Margaret Capel, vol. 3

CHAPTER VIII

El. Lo.    Mistress, I came to see you.

Lady.      That's happily dispatched—the next!

El. Lo.    To take leave of you.

Lady.      You need not have despaired of that, nor have used so many circumstances to win me to give you leave to perform my commands. Is there a third?

El. Lo.    Yes! I had a third, had you been apt to hear it.

Lady.      I? never after—Fast, good servant, fast.

El. Lo.    'Twas to intreat you to hear Reason.

Lady.      Most willingly—have you brought one can speak it?

El. Lo.    Lastly, it is to kindle in that barren heart Love and Forgiveness.

"I am sorry you are going to-morrow," said Mr. Humphries the next morning at breakfast to Mr. Gage; "I wanted you to see my Arab."

"I will ride over this morning," said Mr. Gage, "I have nothing else to do."

"He was so sick on the passage, that they did not think he would have lived," said Mr. Humphries, turning to Margaret. "He's better now."

"Poor creature! I didn't know horses were ever sea-sick," said Margaret.

"They are wonderful animals," said Harriet, "I wish somebody would write a novel about a horse."

"You used to be so fond of horses," said Mr. Singleton.

"So I am, comparatively," said Harriet, glancing around at the gentlemen present.

Margaret had often a hard matter to preserve her gravity, but now she was vexed with Harriet, who had employed herself ever since she came down stairs in petting Mr. Humphries, on purpose to pique Mr. Gage. She offered him cream and sugar; she gave him advice about his diet; showed him the best way to eat a smelt; fussed about his toast; and took more trouble to make him comfortable, than she had ever done with anybody before.

Mr. Singleton, from his partiality to Mr. Humphries, took it all in good part; but Mr. Gage looked very cloudy. He rose as soon as possible and left the table, and walked up and down the room, keeping his eyes fixed upon Mr. Humphries and Harriet.

Harriet rose and looked about among the dishes.

"You can tell me, Mr. Humphries," she said, "what is the best thing I can give my terrier. He only eats twice a day, and I never let him touch raw meat."

"Oh! I don't know—I—it does not matter what you give him," said Mr. Humphries.

"A slice of this cold beef then," said Harriet, "will you cut it for me?"

Mr. Humphries complied; nearly cut his own hand, as might have been expected, but succeeded in getting off a slice.

"A little bit more," said Harriet, looking coaxingly at him.

"Oh! upon my word, that is plenty!" said Mr. Humphries.

"No, just one little bit," said Harriet stretching out the plate.

Mr. Humphries laughed awkwardly and cut it.

"You will spoil your dog, you know," he said.

During this little bit of coquetry, on her part, Mr. Gage had been increasing in rage, but she passed close to him without seeming to be aware of his presence, and left the room.

Her dog was fastened up in a small summer-room that looked into the garden, because it had a fancy for quarrelling with one of Mr. Humphries' spaniels that he had brought with him.

Harriet unfastened the little sinner, and it bounded up and down like a ball. She put the plate on a ledge under the window, and began to cut the meat into small pieces. While she was thus employed, Mr. Gage came abruptly into the room, and stood before her.

"Take care of the dog," said Harriet, stooping down, and catching Donald by the collar; "he is apt to snap at strangers."

"Strangers!" exclaimed Mr. Gage, in great indignation. "This from you, Harriet! But you have deceived me—made me wretched long enough. It is well that all is at an end!"

Harriet stood up. To do her justice, she tried to look as grave as she could, though she had a great inclination to laugh.

"I did not give you credit, Sir, for knowing so much of your profession," she said, coolly; "you have learned, I see, that it is a better plan to attack than to defend."

"I—what have I to defend?" said Mr. Gage. "Can you deny that you long made me believe you were going to be married to Lord Raymond?"

