_ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.
Graeme had rejoiced over her sister's return, "heart-free and fancy-free," rather more than was reasonable, seeing that the danger to her freedom of heart and fancy was as great at home as elsewhere, and, indeed, inevitable anywhere, and, under certain circumstances, desirable, as well. A very little thing had disturbed her sense of security before many weeks were over, and then, amid the mingling of anxiety and hope which followed, she could not but feel how vain and foolish her feeling of security had been. It was the look that had come into Charlie Millar's face one day, as his eye fell suddenly on the face of Rose. Graeme's heart gave a sudden throb of pain and doubt, as she saw it, for it told her that a change was coming over their quiet life, and her own experience made it seem to her a change to be dreaded.
There had been a great snow-shoe race going on that day, in which they were all supposed to be much interested, because Master Albert Grove was one of the runners, and had good hope of winning a silver medal which was to be the prize of the foremost in the race. Graeme and Rose had come with his little sisters to look, on, and Rose had grown as eager and delighted as the children, and stood there quite unconscious of the admiration in Charlie's eyes, and of the shock of pain that thrilled at her sister's heart. It was more than admiration that Graeme saw in his eyes, but the look passed, and he made no movement through the crowd toward them, and everything was just as it had been before, except that the thought had come into Graeme's mind, and could not quite be forgotten again.
After that the time still went quietly on, and Charlie came and went, and was welcomed as before; but Graeme looking on him now with enlightened eyes, saw, or thought she saw, more and more clearly every day, the secret that he did not seem in haste to utter. And every day she saw it with less pain, and waited, at last, glad and wondering, for the time when the lover's word should change her sister's shy and somewhat stately courtesy into a frank acceptance of what could not but be precious, Graeme thought, though still unknown or unacknowledged. And then the mention of Amy Roxbury's name, and the talk that followed, startled her into the knowledge that she had been dreaming.
"Rose," said she, after they had been up-stairs for some time, and were about to separate for the night, "what was the matter with Harry this evening?"
"What, indeed?" said Rose, laughing. "He was quite out of sorts about something."
"I did not think he knew the Roxburys. He certainly has not known them long," said Graeme.
"No, not very long--at least, not Miss Amy, who has only just returned home, you know. But I think she was not at the root of his trouble; at least, not directly. I think he has found out a slight mistake of his, with regard to 'his friend and partner.' That is what vexed him," said Rose.
"I don't know what you mean?" said Graeme, gravely. "I should think Harry could hardly be seriously mistaken in his friend by this time, and certainly I should not feel inclined to laugh at him."
"Oh! no. Not
seriously mistaken; and I don't think he was so much vexed at the mistake, as that I should know it."
"I don't understand you," said Graeme.
"It does not matter, Graeme. It will all come out right, I daresay. Harry was vexed because he saw that I was laughing at him, and it is just as well that he should be teased a little."
"Rose, don't go yet. What is there between you and Harry that I don't know about? You would not willingly make me unhappy, Rose, I am sure. Tell me how you have vexed each other, dear. I noticed it to-night, and I have several times noticed it before. Tell me all about it, Rose."
"There is nothing to tell, Graeme, indeed. I was very much vexed with Harry once, but I daresay there was no need for it. Graeme, it is silly to repeat it," added Rose, reddening.
"There is no one to hear but me, dear."
"It was all nonsense. Harry took it into his head that I had not treated his friend well, when he was out West, at Norman's, I mean. Of course, we could not fall into home ways during his short visit there; everything was so different. But I was not 'high and mighty' with him, as Harry declared afterwards. He took me to task, sharply, and accused me of flirting, and I don't know what all, as though that would help his friend's cause, even if his friend had cared about it, which he did not. It was very absurd. I cannot talk about it, Graeme. It was all Harry's fancy. And to-night, when Mr Millar spoke so admiringly of Amy Roxbury, Harry wasn't pleased, because he knew I remembered what he had said, and he knew I was laughing at him. And I fancy he admires the pretty little thing, himself. It would be great fun to see the dear friends turn out rivals, would it not?" said Rose, laughing.
"But that is all nonsense, Rose."
"Of course, it is all nonsense, from beginning to end. That is just what I think, and what I have been saying to you. So don't let us say or think anything more about it. Good-night."
"Good-night. It will all come right, I daresay;" and Graeme put it out of her thoughts, as Rose had bidden her do.
After this, Harry was away for a while, and they saw less of Mr Millar, because of his absence, Graeme thought. He must have more to do, as the busy time of the coming and going of the ships was at hand. So their days passed very quietly, with only common pleasures to mark them, but they were happy days for all that; and Graeme, seeing her sister's half-veiled pleasure when Charlie came, and only half conscious impatience when he stayed away, smiled to herself as she repeated, "It will all come right."
It was a fair April day; a little colder than April days are generally supposed to be, but bright and still--just the day for a long walk, all agreed; and Rose went up-stairs to prepare to go out, singing out of a light heart as she went. Graeme hastened to finish something that she had in her hand, that she might follow, and then a visitor came, and before Rose came down with her hat on, another came; and the one that came last, and stayed longest, was their old friend, and Harry's aversion, Mrs Gridley. Rose had reconciled herself to the loss of her walk, by this time, and listened amused to the various subjects discussed, laying up an item now and then, for Harry's special benefit. There was variety, for this was her first visit for a long time.
After a good many interesting excursions among the affairs of their friends and neighbours, she brought them back in her pleasant way to their own.
