“One achievement is mine,” she said, dancing away backwards, her bright eyes beaming with saucy merriment, “the great Alexander has bidden me to croquet.”
“I am afraid,” said her brother, turning to Rachel as she departed, “that it was all her fault. Pray be patient with her, she has had many disadvantages.”
His incomprehensible irony had so often perplexed Rachel, that she did not know whether his serious apologetic tone were making game of her annoyance, and she answered not very graciously, “Oh, never mind, it did not signify.” And at the same time came another urgent entreaty from the boys that the two “aunts” would join the game, Conrade evidently considering that partnership with him would seal the forgiveness Aunt Rachel had won by the rescue of Don.
Grace readily yielded, but Rachel pleaded her engagement, and when the incorrigible Bessie declared that they perfectly understood that nothing could compete with the sketch of the Spinster’s Needles, she answered, “I promised to write a letter for my mother on business before post time. The Burnaby bargain,” she explained, to add further conviction.
“A businesslike transaction indeed!” exclaimed Bessie, much diverted with the name.
“Only a bit of land in trust for apprenticing poor children,” said Rachel. “It was left by a Curtis many generations ago, in trust to the rector of the parish and the lord of the manor; and poor Mr. Linton is so entirely effete, that it is virtually in our hands. It is one of the vexations of my life that more good cannot be done with it, for the fees are too small for superior tradespeople, and we can only bind them to the misery of lace-making. The system belongs to a worn-out state of things.”
The word system in Rachel’s mouth was quite sufficient to send Bessie to her croquet, and the poor boys were at length rewarded for their unusual patience. Their mother had been enduring almost as much as they did in her dislike to see them tantalised, and she now threw herself into the game with a relish that proved that as yet, at least, Conrade’s approbation was more to her than Captain Keith’s. It was very pretty to see her so pleased with her instructions, so eager about her own game, and yet so delighted with every hit of her boys; while Bessie was an admirable general, playing everybody’s game as well as her own, and with such life and spirit, such readiness and good nature, that a far duller sport would have been delicious under her management.
“Poor Alick,” said she, meeting him when he again strolled into the garden, while the boys were collecting the mallets and balls; “he did think he had one lawn in the world undefiled by those horrible hoops!” then as she met his smile of amusement and pardon, “but it was so exactly what they wanted here. It is so good for Lady Temple and her boys to have something they can do together.”
The pleased affectionate smile was gone.
“I object to nothing but its being for her good,” he said gravely.
“But now, does not it make her very happy, and suit her excellently?”
“May be so, but that is not the reason you introduced it.”
“You have a shocking habit of driving one up into corners, Alick, but it shall be purely, purely for my own selfish delight,” and she clasped her hands in so droll an affectation of remorse, that the muscles round his eyes quivered with diversion, though the hair on his lip veiled what the corners of his mouth were about; “if only,” she proceeded, “you won’t let it banish you. You must come over to take care of this wicked little sister, or who knows what may be the consequences.”
“I kept away partly because I was busy, and partly because I believe you are such a little ape as always to behave worse when you have the semblance of a keeper;” he said, with his arm fondly on her shoulder as they walked.
“And in the meantime fell out the adventure of the distinguished essayist.”
“I am afraid,” he returned, “that was a gratuitous piece of mischief, particularly annoying to so serious and thoughtful a person as Miss Rachel Curtis.”
“Jealousy?” exclaimed Bessie in an ecstatic tone. “You see what you lost by not trusting me, to behave myself under the provocation of your presence.”
“What! the pleasure of boxing your ears for a coward?”
“Of seizing the happy opening! I am very much afraid for you now, Alick,” she proceeded with mock gravity. “What hope can a poor Captain of Highlanders, even if he does happen to be a wounded hero or two, have against a distinguished essayist and landscape painter; if it were a common case indeed, but where Wisdom herself is concerned—”
“Military frivolity cannot hope,” returned Alick, with a shake of his head, and a calm matter-of-fact acquiescent tone.
“Ah, poor Alick,” pursued his sister, “you always were a discreet youth; but to be connected with such a union of learning, social science, and homoeopathy, soared beyond my utmost ambition. I suppose the wedding tour—supposing the happy event to take place—will be through a series of model schools and hospitals, ending in Hanwell.”
“No,” said Alick, equally coolly, “to the Dutch reformatory, and the Swiss cretin asylum.”
She was exceedingly tickled at his readiness, and proceeded in a pretended sentimental tone, “I am glad you have revealed the secrets of your breast. I saw there was a powerful attraction and that you were no longer your own, but my views were humbler. I thought the profound respect with which you breathed the name of Avonmouth, was due to the revival of the old predilection for our sweet little—”
“Hush, Bessie,” said her brother, roused for the first time into sternness, “this is more than nonsense. One word more of this, and you will cut me off from my greatest rest and pleasure.”
“From the lawn where croquet waits his approbation,” was on Bessie’s tongue, but she did not say it.
