Very Dreamy.
Trevor heard it afterwards from Fin, how that mamma saw Captain Vanleigh when he called with Sir Felix; Sir Hampton leaving a note, and—so Fin declared—hiding in the gardener’s toolhouse till the visit was over; and that she had, at the earnest wish of Sir Felix, seen him in the drawing-room.
“Where he made the most downright booby of himself you ever saw,” said Fin.
And the result was that one morning, after the most elaborate fencing had been going on between Trevor and his guests, one vieing with the other in politeness, Pratt met his old schoolfellow on his return from Tolcarne with—
“Thank goodness, Dick, there’s peace in the grove.”
“What do you mean, Franky?” said Trevor, who was rather uneasy at having heard from Lady Rea that Sir Felix and Vanleigh had been up to the house while he was away with the girls, and had a long interview with Sir Hampton and Aunt Matty.
“Mean, Dick? Why, that the telegram has come at last—message from St Kitt’s—Vanleigh and Flick wanted directly in town—so sorry couldn’t stop to say good-bye, and that sort of thing.”
“Then they are gone?”
“Yes. I ordered round the waggonette; and Mrs Lloyd seems in ecstasies at the clear-out, and is getting ready to bestow a benediction on me—for I must be off next.”
“Nonsense, Franky; you are happy enough here.”
“No, old fellow—this Sybarite’s life is spoiling me, and I must go.”
“Why not follow my example, Franky?” said Trevor, laughing.
Pratt shrugged his shoulders, and the matter dropped for the time being.
The next evening the Reas dined at Penreife in great state and dignity—all but Aunt Matty, who steadily refused pardon, and turned her back upon Trevor; while Sir Hampton preserved a dignified composure upon the matter, as if submitting of necessity; for—
“Mark my words, Hampton,” his sister had said, “this ridiculous marriage will never take place. I should as soon expect Finetta to be espoused by that wretched little companion of the seafaring man.”
Sir Hampton grunted, and went to the dinner, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and softened a good deal over his wine; after which, the evening being delicious, he allowed himself to be inveigled into the grounds, where Trevor asked his advice respecting some new forcing-houses which he proposed having, listening to him with deference; and at last, when they strolled in through the open drawing-room window, Sir Hampton said aloud—
“Er-rum—yes, Trevor, I’ll come over with Sanders—say Wednesday—and he shall mark out the lines on the same plan as mine. I think I can put you in the way of many improvements.”
Directly after, he was settled in an easy-chair, with his handkerchief spread upon his knees, thinking—with his eyes closed; and while he thought, everybody spoke in a whisper, for it was a custom with Sir Hampton Rea to think for half an hour after dinner—with his eyes closed: he never took a nap.
Lady Rea, looking rosy, round, and warm, was presiding at the tea-table; and Tiny, blushing and happy, was rearranging some flowers, Frank Pratt helping her in a loving, deferential manner, very different from his general easy-going way; while Fin had caught Trevor by the arm, led him into the far window, and forced him back into a chair, before which she stood, holding up a menacing finger.
“I’m ashamed of you, Dick—I am indeed,” she said, sharply.
“Ashamed!” he exclaimed. “Why?”
“Such cunning, such artfulness! I didn’t give you credit for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Coaxing pa round like that, when you no more want hothouses than I do. There, go away, sir; I’m disgusted. Look! ma’s beckoning to you.”
In effect, Lady Rea was cautiously making signals from the tea-tray; and on Trevor going to her, Pratt slowly crossed to the window, and began to talk to Fin.
“Do you know, Miss Rea, I find I’ve been here six weeks,” he said awkwardly.
“You don’t say so, Mr Pratt,” said Fin, quietly.
Pratt stared, and went on.
“The time has gone like magic.”
“Has it really?” said Fin, demurely.
“Yes,” said Pratt a little bitterly; “and as I have decided upon returning to town in a day or two, I thought I’d take this opportunity of saying good-bye.”
“I think its the very best thing you can do, Mr Pratt,” said Fin, sharply.
“What, say good-bye?”
“No, go back to town. You will be industrious there. See what’s come to your poor friend by mooning about in the country.”
She nodded her saucy head in the direction of Trevor, who was bending over Tiny—she looking shyly conscious and happy—while Lady Rea beamed upon them both; and Sir Hampton thought so deeply with his eyes closed, that he emitted something much like a stertorous snore.