"By the by, is it true that young Roxbury is going into business with Mr Millar and your brother?"
"We have not bees informed of any such design," said Rose.
"Your brother is away just now, is he not? Will he return? Young men who have done business elsewhere, are rather in the habit of calling our city slow. I hope your brother Harry does not. Is young Roxbury to take his place in the firm, or are all three to be together?"
"Harry does not make his business arrangements the subject of conversation very often," said Graeme, gravely.
"He is quite right," said Mrs Gridley. "And I daresay, young Roxbury would not be a great acquisition to the firm, though his father's money might. However, some of
that may be got in a more agreeable way. Mr Millar is doing his best, they say. But, Amy Roxbury is little more than a child. Still some very foolish marriages seem to turn out very well. Am I not to see Mrs Elliott, to-day? She is a very devoted mother, it seems."
"She would have been happy to see you, if she had been at home."
"And she is quite well again? What a relief it must be to you," said Mrs Gridley, amiably. "And you are all quite happy together! I thought you were going to stay at the West, Rose?"
"I could not be spared any longer; they could not do without me."
"And are you going to keep house for Harry, at Elphinstone house, or is Mr Millar to have that?"
And so on, till she was tired, at last, and went away.
"What nonsense that woman talks, to be sure!" said Rose.
"Worse than nonsense, I am afraid, sometimes," said Graeme. "Really, Harry's terror of her is not surprising. Nobody seems safe from her tongue."
"But don't let us lose our walk, altogether. We have time to go round the square, at any rate. It is not late," said Rose.
They went out, leaving, or seeming to leave, all thought of Mrs Gridley and her news behind them. They met Fanny returning home, before they had gone far down the street.
"Come with us, Fanny. Baby is all right. Are you tired?" said Rose.
"No, I am not tired. But is it not almost dinner time? Suppose we go and meet Arthur."
"Well--only there is a chance of missing him; and it is much nicer up toward S street. However, we can go home that way. There will be time enough. How delightful the fresh air is, after a whole day in the house!"
"And after Mrs Gridley," said Graeme, laughing.
"Have you had Mrs Gridley?" said Fanny.
"Yes, and columns of news, but it will keep. Is it not nice to be out? I would like to borrow that child's skipping rope, and go up the street as she does."
Fanny laughed. "Wouldn't all the people be amazed? Tell me what news Mrs Gridley gave you."
Rose went over a great many items, very fast, and very merrily.
"All that, and more besides, which Graeme will give you, if you are not satisfied. There is your husband. I hope he may be glad to see us all."
"If he is not, he can go home by himself."
Arthur professed himself delighted, but suggested the propriety of their coming one at a time, after that, so that the pleasure might last longer.
"Very well, one at a time be it," said Rose. "Come, Fanny, he thinks it possible to have too much of a good thing. Let him have Graeme, to-night, and we will take care of ourselves."
They went away together, and Arthur and Graeme followed, and so it happened that Graeme had lost sight of her sister; when she saw something that brought some of Mrs Gridley's words unpleasantly to her mind. They had turned into S street, which was gay with carriages, and with people riding and walking, and the others were at a distance before them under the trees, when Arthur spoke to some one, and looking up, she saw Miss Roxbury, on horseback, and at her side rode Mr Millar. She was startled, so startled that she quite forgot to return Miss Roxbury's bow and smile, and had gone a good way down the street before she noticed that her brother was speaking to her. He was saying something about the possible admission of young Roxbury into the new firm, apropos of the encounter of Mr Millar and Amy.
"Harry is very close about his affairs," said Graeme, with a little vexation. "Mrs Gridley gave us that among other pieces of news, to-day. I am not sure that I did not deny it, decidedly. It is rather awkward when all the town knows of our affairs, before we know them ourselves."
"Awkward, indeed!" said Arthur, laughing. "But then this partnership is hardly our affair, and Mrs Gridley is not all the town, though she is not to be lightlified, where the spreading of news is concerned; and she tells things before they happen, it seems, for this is not settled, yet, and may never be. It would do well for some things."
But Graeme could not listen to this, or to anything else, just then. She was wondering whether Rose had seen Charles Millar and Miss Roxbury, and hoping she had not. And then she considered a moment whether she might not ask Arthur to say nothing about meeting them; but she could not do it without making it seem to herself that she was betraying her sister. And yet, how foolish such a thought was; for Rose had nothing to betray, she said, a little anxiously, to herself. She repeated it more firmly, however, when they came to the corner of the street where Fanny and Rose were waiting for them, and laughing and talking merrily together. If Rose felt any vexation, she hid it well.
"I will ask Fanny whom they met. No, I will not," said Graeme, to herself, again. "Why should Rose care. It is only I who have been foolish. They have known each other so long, it would have happened long ago, if it had been to happen. It would have been very nice for some things. And it might have been, if Rose had cared for him. He cared for her, I am quite sure. Who would not? But she does not care for him. I hope she does not care for him. Oh! I could not go through all that again! Oh, my darling, my darling!"
It was growing dark, happily, or her face might have betrayed what Graeme was thinking. She started a little when her sister said,--
"Graeme, do you think it would be extravagant in me to wish for a new velvet jacket?"
"Not very extravagant just to wish for one," said Graeme, dubiously. Rose laughed.
"I might as well wish for a gown, too, while I am wishing, I suppose, you think. No, but I do admire those little jackets so much. I might cut over my winter one, but it would be a waste of material, and something lighter and less expensive would do. It wouldn't take much, they are worn so small. What do you think about it, Graeme?"
