“Is this intended for an attack?” he asked, looking from one to the other.
“Not at all,” said Alice, affecting to laugh. “I should have said nothing if I thought mamma would take it up so seriously. I was only sorry to hear you speak of your new friends so slightingly.”
After that the conversation between them was very difficult, and he soon got up to go away. As he did so, he asked Alice to say a word to him out in the garden, having already explained to them both that it might be some time before he would be again down at Beetham. Alice rose slowly from her sewing-machine, and, putting on her hat, led the way with a composed and almost dignified step out through the window. Her heart was beating within her, but she looked as though she were mistress of every pulse. “Why did you say that to me?” he asked.
“Say what?”
“That I always wished for better things and better people than I found.”
“Because I think you ambitious—and discontented. There is nothing disgraceful in that, though it is not the character which I myself like the best.”
“You meant to allude specially to the Wanlesses?”
“Because you have just come from there, and were speaking of them.”
“And to one of that family specially?”
“No, Major Rossiter. There you are wrong. I alluded to no one in particular. They are nothing to me. I do not know them; but I hear that they are kind and friendly people, with good manners and very handsome. Of course I know, as we all know everything of each other in this little place, that you have of late become very intimate with them. Then when I hear you aver that you are already discontented with them, I cannot help thinking that you are hard to please. I am sorry that mamma spoke of deserving. I did not intend to say anything so seriously.”
“Alice!”
“Well, Major Rossiter.”
“I wish I could make you understand me.”
“I do not know that that would do any good. We have been old friends, and of course I hope that you may be happy. I must say goodbye now. I cannot go beyond the gate, because I am wanted to take the children out.”
“Goodbye then. I hope you will not think ill of me.”
“Why should I think ill of you? I think very well—only that you are ambitious.” As she said this, she laughed again, and then she left him.
He had been most anxious to tell her that he was not going to marry that girl, but he had not known how to do it. He could not bring himself to declare that he would not marry a girl when by such declaration he would have been forced to assume that he might marry her if he pleased. So he left Alice at the gate, and she went back to the house still convinced that he was betrothed to Georgiana Wanless.
VIII
Sir Walter Up in London
The Major, when he left the doctor’s house, was more thoroughly in love with Alice than ever. There had been something in her gait as she led the way out through the window, and again, as with determined purpose she bade him speedily farewell at the gate, which forced him to acknowledge that the dragging of perambulators and the making of petticoats had not detracted from her feminine charm or from her feminine dignity. She had been dressed in her ordinary morning frock—the very frock on which he had more than once seen the marks of Bobby’s dirty heels; but she had pleased his eye better than Georgiana, clad in all the glory of her toxopholite array. The toxopholite feather had been very knowing, the tight leathern belt round her waist had been bright in colour and pretty in design. The looped-up dress, fit for the work in hand, had been gratifying. But with it all there had been the show of a thing got up for ornament and not for use. She was like a box of painted sugarplums, very pretty to the eye, but of which no one wants to extract any for the purpose of eating them. Alice was like a housewife’s store, kept beautifully in order, but intended chiefly for comfortable use. As he went up to London he began to doubt whether he would go abroad. Were he to let a few months pass by would not Alice be still there, and willing perhaps to receive him with more kindness when she should have heard that his follies at Brook Park were at an end?
Three days after his return, when he was sitting in his offices thinking perhaps more of Alice Dugdale than of the whole British Cavalry, a soldier who was in waiting brought a card to him. Sir Walter Wanless had come to call upon him. If he were disengaged Sir Walter would be glad to see him. He was not at all anxious to see Sir Walter; but there was no alternative, and Sir Walter was shown into the room.
In explaining the purport of Sir Walter’s visit we must go back for a few minutes to Brook Park. When Sir Walter came down to breakfast on the morning after the festivities he was surprised to hear that Major Rossiter had taken his departure. There sat young Burmeston. He at any rate was safe. And there sat young Cobble, who by Sophia’s aid had managed to get himself accommodated for the night, and all the other young people, including the five Wanless girls. The father, though not observant, could see that Georgiana was very glum. Lady Wanless herself affected a good-humour which hardly deceived him, and certainly did not deceive anyone else. “He was obliged to be off this morning, because of his duties,” said Lady Wanless. “He told me that it was to be so, but I did not like to say anything about it yesterday.” Georgiana turned
