Coquetry is no virtue; but most certainly it is not the wholesale corrupter some moralists would make it. Miss Olivia Kennyfeck had been taught it from her earliest years,—from those pleasant days, when, dressed like some fairy queen, she descended from the nursery to stand beside pa's chair on company days, at dessert, and be stared at, and kissed, and “dear-loved” by some scores of people, whose enthusiasm for childish beauty had all the warmth that springs from turtle and truffles, iced punch and Lafitte. She had been taught it by the French governess, who told her to be aimable. The very dancing-master cried out, “Grace,—more grace, if you please, Miss Olivia,” at every step of her minuet; and the riding-master's eternal exhortation was, “Sit as if the whole world was watching you, miss.”
These teachings go further and deeper into the heart than we suspect. “The wish to please”—pure and amiable as the feeling can be—lies on the frontier of a dangerous land,—the “wish to conquer.” That passion once engendered in the heart, no room remains for any other.
To return to Miss Olivia Kennyfeck,—for most ungallantly we are forgetting she is alone all this while. Her education had but one end and object,—to obtain a good position by marriage. The precept had been instilled into her mind in a thousand different ways, and not only self-interest, but pride, emulation, and vanity had been enlisted in its support. So constantly was the theme presented to her, such day-by-day discussion of the prizes and blanks drawn by others in the wheel connubial, that she really felt little or no interest in any other topic.
And yet, with all that misdirection of mind, that perverse insistence on wrong, there was still in her heart a void, a want, that neither vanity nor selfishness could fill. It might be, perhaps, to be found out by one who should make it the storehouse of high and generous impulses, of ennobling duties and tender affections; or, just as likely, lie like some fruitful but unknown tract,—barren, waste, and profitless!
Three o'clock came! And now the house resounded with the buzz of voices and the hurried movement of feet. Carriages and horses, too, assembled before the door, and all the pleasant bustle of those bent on pleasure filled the air. Olivia arose, and, screened by the curtain, watched the scene beneath. For the first time she perceived that Lady Kilgoff was in a riding-dress. She stood in the midst of a group before the door, amid which Olivia's eyes peered with restless activity.
No, Cashel was not there! She almost said the comforting words aloud, but at the same instant a cry of, “Here he is,—here he comes!” broke from those beneath, and every head was turned towards the road to the stables, along which Cashel was seen cantering a snow-white Arab of great beauty. As he came nearer it could be seen that he was seated on a side-saddle, while he managed the well-trained creature with the most graceful address.
“Are you quite certain I may venture, Mr. Cashel?” said Lady Kilgoff, as he pulled up in front of her; “remember, that I am neither so fearless nor so skilful as our fair queen beside me, who, I must own, is far more worthy of 'Hassan Bey' than I am.”
“I'll pledge my life on his good conduct,” said Roland, springing from his back; “I've ridden him for an hour, and he is gentleness itself.”
“He's over-trained for my fancy,” said Miss Meek. “He's like one of the creatures you see in Franconi's, walking up a ladder to catch a handkerchief.”
Lady Janet whispered something in her ear, at which she started and smiled, but evidently in ignorance of its meaning.