"If you can afford it. They are very pretty, certainly."
"Yes, are they not? But, after all, I daresay I am foolish to wish for one."
"Why, as to that, if you have set your heart on one, I daresay we can manage it between us."
"Oh! as to setting my heart on it, I can't quite say that. It is not wise to set one's heart on what one is not sure of getting--or on things that perish with the using--which is emphatically true of jackets. This one has faded a great deal more than it ought to have done, considering the cost," added she, looking gravely down at her sleeve.
There was no time for more.
"Here we are," said Fanny, as they all came up to the door. "How pleasant it has been, and how much longer the days are getting. We will all come to meet you again, dear. I only hope baby has been good."
"She did not see them," said Graeme, to herself, "or she does not care. If she had seen them she would have said so, of course, unless--. I will watch her. I shall see if there is any difference. But she cannot hide it from me, if she is vexed or troubled. I am quite sure of that."
If there was one among them that night more silent than usual, or less cheerful, it certainly was not Rose. She was just what she always was. She was not lively and talkative, as though she had anything to hide; nor did she go to the piano, and play on constantly and noisily, as she sometimes did when she was vexed or impatient. She was just as usual. She came into Graeme's room and sat down for a few minutes of quiet, just as she usually did. She did not stay very long, but she did not hurry away as though she wished to be alone, and her mind was full of the velvet jacket still, it seemed, though she did not speak quite so eagerly about it as she had done at first. Still it was an important matter, beyond all other matters for the time, and when she went away she laughingly confessed that she ought to be ashamed to care so much about so small a matter, and begged her sister not to think her altogether vain and foolish. And then Graeme said to herself, again, that Rose did not care, she was quite sure, and very glad and thankful.
Glad and thankful! Yet, Graeme watched her sister next day, and for many days, with eyes which even Fanny could see were wistful and anxious. Rose did not see it, or she did not say so. She was not sad in the least degree, yet not too cheerful. She was just as usual, Graeme assured herself many times, when anxious thoughts would come; and so she was, as far as any one could see.
When Mr Millar called the first time after the night when Graeme had met him with Miss Roxbury, Rose was not at home. He had seen her going into the house next door, as he was coming up the street, he told Mrs Elliott, when she wondered what had become of her. She did not come in till late. She had been beguiled into playing and singing any number of duets and trios with the young Gilberts, she said, and she had got a new song that would just suit Fanny's voice, and Fanny must come and try it. And then, she appealed to Arthur, whether it was a proper thing for his wife to give up all her music except nursery rhymes, and carried her in triumph to the piano, where they amused themselves till baby wanted mamma. She was just as friendly as usual with Mr Millar during the short time he stayed after that--rather more so, perhaps, for she reminded him of a book which he had promised to bring and had forgotten. He brought it the very next night, but Rose, unhappily, had toothache, and could not come down. She was not "making believe," Graeme assured herself when she went up-stairs, for her face was flushed, and her hands were hot, and she paid a visit to the dentist next morning. In a day or two Harry came home, and Mr Millar came and went with him as usual, and was very quiet and grave, as had come to be his way of late, and to all appearance everything went on as before.
"Graeme," said Fanny, confidentially, one night when all but Rose were sitting together, "I saw the
prettiest velvet jacket to-day! It was trimmed in quite a new style, quite simply, too. I asked the price."
"And were astonished at its cheapness," said Harry.
"For baby, I suppose?" said Arthur.
"For baby! A velvet jacket! What are you thinking of, Arthur?" said Fanny, answering her husband first. "No, Harry, I was not astonished at the cheapness. But it was a beauty, and not very dear, considering."
"And it is for baby's mamma, then," said Arthur, making believe to take out his pocket book. Fanny shook her head.
"I have any number of jackets," said she.
"But, then, you have worn them any number of times," said Harry.
"They are as good as new, but old-fashioned? Eh, Fanny?" said her husband.
"Three weeks behind the latest style," said Harry.
"Nonsense, Arthur! What do you know about jackets, Harry? But, Graeme, Rosie ought to have it. You know, she wants one so much."
"She spoke about it, I know; but I don't think she really cares for one. At any rate, she has made up her mind to do without one."
"Of course, it would be foolish to care about what she could not get," said Fanny, wisely. "But she would like it, all the same, I am sure."
The velvet jacket had been discussed between these two with much interest; but Rose had given up all thought of it with great apparent reluctance, and nothing had been said about it for some days. Judging from what her own feelings would have been in similar circumstances, Fanny doubted the sincerity of Rose's resignation.
"I believe it is that which has been vexing her lately, though she says nothing," continued she.
"Vexing her," repeated Graeme. "What do you mean, Fanny? What have you seen?"
"Oh! I have seen nothing that you have not seen as well. But I know I should be vexed if I wanted a velvet jacket, and could not get it; at least I should have been when I was a young girl like Rose," added Fanny, with the gentle tolerance of a young matron, who has seen the folly of girlish wishes, but does not care to be hard on them. The others laughed.
"And even later than that--till baby came to bring you wisdom," said her husband.
"And it would be nice if Rosie could have it before the Convocation," continued Fanny, not heeding him. "It would just be the thing with her new hat and grey poplin."
"Yes," said Graeme, "but I don't think Rosie would enjoy it unless she felt that she could quite well afford it. I don't really think she cares about it much."
"I know what you mean, Graeme. She would not like me to interfere about it, you think. But if Arthur or Harry would have the sense to make her a present of it, just because it is pretty and fashionable, and not because she is supposed to want it, and without any hint from you or me, that would be nice."