"Really, Mr. Gage," said Harriet, "your remarks are very original; unexpected, at least. I believe, for a long time we have had as little confidential communication as any two persons in the world. People were at liberty to conjecture what they pleased from Lord Raymond's intimacy with my family."

"People!" echoed Mr. Gage, highly offended at being thus classed with the multitude.

"Men, women and children!" said Harriet, very contentedly, and turning to the window ledge, she began to give Donald his dinner.

Mr. Gage's indignation was now at its height; but he endeavoured to veil it under an appearance of great calmness. Harriet, as cool as himself, went on mincing Donald's cold beef.

At last he said, that if it was not taxing her memory too far, he should be glad to know her motive for allowing Lord Raymond to be recognized as her lover; had she preferred Lord Raymond, he should have respected the feeling, although he should not, certainly, have thought very highly of her taste.

"As that preference has been entirely a little fancy of your own," said Harriet, with spirit; "I think it not worth while to defend my taste on an imaginary point."

"Still," said Mr. Gage, "you suffered me to remain in error on a subject which you well knew to be of great importance to my happiness."

"As I am not appointed guardian to your happiness, Mr. Gage," said Harriet, with mock civility, "I do not feel any remorse upon that point. If you chose to compliment my taste, by inventing an attachment between me and a remarkably attractive man, I will take this opportunity, if you please, of returning you my best thanks."

Mr. Gage looked still more stormy, but he seemed determined, in popular phrase, to "have his say out."

"You never were attached to Lord Raymond then?" he said.

"Never, as it happened," returned Harriet, with great indifference.

"Then why give me to understand—" Mr. Gage began.

"Stop there!" said Harriet, "don't ring the changes, my good friend, upon your misapprehension. I was not likely to tell you, of all people, my family secrets. Lord Raymond was always on an intimate footing with me. I could not remove the confusion in his affairs, nor help his mother dying at the wrong time: and these were the only things that prevented his marriage with Lucy from taking place earlier."

"You knew when I was at Chirke Weston," said Mr. Gage, "that my feelings towards you had undergone no change, and yet you not only suffered me to be in an error, but you encouraged my belief that you were engaged to that man to the utmost of your power."

"Well," said Harriet, "I am not going to tell any lies. Perhaps, I did. I was rather amused to see you making a blunder."

"You confess it," said Mr. Gage; "and now you are acting the same part with that wretched idiot, Humphries; though you still see that I cannot forget you, as I wish to Heaven I could."

"Poor dear Mr. Humphries!" said Harriet, leaning against the window, and, throwing the pieces of meat slowly to her dog, "he is to be called an idiot, because I am commonly civil to my uncle's guests."

"I suppose I am not to be considered as your uncle's guest?" said Mr. Gage.

"Not when you behave so ill," returned Harriet.

"I—what have I done?" asked Mr. Gage.

"Recollect the ball, Sir!" said Harriet; "remember how you tricked me into dancing with you."

Mr. Gage smiled a little. "Allow that you brought it on yourself," said he. "You could not dance with Sir Hawarth."

"Could not?" asked Harriet. "I imagine I have every right to please myself in such things. Besides, you have been very rude to me ever since you came; and did not leave the house when I desired you."

"You know that it was impossible," said Mr. Gage; "besides, I gave you my reasons for not obeying you."

"I did not want any reasons," said Harriet.

"I believe you," said Mr. Gage; "but Miss Capel was evidently on my side then, as well as at the ball. I wish you would speak to her on the subject. I never met any woman with more delicacy of feeling."

"It is a pity you don't marry her, then, if you think so highly of her;" said Harriet, perversely.

"I did not come here to marry Miss Capel, but to marry you," replied Mr. Gage, coldly.

The deepest carmine colour flew into Harriet's face, but she still remained pelting her dog with the little pieces of meat. Mr. Gage stood waiting to hear what she would say.

"Ah! but George, do you mean it?" said Harriet, looking up archly in his face.

