“I must go,” murmured Mr. Cavendish; “but I shall see you—we shall meet.” He dared not say another word, so alarming were the looks of the small Medusa, whose countenance he could see behind Barbara regarding the parting. As for Mr. Lake, he too regarded it with a momentary curiosity. He did not quite understand how it was that his daughter and his visitor could know each other well enough to communicate in this undertone.
“I am sorry to see so little of you,” said Mr. Lake. “I am afraid it is my little girl’s brusque way of speaking that hastens your going. I assure you we were quite unoccupied, and would have been very happy—perhaps we may be more fortunate another time;” and with that the drawing-master gave a dignified dismissal to his surprising visitor. It was Rose herself who saw Mr. Cavendish to the door, which she opened for him with an utter disregard of his excuses and attempts to do that office for himself. She would not even shake hands, but made him the most majestic curtsey that was ever executed by a personage five feet high, under the influence of which Mr. Cavendish went away humbled, and, he could scarcely tell why, ashamed of himself. When Rose came back to the parlour, still with her hat on, she found that Barbara had gone to the window, and was looking out at the edge of the blind—which was all that was wanted to put a climax to her sister’s exasperation.
“Papa,” said Rose, “I should like to know in your presence, or I should like you to ask Barbara herself, what is the meaning of all that has been going on tonight.”
Mr. Lake turned right round at this appeal with an expression of utter amaze and bewilderment, which at another moment would have struck Rose with the profoundest delight as a study; and as for Barbara, without any more ado she burst into a flood of passionate tears.
“Oh, you nasty, envious thing! oh, you jealous, disagreeable thing!” sobbed the elder sister; “to send him away and spoil everything with your airs! when he was as near—just as near”—but here Barbara’s voice lost itself in her tears.
“My dear, what does this mean?” said Mr. Lake.
“It means, papa, that she has encouraged him to come, and invited him in, and been singing to him,” cried Rose. “To think she should be one of us, and have no proper pride! If he was fond of her, he would tell her so, and ask your permission; but she is laying herself out to please him, and is content that they should all jeer at her in Lucilla’s parties, and say she is trying to catch him. I thought I could have died of shame when I saw him here tonight; and compromising you, as if that was why you were so civil. If it were for her good, do you think I would ever interfere?” cried Barbara’s guardian angel. At this point Rose herself would have liked excessively to cry, if the truth must be told; but Barbara had already appropriated that facile mode of expression, and the little artist scorned to copy. As for Mr. Lake, he turned from one to the other of his daughters with unmitigated consternation and dismay.
“It was all your coming in,” sobbed Barbara, “if you had only had the sense to see it. That was what he meant. If I was singing, it was just to pass the time; I know that was what he came for. And you to send him away with your airs!” cried the injured young woman. All this made up a scene entirely novel to the amazed father, who felt it his duty to put a stop to it, and yet could not tell what to say.
“Girls,” he began, with a trembling voice, “this is all perfectly new to me. I don’t understand. If Mr. Cavendish, or—or anyone, wishes to pay his addresses to my daughter, it is, of course, his business to apply to me in the first place. Barbara, don’t cry. You know how I dislike to hear you cry,” said the poor man, gradually losing his head. “Don’t make a fuss, Rose; for Heaven’s sake, girls, can’t you say at once what you mean, and don’t worry me to death? Ah, if your poor mother had but been spared!” cried the unfortunate widower; and he had five daughters altogether, poor soul!—and it was so easy to drive him out of his senses. At this point Rose intervened, and did what she could to calm matters down. Barbara, still sobbing, retired to her chamber; the boys came in from their cricket, and the little children had to be put to bed; and there was no one to attend to all these matters, in the absence of the eldest sister, except the little mistress of the School of Design, so that naturally all further explanation was postponed for this night.
XXI
It was thus that Mr. Cavendish, without particularly meaning it, impressed upon two interesting and amiable young women on the same day the conviction that he was about to propose, without in either case realising that expectation. After this last exploit he went home with his head more confused, and his will more undecided, than ever. For he had one of those perverse minds which cling to everything that is forbidden; and the idea that he ought not to have gone near Barbara Lake, and that he ought not to see her again, made him more anxious to seek her out and follow her than he had ever been before. If such a thing had been permissible in England as that a man might marry one wife for his liking and another for his interests, the matter might have been compromised by proposing to them both; and there cannot be a doubt that Lucilla, in such