"Upon my word, Fanny, you are growing as wise as your mamma," said Harry. "A regular manager."
Fanny pouted a little for she knew that her mamma's wisdom and management were not admired. Graeme hastened to interfere.
"It is very nice of you to care so much about it, Fanny. You know Rose is very determined to make her means cover her expenses; but still if, as you say, Harry should suddenly be smitten with admiration for the jacket, and present it to her, perhaps it might do. I am not sure, however. I have my misgivings."
And not without reason. Rose had an allowance, liberal enough, but not too liberal; not so liberal but that taste, and skill, and care were needed, to enable her to look as nice as she liked to look. But more than once she had failed to express, or to feel gratitude to Fanny, in her attempts to make it easier for her, either by an appeal to her brothers, or by drawing on her own means. Even from Graeme, she would only accept temporary assistance, and rather prided herself on the little shifts and contrivances by which she made her own means go to the utmost limit.
But there was no difficulty this time. It all happened naturally enough, and Rose thanked Harry with more warmth than was necessary, in his opinion, or, indeed, in the opinion of Graeme.
"I saw one on Miss Roxbury," said Harry, "or, I ought to say, I saw Miss Roxbury wearing one; and I thought it looked very well, and so did Charlie."
"Oh!" said Rose, with a long breath. "But then you know, Harry dear, that I cannot pretend to such style as Miss Roxbury. I am afraid you will be disappointed in my jacket."
"You want me to compliment you, Rosie. You know you are a great deal prettier than little Amy Roxbury. But she is very sweet and good, if you would only take pains to know her. You would win her heart directly, if you were to try."
"But then I should not know what to do with it, if I were to win it, unless I were to give it away. And hearts are of no value when given by a third person, as nobody should know better than you, Harry, dear. But I shall do honour to your taste all the same; and twenty more good brothers shall present jackets to grateful sisters, seeing how well I look in mine. It is very nice, and I thank you very much."
But she did not look as though she enjoyed it very much, Graeme could not help thinking.
"Of course, she did not really care much to have it. She does not need to make herself fine. I daresay she will enjoy wearing it, however. It is well she can enjoy something else besides finery."
They all went to the Convocation, and Rose wore her new jacket, and her grey poplin, and looked beautiful, the rest thought. The ladies went early with Arthur, but he was called away, and it was a little tedious waiting, or it would have been, only it was very amusing to see so many people coming in, all dressed in their new spring attire. Fanny enjoyed this part of the affair very much, and Rose said she enjoyed it, too, quite as much as any part of the affair; and, by and by, Fanny whispered that there was Harry, with Miss Roxbury.
"I thought Harry was not coming," said she.
"I suppose, he was able to get away after all," said Graeme, and she looked round for Mr Millar. He was not to be seen, but by and by Harry came round to them, to say that there were several seats much better than theirs, that had been reserved for the Roxbury party, because Mr Roxbury had something to do with the College, and Mrs Roxbury wanted them to come round and take them, before they were filled.
"Oh! how charming!" said Rose. "If we only could. We should be quite among the great people, then, which is what I delight in."
"I thought you were not coming, Harry," said Graeme.
"I was afraid I could not get away, but I made out to do so. No, not at Charlie's expense. There he is now, speaking to Mrs Roxbury, and looking about for us, I daresay."
"Well, Fanny, you go on with Harry, and Graeme and I will follow," said Rose. "It would not do to separate, I suppose? Are you sure there is room for all, Harry?"
"Quite sure. No fear; we will make room."
So Harry gave his arm to Fanny, and Graeme rose to follow them, though she would much rather have stayed where she was. When she reached the other end of the long hall, she turned to look for her sister, but Rose had not moved. She could not catch her eye, for her attention was occupied by some one who had taken the seat beside her, and Graeme could not linger without losing sight of Harry and Fanny, for the people were crowding up, now, and only the seats set apart for the students were left vacant. So she was obliged to hasten on.
"I will send Harry back for her," said Graeme, to herself. "Or, perhaps, when Arthur returns, she will cross the hall with him. We have made a very foolish move for all concerned, I think. But Rosie seemed to like the idea, and I did not care. I only hope we are not separated for the whole affair."
But separated for the whole affair they were. Arthur returned, but it was not easy for him to get through the crowd to the place where he had left his wife and sisters, and when he reached it, he saw that it would not be easy to get away again. So as he could see and hear very well where he was, and as Rose seemed quite satisfied with her place, and with the companionship of her little friend, Miss Etta Goldsmith, he contented himself where he was.
Miss Goldsmith had come to town to see her brother take his diploma as doctor of medicine, and she was in a fever of anxiety till "dear Dick," had got his precious bit of parchment in his hands. And after that, till he had performed his duty as orator of his class, and had bidden farewell to each and all, in English so flowing and flowery, that she was amazed, as well as delighted, and very grateful to his classmates for the applause, which they did not spare. Rose sat beside the eager little girl, so grave and pale, by contrast, perhaps, that Arthur leaned over, and asked her if she were ill, or only very tired of it all. Then she brightened.
"There is great deal more of it, is there not? I must not be tired yet. Why don't you find your way over to Fanny and Graeme?"
"Where are they? Ah! yes, I see them over there among the great folks-- and Harry, too, no less, and his friend and partner. And that bonny little Amy is not far-away, I'll venture to say. No. I shall stay where I am for the present."
