins, it is true, but do not imagine that he is a friend of mine. On the contrary, he has reason to hate me quite as much as he hates you. Your idea of any connection between him and me, which I plainly see you hint at, is altogether wrong, and you would not have even suspected this if you knew me better."

"You came here so easily," said Edith, "that I very naturally supposed that you were on friendly terms."

"I come here easily," said Mowbray, "not because he is my friend, but because he is so afraid of me that he does not dare to keep me back."

"You understand, then," said Edith, "that he keeps others back. If you have such power over him, how is it that you can calmly stand by and see him imprison a free-born and a high-born English lady?"

"Oh," muttered Mowbray, "I don't know any thing about that. He is your guardian, and you are his ward, and the law is a curious thing that I do not understand."

"Yet Mrs. Mowbray says that you are distinguished for your knowledge of legal points," said Edith.

Mowbray made no reply, and in a few moments Mrs. Mowbray rose to go.

"Positively," said she, "my dear Miss Dalton, we must see more of one another; and since your mourning confines you here, I must come often, and I know very well that we shall all be great friends."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BECAUSE I BEAT HIM."]

CHAPTER XVII.

A STROKE FOR LIBERTY.

The Mowbrays came occasionally, but no others ever managed to get through the gates. Edith could not help feeling a sort of resentment against these people, who thus were able to do what no others could do, and came to her so easily whenever they wished. Still she did not think it worth while to refuse to see them. They beguiled the monotony of her life, and she still had a half hope that something might result from their visits. Even if they were in the pay of Wiggins, as she believed, they yet might feel inclined to a.s.sist her, from the hope of larger pay, and she hoped that the occasion might arise in which she might be able to hint at such a thing. As yet they met her on an equal footing, and in spite of her contempt for them, she did not quite like the idea of regularly offering them a bribe to a.s.sist her. Yet she thought that the time might come when she could do so, and this thought sustained her.

In her visits Mrs. Mowbray still prattled and chattered in her usual manner about her usual themes. Dress, society, and the incivility of young men seemed to be her favorite topics. The captain usually came with her, and seemed desirous to do the agreeable to Edith, but either from a natural lack of gallantry, or from the discouraging treatment which he received from her, he was somewhat unsuccessful.

About two months after his first call the captain came alone. He was on horseback, and was accompanied by a magnificent Newfoundland dog, which Edith had noticed once or twice before. On seeing Edith he showed more animation than was usual with him, and evidently was endeavoring, to the best of his power, to make himself agreeable.

"I have come, Miss Dalton," said he, after the usual greetings, "to see if you would do me the honor of going out riding with me."

"Riding?" said Edith; "you are very kind, I am sure; but will you pardon me if I first ask you where you propose to take me?"

"Oh, about the park," said Mowbray, somewhat meekly.

"The park?" said Edith, in a tone of disappointment. "Is that all? Why, Captain Mowbray, this park is only my jail yard, and to go about it can not be very pleasant, to a prisoner, either on horseback or on foot. But surely I do not understand you. I must be too hasty. Of course you mean to do as every gentleman would do, and let the lady select the place where she wishes to go?"

"I a.s.sure you Miss Dalton," said Mowbray, "I should be most happy to do so if I were able; but you are not allowed to go out of the park, you know."

"Who prohibits me, pray?"

"Wiggins."

"Wiggins! And why should you care for any of his regulations? Do you not know who he is, and what he is, and in what position he stands toward me?"

"Oh, well," said Mowbray, in a hesitating voice, "he is your guardian, you know."

"But I am of age," said Edith. "Guardians can not imprison their wards as he imprisons me. I am of age. I own this place. It is mine. He may have some right to attend to its business for the present, but he has no right over me. The law protects me. You know that as well as I do."

"Yes, true; but--ah--you know--ah--you are really so very _peculiarly_ situated, Miss Dalton, that I should not like to do any thing which might compromise your--ah--position."

"Surely, Captain Mowbray, you must now be speaking without thinking. In what way, pray, can it compromise my position to ride with you through the village streets, rather than over the roads of the park?"

"Well--ah--you are in mourning, you know."

"Really I do not see what that has to do with it. If I have the sorrow of bereavement, that is no reason why I should have the additional sorrow of imprisonment."

"Oh, you know, Wiggins would make a fuss about it, and put you to no end of trouble."

Mowbray's unwillingness to help her, and hesitation, had once before roused Edith's indignation; but now she believed him to be in Wiggins's employ, and therefore felt calm, and talked with him chiefly for the sake of seeing what she could get out of him, either in the way of explanation or concession.