"Do I mean it?" asked Mr. Gage; "when I give you the power of rejecting my hand again."

This was so characteristic of the degree of estimation in which Mr. Gage held himself, that Harriet burst into a prolonged peal of laughter.

"Well, then, George," said she, holding out her hand.

"Well, then, Harriet," he replied, clasping it.

"But I tell you what," said Harriet, as she was leaving the room, "you may go and make your own story good to my Uncle Singleton, for if you think I shall take all that trouble, you will find yourself very much mistaken."

The next report current in the house was that Mr. Gage's horses were not going to Chirke Weston; and the presumption, therefore, was, that their master had determined to prolong his stay at Singleton Manor.

CHAPTER IX

"You are not going away on Saturday," said Harriet the next morning to Margaret, who was sitting with a letter in her hand, "do not think it. I have made up my mind that you spend Christmas here."

"Rather hard upon Miss Capel," said Mr. Gage, "considering that you will not be here at Christmas."

"Well, I don't know where I am likely to be, if not here," said Harriet; "I think there is some derangement in that family," she added, indicating Mr. Gage by a movement of her head:—"He is like the man in 'Nicholas Nickleby,' he insists upon marrying people, and I am his present object; it will go off, you know. Your turn will come next, Margaret, my dear."

"You are so provoking, Harriet," said Margaret, trying in vain to look grave.

"But why should you go back to this Mrs. Fitzpatrick?" said Harriet.

"Because she is so lonely, Harriet. I told you she had lost her daughter; and I have already been here a long time."

"But supposing we are both foolish enough to keep in the same mind, and marry on the 18th, I shall want you to be bridesmaid," said Harriet.

"I would, gladly," said Margaret, "but I know Mrs. Fitzpatrick really wants me; and I decide in her favour, because you are happy and well, and she is so desolate alone."

"It would give us both so much pleasure if you could stay," said Mr. Gage lowering his newspaper.

"I wonder who he includes so familiarly with himself," said Harriet, "I think it must be Thompson; he is very intimate with his groom. Won't you stay to oblige Thompson?"

Margaret laughing, protested "that she really could not."

Mr. Gage wondered how Harriet could be so ridiculous.

"Thompson and Charlotte are forgiven for the present," said Harriet. "I wondered what made George so very lenient; it seems that he had it in view to commit a similar folly, and that reminds me I must learn to smoke again."

"Oh! do not, Harriet."

"My dear, it is in self-defence; unless, indeed, I break off the match. He lives in a barrack. I dare say his room is not half the size of my uncle's kennel: there he sits with all his intimate friends, smoking till the place is like a lime kiln; if I cannot join them, what is to become of me? Mr. Gage, have you a cigar about you? I will lose no time in learning the art again."

Mr. Gage not noticing the last part of the speech, said "he did not suppose it to be a very likely thing that he should permit his wife to live in a barrack."

"Ah!" said Harriet shaking her head, "I have a conviction, a presentiment, that I shall live in the little lime-kiln we were speaking of. Uncle Singleton always said that would be my fate. And if it was not for the bracelet-watch which George is having made for me, I assure you it weighs so heavily on my spirits, that I would never speak to him again. Just look behind the newspaper, my dear, and see if he is crying."

Mr. Gage dropped the newspaper, and laughed without restraint, but he told Harriet that "she had now effectually frightened Miss Capel from ever coming to see her, when she was settled."

"Oh! I have provided against that;" said Harriet, "I don't know at all what Mr. Gage's plans are; but for myself, I mean to go to Wardenscourt early in the summer. Now I must have you solemnly promise, that directly I summon you, you will instantly join me there. You know Mrs. Fitzpatrick is connected with Lord Raymond, so that if she is invited, I suppose she will make no scruple of accepting; then we will really enjoy ourselves."

"I should like it very much," said Margaret.

"And you promise?"

"Yes, I do, indeed."