Miss Goldsmith did not feel bound to be specially interested in anybody or anything, except her big brother and his bit of parchment. And so, when he had given her a nod and a smile, as he came down from the dais, crumpling his papers in his big hands, she was ready to look about and enjoy herself. And to the unaccustomed eyes of the country girl, there was a great deal worth seeing.
"How beautifully the ladies are dressed! How pretty the spring fashions are! I feel like an old dowdy! Who is that lady in blue? What a love of a hat! And your jacket! It is a beauty!"
It was through such a running fire of questions and exclamations that Rose listened to all that was going on. There was a good deal more to be said, for the law students were addressed by a gentleman, whose boast it seemed to be, that he had once been a law student himself. Then they had some Latin muttered over them, and their heads tapped by the Principal, and some one else gave them their bits of parchment, and then their orator spoke their farewell in flowing and flowery English. And "will it ever be done?" thought Rose, with a sigh.
It was not "just the thing," all this discussion of hats and fashions; but little Miss Goldsmith spoke very softly, and disturbed no one, breathed her questions almost, and Rose answered as silently, with a nod, or a smile, or a turn of the eye; and, at any rate, they were not the only people who were thus taking refuge from the dullness of the Dean, and the prosing of the Chancellor, Rose thought to herself; as she glanced about. Arthur whispered that the Chancellor surpassed himself on the occasion, and that even the Dean was not very prosy, and Rose did not dissent, but she looked as if it was all a weariness to her? She brightened a little when it was all over, and they rose to go.
"Go and find Fanny and Graeme," said she to her brother. "Dr Goldsmith will take care of his sister and me."
Dr Goldsmith was nothing loth, and Rose was so engaged in offering her congratulations, and in listening to his replies, and in responding to the greetings of her many friends as she came down into the hall, that she did not notice that Graeme and Mr Millar were waiting for her at the head of the stairs. There was a little delay at the outer door, where there were many carriages waiting. The Roxbury carriage was among the rest, and Miss Roxbury was sitting in it, though Rose could not help thinking she looked as though she would much rather have walked on with the rest, as Harry was so bold as to propose. They were waiting for Mr Roxbury, it seemed, and our party lingered over their last words.
"I will walk on with the Goldsmiths. I have something to say to Etta," said Rose, and before Graeme could expostulate, or, indeed, answer at all, she was gone. The carriage passed them, and Miss Roxbury leaned forward and bowed and smiled, and charmed Miss Goldsmith with her pretty manner and perfect hat. In a little, Harry overtook them. Rose presented him to Miss Goldsmith, and walked on with the Doctor. At the gate of the college grounds, their ways separated.
"Mr Elliott," said Miss Goldsmith, "your sister has almost promised to come and visit us when I go home. I do so want papa and mamma to see her. Brother Dick goes home to-morrow, but I am going to stay a day or two, and then I want Rose to go with me. Do try and persuade Miss Elliott to let her go."
Harry promised, with more politeness than sincerity, saying he had no doubt Graeme would be happy to give Rose the pleasure, and then they got away.
"Papa, and mamma, and brother Dick. I declare it looks serious. What are you meditating, now, Rosie, if I may ask?"
"My dear Harry, if you think by chaff to escape the scolding you know you deserve, you will find yourself mistaken. The idea of your taking Graeme and Fanny away, and leaving me there by myself! I don't know what I should have done if Arthur had not come back. To be sure I had Etta Goldsmith, who is a dear little thing. I don't think her big brother is so very ugly if he hadn't red hair. And he must be clever, or he would not have been permitted to make that speech. His papa and mamma must be delighted. But it was very shabby of you, Harry, to go and leave me alone; was it not, Arthur?"
"But, you might have come, too," said Fanny. "I thought you were following us."
"And so did I," said Graeme.
"Well, dear little Etta Goldsmith pounced upon me the moment you left, and then it was too late. I did not feel sufficiently strong-minded to elbow my way through the crowd alone, or I might have followed you."
"I did not miss you at first," said Harry, "and then I wanted Charlie to go for you, but--"
"He very properly refused. Don't excuse yourself, Harry. And I had set my heart on comparing jackets with Miss Roxbury, too."
"Why did you not stay and speak to her at the door, then?" said Harry, who had rather lost his presence of mind under his sister's reproaches. He had hurried after her, fully intending to take her to task for being so stiff and distant, and he was not prepared to defend himself,--
"Why didn't you wait and speak to her at the door?"
"Oh! you know, I could not have seen it well then, as she was in the carriage. It is very awkward looking up to carriage people, don't you think? And, besides, it would not have been quite polite to the Goldsmiths," added she, severely. "You know they befriended me when I was left alone."
"Befriended you, indeed. I expected every minute to see your feather take fire as he bent his red head down over it. I felt like giving him a beating," said Harry, savagely. Rose laughed merrily.
"My dear Harry! You couldn't do it. He is so much bigger than you. At least, he has greater weight, as the fighting people say."
"But it is all nonsense, Rose. I don't like it. It looked to me, and to other people, too, very much like a flirtation on your part, to leave the rest, and go away with that big--big--"
"Doctor," suggested Rose.
"And we shall have all the town, and Mrs Gridley, telling us next, that you--"
"Harry, dear, I always know when I hear you mention Mrs Gridley's name, that you are becoming incoherent.
I leave
you. Quite the contrary. And please don't use that naughty word in connection with my name again, or I may be driven to defend myself in a way that might not be agreeable to you. Dear me, I thought you were growing to be reasonable by this time. Don't let Graeme see us quarrelling."
