"Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam,
Portentous through the night."
Longfellow.
From this time forward, Mr. Lisle occasionally accompanied his companion to Ross, and listened to the band, and was even to be met with at tennis parties, in brave defiance of Mrs. Creery's frowns and Miss Caggett's snubs. Helen noticed that he was tabooed, and lost no opportunity of speaking to him or smiling on him—but such opportunities were rare. Mr. Quentin had a way, acquired by long practice,—of elbowing away all intruders from the vicinity of those whom he delighted to honour; and effectually introduced his own large person between Helen and any other swains that might seek her society;—in short, he monopolized her completely. Mr. Lisle had entirely abandoned photography, shooting, and sailing, for the very poor exchange of the rôle of a dispassionate spectator. Why did he come to Ross to see what he did not like? his friend's handsome face bent over the beautiful Miss Denis, eliciting her smiles and merry laughter. Naturally, like most lookers-on, he saw a good deal—the envious outer circle of young men, and Miss Caggett, who had long ago made a truce with Helen, but who loved her as little as of yore, and was about as fond of her as any lady could be who beheld her rival appropriating her own special property! Still, she figuratively folded her enemy to her bosom, and smothered her feelings wonderfully,—but Mr. Lisle fathomed them. Perhaps he had a fellow-feeling for her, who knows? It appeared to him, that the citadel of Miss Denis's heart was carried at last; and who could wonder, that an inexperienced school-girl would long hold out against the artillery of Mr. Quentin's attractions; attractions that had proved irresistible to so many of her sex! No, he noticed that she coloured, and looked conscious whenever he appeared, and was not that a sure symptom that the outer fosse was taken? Little did he imagine, that the unfortunate young lady felt exactly as if she were helplessly entangled in the web of a huge spider, that she would have given worlds to rid herself from this ever-hovering, ever-overshadowing presence,—that so effectually kept any one she wished to speak to aloof and out of reach. Her natural good nature, and politeness, prevented her from actually dismissing him, and she had not the wit, or the experience to get rid of him otherwise. She had indeed ventured on one or two timid hints, but with regard to anything touching another person's wishes, Mr. Jim had no very keen perceptions; and with respect to his own company being anything but ever welcome, he would not have believed Miss Denis, even if she had told him so in the plainest terms! Why should she be different to the rest of her sex? they all liked him! So Mr. Quentin kept his station by her side, by his own wish, and by public concurrence. He immediately joined her whenever she appeared, carried her bat, her shawl, or her band programme, held her tea-cup, walked home with her, and visited her three or four times a week. It was too tiresome, that he should be her invariable companion, and vainly had she endeavoured to break her chains, but he was older, and more experienced, than she was,—and thoroughly understood the art of making her conspicuous, and himself immovable! Little did Mr. Lisle guess that Miss Denis would have much preferred him as a companion. Alas! the world is full of contrariness.
Mr. Quentin appreciated Helen because she was difficult to fascinate, Helen appreciated Mr. Lisle because he held himself aloof, and never gave any one the chance of acquiring that familiarity, which notably breeds contempt! and Mr. Lisle was greatly surprised to find, that he was exceedingly envious of his friend, that he admired Helen Denis more than any girl he had ever seen! But he admired, and stood afar off; no thought of disloyalty to James Quentin. No arrière pensée of that motto, "All's fair in love and war," ever entered his mind, he was only sorry, as he said to himself, that he was too late!
The Settlement band played twice a week in the little public gardens on Ross, and their strains were an irresistible summons to all the (free) inhabitants. One special afternoon, we notice Mrs. Home holding animated converse with Mr. Latimer, in his cool, black alpaca coat; we see Mrs. Creery enthroned on a sofa (which she always provided) alone, clad in a gorgeous combination of colours, that could only have been achieved by a daring soul! We observe Helen and Miss Caggett in company—the latter had apologized for her outbreak. "It would not do," she said to herself, "to be on bad terms with the Denis girl, she was too popular, all the men would be on her side, Captain Rodney, Mr. Green, and that ugly Irishman, Dr. Malone; wretches who were always praising her rival in her hearing!" A day or two after the storm, she had gone to Helen, and begged and implored her to forget a certain scene between them in the forest above North Bay; declared that she would be miserable for life if Helen was not her friend, that she would rather have her little finger than Mr. Quentin's whole person, that she would sooner marry the typical crossing-sweeper than him, and that she had been very cross and bad-tempered, and hoped that Helen would forget an occasion that it would make her blush to recall! This was very fine, but who had ever seen Miss Caggett blush? However, Helen was quite ready to accept the olive-branch, and, like the school-boys, to say "Pax."
There was a considerable gathering at the band, including "Mr. Quentin and Co.," as Mrs. Creery humorously called them. On band nights, the former usually reclined on the sward, literally and figuratively at Helen's feet, but to-night this butterfly was occupied (in quite a temporary manner) with a nice-looking widow, who had come over from Rangoon to pay a visit to her sister, Mrs. King, at Viper. People were walking about in couples, standing in groups, and sitting down in rows. Mrs. Creery (who did not appreciate the solitude of greatness) nodded to Helen to approach, and take a place beside her, saying, rather patronizingly, as she accepted the invitation, "So I hear that your little bachelor's dinner went off quite nicely, and that everything was eatable except the ice pudding!"
Helen felt annoyed, "quite nicely" was indeed but faint praise, after all the trouble she had taken, and the success that she flattered herself she had achieved.
She made no reply, but became rather red.