“She is the handsomest young woman out. There hasn’t been one in London this season with such a figure.”
“You are altogether wrong in your surmise, Lady Deepbell.”
“No, no; I am right enough. I see it all. Of course the poor girl won’t have any money; but then how nice it is when a gentleman like you is able to dispense with that. Perhaps they do take after their father a little, and he certainly is not bright; but upon my word, I think a girl is all the better for that. What’s the good of having such a lot of talkee-talkee?”
“Lady Deepbell, you are alluding to a young lady without the slightest warrant,” said the Major.
“Warrant enough;—warrant enough,” said the old woman, toddling off.
Then young Cobble came to him, and talked to him as though he were a brother of the house. Young Cobble was an honest fellow, and quite in earnest in his matrimonial intentions. “We shall be delighted if you’ll come to us on the first,” said Cobble. The first of course meant the first of September. “We ain’t so badly off just for a week’s shooting. Sophia is to be there, and we’ll get Georgiana too.”
The Major was fond of shooting, and would have been glad to accept the offer; but it was out of the question that he should allow himself to be taken in at Cobble Hall under a false pretext. And was it not incumbent on him to make this young man understand that he had no pretensions whatever to the hand of the second Miss Wanless? “You are very good,” said he.
“We should be delighted,” said young Cobble.
“But I fear there is a mistake. I can’t say anything more about it now because it doesn’t do to name people;—but there is a mistake. Only for that I should have been delighted. Goodbye.” Then he took his departure, leaving young Cobble in a state of mystified suspense.
The day lingered on to a great length. The archery and the lawn-tennis were continued till late after the so-called lunch, and towards the evening a few couples stood up to dance. It was evident to the Major that Burmeston and Edith were thoroughly comfortable together. Gertrude amused herself well, and even Maria was contented, though the curate as a matter of course was not there. Sophia with her legitimate lover was as happy as the day and evening were long. But there came a frown upon Georgiana’s brow, and when at last the Major, as though forced by destiny, asked her to dance, she refused. It had seemed to her a matter of course that he should ask her, and at last he did;—but she refused. The evening with him was very long, and just as he thought that he would escape to bed, and was meditating how early he would be off on the morrow, Lady Wanless took possession of him and carried him off alone into one of the desolate chambers. “Is she very tired?” asked the anxious mother.
“Is who tired?” The Major at that moment would have given twenty guineas to have been in his lodgings near St. James’s Street.
“My poor girl,” said Lady Wanless, assuming a look of great solicitude.
It was vain for him to pretend not to know who was the “she” intended. “Oh, ah, yes; Miss Wanless.”
“Georgiana.”
“I think she is tired. She was shooting a great deal. Then there was a quadrille;—but she didn’t dance. There has been a great deal to tire young ladies.”
“You shouldn’t have let her do so much.”
How was he to get out of it? What was he to say? If a man is clearly asked his intentions he can say that he has not got any. That used to be the old fashion when a gentleman was supposed to be dilatory in declaring his purpose. But it gave the oscillating lover so easy an escape! It was like the sudden jerk of the hand of the unpractised fisherman: if the fish does not succumb at once it goes away down the stream and is no more heard of. But from this new process there is no mode of immediate escape. “I couldn’t prevent her because she is nothing to me.” That would have been the straightforward answer;—but one most difficult to make. “I hope she will be none the worse tomorrow morning,” said the Major.
“I hope not, indeed. Oh, Major Rossiter!” The mother’s position was also difficult, as it is of no use to play with a fish too long without making an attempt to stick the hook into his gills.
“Lady Wanless!”
“What am I to say to you? I am sure you know my feelings. You know how sincere is Sir Walter’s regard.”
“I am very much flattered, Lady Wanless.”
“That means nothing.” This was true, but the Major did not mean to intend anything. “Of all my flock she is the fairest.” That was true also. The Major would have been delighted to accede to the assertion of the young lady’s beauty, if this might have been the end of it. “I had thought—”
“Had thought what, Lady Wanless?”
“If I am deceived in you, Major Rossiter, I never will believe in a man again. I have looked upon you as the very soul of honour.”
“I trust that I have done nothing to lessen your good opinion.”
“I do not know. I cannot say. Why do you answer me in this way about my child?” Then she held her hands together and looked up into his face imploringly. He owned to himself that she was a good actress. He was almost inclined to submit and to declare his passion for Georgiana. For the present that way out of the difficulty would have been so easy!
“You shall hear from me tomorrow morning,” he said, almost solemnly.
“Shall I?” she asked, grasping his hand. “Oh, my friend, let it be as I desire. My whole life shall be devoted to making you happy—you and her.” Then he was allowed to escape.
Lady Wanless,