"You look tired, dear," said Graeme, as they went up-stairs together.
"Well, it was a little tedious, was it not? Of course, it wouldn't do to say so, you know. However, I got through it pretty well, with little Etta's help. Did you enjoy the Roxbury party much?"
"I kept wishing we had not separated," said Graeme. "Oh! yes, I enjoyed it. They asked us there to-night to meet some nice people, they said. It is not to be a party. Harry is to dine here, and go with us, and so is Mr Millar."
"It will be very nice, I daresay, only I am so very tired. However, we need not decide till after dinner," said Rose.
After dinner she declared herself too sleepy for anything but bed, and she had a headache, besides.
"I noticed you looked quite pale this afternoon," said Arthur. "Don't go if you are tired. Graeme, what is the use of her going if she does not want to?"
"Certainly, she ought not to go if she is not well. But I think you would enjoy this much, better than a regular party? and we might come home early."
"Oh! I enjoy regular parties only too well. I will go if you wish it, Graeme, only I am afraid I shall not shine with my usual brilliancy-- that is all!"
"I hope you are really ill," said Harry. "I mean, I hope you are not just making believe to get rid of it."
"My dear Harry! Why, in all the world, should I make believe not well 'to get rid of it,' as you so elegantly express it? Such great folks, too!"
"Harry, don't be cross," said Fanny. "I am sure I heard you say, a day or two since, that Rose was looking thin."
"Harry, dear!" said Rose, with effusion, "give me your hand. I forgive you all the rest, for that special compliment. I have had horrible fears lately that I was getting stout--middle-aged looking, as Graeme says. Are you quite sincere in saying that, or are you only making believe?"
"I didn't intend it as a compliment, I assure you. I didn't think you were looking very well."
"Did you not? What would you advise? Should I go to the country; or should I put myself under the doctor's care? Not our big friend, whom you were going to beat," said Rose, laughing.
"I think you are a very silly girl," said Harry, with dignity.
"You told me that once before, don't you remember? And I don't think you are at all polite,--do you, Fanny? Come up-stairs, Graeme, and I will do your hair. It would not be proper to let Harry go alone. He is in a dreadful temper, is he not?" And Rose made a pretence of being afraid to go past him. "Mr Millar, cannot you do or say something to soothe your friend and partner?"
Harry might understand all this, but Graeme could not, and she did not like this mood of Rose at all. However, she was very quiet; as she dressed her sister's hair, and spoke of the people they had seen in the afternoon, and of the exercises at the college, in her usual merry way. But she did not wish to go out; she was tired, and had a headache, listening to two or three things at one time, she said, and if Graeme could only go this once without her, she would be so glad. Graeme did not try to persuade her, but said she must go to bed, and to sleep at once, if she were left at home, and then she went away.
She did not go very cheerfully. She had had two or three glimpses of her sister's face, after she had gone to the other side of the hall with Harry, before Miss Goldsmith had commenced her whispered confidences to Rose, and she had seen there a look which brought back her old misgivings that there was something troubling her darling. She was not able to put it away again. The foolish, light talk between Rose and Harry did not tend to re-assure her, and when she bade her sister good-night, it was all that she could do not to show her anxiety by her words. But she only said, "good-night, and go to sleep," and then went down-stairs with a heavy heart. She wanted to speak with Harry about the sharp words that had more than once passed between him and Rose of late; but Mr Millar walked with them, and she could not do so, and it was with an anxious and preoccupied mind that she entered Mr Roxbury's house.
The drawing-room was very handsome, of course, with very little to distinguish it from the many fine rooms of her friends. Yet when Graeme stood for a moment near the folding-doors, exchanging greetings with the lady of the house, the remembrance of one time, when she had stood there before, came sharply back to her, and, for a moment, her heart grew hot with the angry pain and shame that had throbbed in it then. It was only for a moment, and it was not for herself. The pain was crossed by a thrill of gladness, for the more certain knowledge that came to her that for herself she was content, that she wished nothing changed in her own life, that she had outlived all that was to be regretted of that troubled time. She had known this before, and the knowledge came home to her joyfully as she stood there, but it did not lighten her burden of dread of what might lie in the future for her sister.
It did not leave her all the evening. She watched the pretty, gentle Amy, flitting about among her father's guests, with a feeling which, but for the guileless sweetness of the girl's face, the innocent unconsciousness of every look and movement, might have grown to bitterness at last. She watched her ways and words with Mr Millar, wishing, in her look or manner, to see some demand for his admiration and attention, that might excuse the wandering of his fancy from Rose. But she watched in vain. Amy was sweet and modest with him as with others, more friendly and unreserved than with most, perhaps, but sweet and modest, and unconscious, still.
"She is very like Lily Elphinstone, is she not?" said her brother Harry in her ear.
She started at his voice; but she did not turn toward him, or remove her eyes from the young girl's face.
"She is very like Lily--in all things," said Graeme; and to herself she added, "and she will steal the treasure from my darling's life, as Lily stole it from mine--innocently and unconsciously, but inevitably still-- and from Harry's, too, it may be."
And, with a new pang, she turned to look at her brother's face; but Harry was no longer at her side. Mr Millar was there, and his eyes had been following hers, as Harry's had been.
"She is very sweet and lovely--very like Lily, is she not?" he whispered.
"Very like her," repeated Graeme, her eyes closing with a momentary feeling of sickness.
"You are very tired of all this, I am afraid," said he.