Margaret's approaching departure was a source of regret to every one. Harriet told her that they looked upon her as a kind of hostage for her own good behaviour, and that she had some ideas of the same kind herself. She was sure that she should do something outrageous when she was deprived of Margaret's overlooking eye. That neither she, nor Mr. Gage had at all made up their minds, and that she knew there would be a violent quarrel as soon as Margaret was out of the house.

Margaret thought, and said that if Mr. Gage meant to quarrel he would have begun already, for there was not a single means of aggravation that Harriet had left untried ever since her engagement with him.

Sometimes she affected to consider the engagement as a delusion of his own; sometimes she told Margaret that they had agreed to feign it as long as he stayed at Singleton Manor, in order to amuse him; at other times, she said, it was all very well while the fancy lasted, but that George would change his mind in a day or two, and so save her the trouble of formally breaking it off.

Mr. Gage took refuge in the newspaper from all these attacks, and did not seem to think it worth while to be ruffled. Mr. Humphries was constantly at the house during the few last days of Margaret's stay. He looked very sorrowful, but his attempts to propitiate her were confined to a variety of strange faces, and gestures, which to say the truth, she was too much occupied to remark. None regretted her so much as Mrs. Singleton; she had been so attentive to all her wants, and so skilful in making the old lady hear, that she felt in losing Margaret that she was parting with a luxury she could ill afford to do without.

Mason shed some silent tears when she received her orders to pack up. Whether they were on her own, or her young lady's account, she did not explain. She did say while she was packing the trinket-box, that a very general notion had prevailed in the housekeeper's room, that Ixworth—Mr. Humphries' place of residence—was shortly to have a mistress; and she believed it was never supposed likely that Miss Conway would be requested to fill that situation; not, she wished to observe, that any opinion prevailed derogatory to Miss Conway's charms, as might be proved by the circumstance that Mr. Gage had made her an offer—a very difficult and very high gentleman—but she had never heard any harm of Mr. Humphries, and no one in the whole country, she believed, could say any-thing to his disadvantage, which she thought a great thing in favour of a young gentleman with so many clear thousands a-year. That Mr. Humphries' gentleman had remarked, the night that they had all made a party to go to the play at T–, that Mr. Humphries seemed to him to be rather low; and that the butler, who was considered literary, had observed, that "the course of true love never did run smooth;" that the company had not taken the liberty to mention any names, but that she could not deny that several of the party had looked as if they knew the cause of Mr. Humphries' lowness, and of the butler's quotation.

Harriet actually cried when it came to taking leave of Margaret, and between her sobs, affected to be very angry with Mr. Gage that he did not follow her example.

Mr. Gage made a polite speech, of course, and felt it too, which is not the case, with all polite speeches.

Margaret renewed her promise of going to Wardenscourt, twice in the library, and once at the hall door, whither her warm-hearted friend followed her; and then the carriage started from the door.

"Ah! there is poor Mr. Humphries," said Mason, as they swept out of the shrubberies.

Margaret looked up, and beheld the gentleman in question, leaning on a gate with his handkerchief in his hand. There was no time for a bow, so she passed him without his having the comfort of knowing that she had seen him.

They arrived late in the evening at Mrs. Fitzpatrick's. The musical dash of the sea, and the scent of the air, warned Margaret their near approach to home.

Her friend was delighted to receive her back. She had felt her absence more than she had cared to acknowledge in her letters, for fear of interfering with the pleasure of her visit.

Each had much to tell the other, though of a very different kind; and Margaret had several times to repeat the fact that she came back single-hearted. So strange did it seem to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, that her faultless beauty should not have been successfully sought before this.

A slight discrepancy between Mason's and Miss Capel's account made Mrs. Fitzpatrick rather suspicious, and many weeks elapsed, before she could give up the idea that a certain Mr. Humphries was likely to make his appearance at her cottage to conclude the preliminaries already entered into, of a marriage between himself and her beautiful guest.