“Yes, dear old Dick’s very happy,” said Pratt, gravely. “Rich, loved, and with the fixture all sunshine. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Yes, a rose—with a thorn of a sister, ready to pester her husband,” said Fin. “Yes, Mr Pratt, you had better go. It is not good for young men to be idle.”
“So I have been thinking,” said Pratt—“especially poor fellows like myself.”
“How is our little friend?” said Fin, maliciously.
“What little friend?”
“The little, round-cheeked niece of Mrs Lloyd—Polly, isn’t her name?”
“Really, I don’t know, Miss Rea,” said Pratt, smiling.
“Fie, Mr Pratt!” said Fin. “Why, you are always being seen with her in the lane. Is it true you are to be engaged?”
Pratt looked at her sharply.
“Does it give you so much pleasure to tease?” he said, quietly.
“Tease? I thought it was a settled thing.”
“I don’t think you did,” said Pratt, quietly.
“Well,” said Fin, laughing, “Mr Mervyn told me the other day that—oh, look at that now!”
The last words were said by Fin to herself; for as she mentioned Mr Mervyn’s name Pratt turned slowly away, and going to a table began to turn over the leaves of a book.
In the meantime Lady Rea had had a few words with Trevor.
“I declare I felt quite frightened of her, my dear.”
“It’s her way only,” said Trevor, smiling. “She nursed me like a mother, Lady Rea; and she and her husband have for years done almost as they liked here, only checked by the agent and my poor father’s executors, who seem to have come down once a year to look at the place so long as they lived; but they have both gone now.”
“She looked dreadfully cross, though, at Tiny—just as if, my dear, she was horribly jealous of her. And now, Richard, my dear, you won’t be offended if I ask a favour of you?”
“Certainly not,” said Trevor, in the same low whisper in which the conversation was carried on.
“Then make her send that niece of hers away. After what you told me, I’m sure it would be for the best; because while she is here the poor woman will always be thinking of her disappointed plans.”
“Well, but,” said Trevor, smiling, “I was thinking of hurrying on her marriage with my keeper, Humphrey; the poor fellow is desperately fond of her, and, as far as I can make out, the feeling is mutual.”
“Oh, if that’s it,” said Lady Rea, “pray don’t do anything to make the young people unhappy.”
“Yes, Trevor,” said Sir Hampton, “fifty feet by twenty will be the size.”
The conversation was carried on henceforth in voices pitched now in the normal key.
The distance was so short that it was decided to walk back through the moonlit lane, and as Trevor and Pratt accompanied the party, it was a matter of course that Fin should walk papa off first, Lady Rea following with Pratt, and Tiny lingering behind in the silvered arcades—dreamy, loving, too happy to speak, and feeling that if life would but always be the same, how could they ever tire?
Here, in the rugged lane, all was black darkness, and the gnarled tree trunks seemed to spring from sable velvet. A few yards farther, a sheaf of silver arrows seemed shot down through the foliage upon the laced ferns that rose like a tiny forest of palms; down by their side there was the rippling tinkle of water, gurgling amongst stones; and again a few steps, and a pool shone like molten silver. Above all, the air was soft, humid, and balmy; and love seemed breathed in the gentle wind that barely stirred the leaves. They had no need to talk, for it was very sweet; and they could foresee no black clouds to come sweeping across their horizon.
Tolcarne gates at last, new and crest-crowned—good-bye—and then out cigars, and a matter-of-fact walk back, the young men both too dreamy to speak. And after a brief “Good night, Dick, old fellow”—“Good night, Franky, old boy,” each sought his room—Trevor thinking the while of Lady Rea’s words, and how that he had hardly seen Polly lately, while he had been too happy in his love to so much as think of Mrs Lloyd and her baffled plans. For her part, she seemed to have avoided him ever since she had heard of the engagement that he had made.
“Ah, well,” he said, smiling, as he gazed from the open window at the moonlit shimmering sea, “all these things come right in the end. What need have I to trouble, with life so pleasurably spread out before me? Heigho! I don’t deserve such good luck; but I think I can bear it like a good man and true. I wonder, though, whether Frank really cares for little Fin!”
Ten minutes after, Trevor was dreaming happily of his love, without a sign of cloud or storm in his sunlit fancies; but they were gathering fast the while.