"Very tired! If Harry only would take me home!"
"Shall I take you home? At least, let me take you out of the crowd. Have you seen the new picture they are all talking about? Shall I take you up-stairs for a little while."
Graeme rose and laid her hand on his arm, and went up-stairs in a dream. It was all so like what had been before--the lights, and the music, and the hum of voices, and the sick pain at her heart; only the pain was now for Rose, and so much worse to bear. Still in a dream, she went from picture to picture, listening and replying to she knew not what; and she sat down, with her eyes fixed on one beautiful, sad face, and prayed with all her heart, for it was Rosie's face that looked down at her from the canvas; it was Rosie's sorrow that she saw in those sweet, appealing eyes.
"Anything but this great sorrow," she was saying in her heart, forgetting all else in the agony of her entreaty; and her companion, seeing her so moved, went softly away. Not very far, however. At the first sound of approaching footsteps he was at her side again.
"That is a very sad picture, I think," she said, coming back with an effort to the present. "I have seen it once before."
Charlie did not look at the picture, but at her changing face. An impulse of sympathy, of admiration, of respect moved him. Scarce knowing what he did, he took her hand, and, before he placed it within his arm, he raised it to his lips.
"Miss Elliott," murmured he, "
you will never take your friendship from me, whatever may happen?"
She was too startled to answer for a moment, and then they were in the crowd again. What was he thinking of! Of Allan and the past, or of Rose and Amy and the future? A momentary indignation moved her, but she did not speak, and then little Amy was looking up in her face, rather anxiously and wistfully, Graeme thought.
"You are not going away, Miss Elliott, are you?" said she.
"I am very tired," said Graeme. "Oh! here is my brother. I am very sorry to take you away, Harry, but if you don't mind much, I should like to go home. Will you make my adieux to your mother, Miss Roxbury?--No, please do not come up-stairs. I would much rather you did not. Good-night."
"You might at least have been civil to the little thing," growled Harry, as she took his arm when they reached the street. Graeme laughed.
"Civil!" she repeated and laughed again, a little bitterly. "Oh! Harry, dear! there are so many things that you cannot be supposed to know. But, indeed, I did not mean to be uncivil to the child."
"Then you were uncivil without meaning it," said Harry, sharply.
Graeme was silent a moment.
"I do not choose to answer a charge like that," said she. "I beg your pardon, Graeme, but--"
"Harry, hush! I will not listen to you."
They did not speak again till they reached home. Then Graeme said,--
"I must say something to you, Harry. Let us walk on a little. It is not late. Harry, what is the trouble between you and Rose?"
"Trouble!" repeated Harry, in amazement. "Do you mean because she fancied herself left alone this afternoon?"
"Of course I do not mean that. But more than once lately you have spoken to each other as though you were alluding to something of which I am ignorant--something that must have happened when you were away from home--at the West, I mean--something which I have not been told."
"Graeme, I don't understand what you mean. What could possibly have happened which has been concealed from you? Why don't you ask Rose?"
"Because I have not hitherto thought it necessary to ask any one, and now I prefer to ask you. Harry, dear, I don't think it is anything very serious. Don't be impatient with me."
"Has Rose been saying anything to you?"
"Nothing that I have not heard you say yourself. You accused her once in my hearing of being too fond of admiration, of--of flirting, in short--"
"My dear Graeme! I don't think I ever made any such assertion--at least in a way that you or Rose need to resent--or complain of."
"Rose does not complain of it, she laughs at it. Harry, dear, what is it? Don't you remember one night when something was said about Mrs Gridley--no, don't be impatient. You were annoyed with Rose, then, and it was not about anything that was said at the time, at least I thought not. I don't wish to seem prying or inquisitive, but what concerns Rose is a great matter to me. She is more to me than any one."
"Graeme," said Harry, gravely, "you don't suppose that I love Rose less than you do. I think I know what you mean, however. I annoyed her once by something I said about Charlie, but it was only for the moment. I am sure she does not care about that now."
"About Charlie!" repeated Graeme.
"Yes; you did not know it, I suppose, but it was a serious matter to Charlie when you and Rose went away that time. He was like a man lost. And I do believe she cared for him, too--and I told him so--only she was such a child."
"You told him so!" repeated Graeme, in astonishment.
"I could not help it, Graeme. The poor fellow was in such a way, so--so miserable; and when he went West last winter, it was more to see Rose than for anything else. But he came back quite downhearted. She was so much run after, he said, and she was very distant with him. Not that he said very much about it. But when I went out there afterwards, I took her to task sharply about it."
"Harry! How could you?"
"Very easily. It is a serious thing when a girl plays fast and loose with a man's heart, and such a man as Charlie. And I told her so roundly."
"And how did she take it?" asked Graeme, in a maze between astonishment and vexation.
"Oh! she was as high and mighty as possible, called my interference rudeness and impertinence, and walked out of the room like an offended princess--and I rather think I had the worst of it," added Harry, laughing at the remembrance. "But I don't bear malice, and I don't think Rose does."
"Of course, she does not. But Harry, dear, though I should not call your interference impertinent in any bad sense, I must say it was not a very wise thing to take her to task, as you call it. I don't believe Mr Millar ever said a word to her about--about his feelings, and you don't suppose she was going to confess, or allow you to scold her about--any one."
"Now; Graeme, don't be missish! 'Never said a word!'--Why, a blind man might have seen it all along. I know we all looked upon her as a child, but a woman soon knows when a man cares for her."
"No wise woman will acknowledge it to another till she has been told so in words; at least she ought not," said Graeme, gravely.
"Oh, well!--there is no use talking. Perhaps I was foolish; but I love Charlie, dearly. I daresay Rose thinks herself too good for him, because he does not pretend to be so wonderfully intellectual as some of her admirers do, and you may agree with her. But I tell you, Graeme, Charlie is pure gold. I don't know another that will compare with him, for everything pure and good and high-minded--unless it is our own Will; and it is so long since we have seen him, we don't know how he may be changed by this time. But I can swear for Charlie."
"You don't need to swear to me, Harry. You know well I have always liked Charlie."
"Well, it can't be helped now. Charlie has got over it. Men
do get over these things, though it doesn't seem possible to them at the time," added Harry, meditatively. "I was rather afraid of Rosie's coming home, and I wanted Charlie to go to Scotland, then, but he is all right now. Of course you are not to suppose that I blame Rose. Such things will happen, and it is well it is no worse. It is the way with those girls not to know or value true worth because they see it every day."
"Poor Charlie!" said Graeme, softly.
"Oh, don't fret about Charlie. He is all right now. He is not the man to lose the good of his life because a silly girl doesn't know her own mind. 'There's as good fish in the sea,' you know. If you are going to be sorry for any one, let it be for Rosie. She has lost a rare chance for happiness in the love of a good man."
"But it may not be lost," murmured Graeme.
"I am afraid it is," said Harry, gravely. "It is not in Rose to do justice to Charlie. Even you don't do it, Graeme. Because he lives just a commonplace life, and buys and sells, and comes and goes, like other men, you women have not the discrimination to see that he is one of a thousand. As for Rose, with her romance, and her nonsense, she is looking for a hero and a paladin, and does not know a true heart when it is laid at her feet. I only hope she won't wait for the 'hats till the blue-bonnets go by,' as Janet used to say."
"As I have done, you would like to add," said Graeme, laughing, for her heart was growing light. "And Harry, dear, Rosie never had anybody's heart laid at her feet. It is you who are growing foolish and romantic, in your love for your friend."
"Oh! well. It doesn't matter. She will never have it now. Charlie is all right by this time. Her high and mighty airs have cured him, and her flippancy and her love of admiration. Fancy her walking off to-day with that red-headed fool and quite ignoring Mrs Roxbury and her daughter, when they--Miss Roxbury, at least--wanted to see her to engage her for this evening."
"He is not a fool, and he cannot help his red hair," said Graeme, laughing, though there was both sadness and vexation in her heart. "The Goldsmiths might have called her 'high and mighty' if she had left them and gone quite out of her way, as she must have done, to speak to those 'fine carriage people.' She could only choose between the two parties, and I think politeness and kindness suggested the propriety of going on with her friends, not a love of admiration, as you seem determined to suppose."
"She need not have been rude to the Roxburys, however. Charlie noticed it as well as I."
"I think you are speaking very foolishly, Harry," said Graeme. "What do the Roxburys care for any of us? Do you suppose Mrs Roxbury would notice a slight from a young girl like Rose. And she was not rude."
"No, perhaps not; but she was polite in a way so distant and dignified, so condescending, even, that I was amazed, and so was Charlie, I know, though he did not say so."
"Nonsense, Harry! Rose knows them, but very slightly. And what has Mr Millar to do with it?"
"Mr Millar!" exclaimed Harry. "Do be reasonable, Graeme. Is it not of Mr Millar that we have been speaking all this time? He has everything to do with it. And as for not knowing them. I am sure Rose was at first delighted with Miss Roxbury. And Amy was as delighted with her, and wanted to be intimate, I know. But Rose is such a flighty, flippant little thing, that--"
"That will do, Harry. Such remarks may be reserved for Mr Millar's hearing. I do not choose to listen to them. You are very unjust to Rose."
"It is you who are unjust, Graeme, and unreasonable, and a little out of temper, which does not often happen with you. I am sure I don't understand it."
Graeme laughed.
"Well, perhaps I am a little out of temper, Harry. I know I am dreadfully tired. We won't say anything more about it to-night, except that I don't like to have Rose misunderstood."
"I was, perhaps, a little hard on Rosie, once, but I don't think I misunderstand her," said Harry, wisely. "She is just like other girls, I suppose; only, Graeme, you have got me into the way of thinking that my sisters should not be just like other girls, but a great deal better in every way. And I shan't be hard on her any more, now that it is all right with Charlie."
But was it all right with Charlie? Graeme's talk with Harry had not enlightened her much. Had pretty, gentle Amy Roxbury helped Charlie "to get over it;" as Harry's manner of speaking seemed to imply? Or did Charlie still care for Rose? And had Rose ever cared for him "in that way?" Was Rose foolish, and flippant, and fond of admiration, as Harry declared; and was she growing dissatisfied with their quiet, uneventful life? Was it this that had brought over her the change which could not be talked about or noticed, which, at most times, could not be believed in, but which, now and then, made itself evident as very real and very sad? Or was it something else that was bringing a cloud and a shadow over the life of her young sister? Even in her thoughts, Graeme shrunk from admitting that Rose might be coming to the knowledge of her own heart too late for her happiness.
"I will not believe that she has all that to pass through. It cannot be so bad as that. I will have patience and trust. I cannot speak to her. It would do no good. I will wait and trust."
Graeme sat long that night listening to the quiet breathing of her sleeping sister; but all the anxious thoughts that passed through her mind, could only end in this: "I will wait and trust." _