“Mamma, do pray, pray begin; the afternoon is wasting like nothing!” cried Conrade of the much-tried patience. “And Aunt Rachel,” he added, in his magnanimity, “you shall be my partner, and I’ll teach you.”
“Thank you, Conrade, but I can’t; I promised to be at home at four,” said Rachel, who had all this time been watching with curious interest which influence would prevail—whether Alick would play for Fanny’s sake, or Fanny abstain for Alick’s sake. She was best satisfied as it was, but she had still to parry Bessie Keith’s persuasive determination. Why would she go home? it certainly was to inspect the sketches of the landscape-painter. “You heard, Alick, of the interesting individual who acted the part of Rachel’s preserver,” she added.
The very force of Rachel’s resolution not to be put out of countenance served to cover her with the most uncomfortable blushes, all the more at the thought of her own unlucky exclamation. “I came here,” said Alick, coolly, “to assist in recovering the beloved remains from a watery grave;” and then, as Bessie insisted on hearing the Avoncester version, he gave it; while Grace added the intelligence that the hero was a clergyman, sinking the opinions, as too vague to be mentioned, even had not the company been too flighty for a subject she thought serious and painful. “And he is at this moment sketching the Spinster’s Needles!” said Bessie. “Well, I am consoled. With all your resolve to flatten down an adventure, fate is too strong for you. Something will come of it. Is not the very resolve that it shall not be an adventure a token?”
“If any one should wish to forget it, it is you, I think, Bessie,” said Alick. “Your admirable sagacity seems to have been at fault. I thought you prided yourself on your climbing.”
“Up a slippery perpendicular—”
“I know the place,” he gravely answered.
“Well,” exclaimed Bessie, recovering herself, “I am not a mermaid nor even a dear gazelle, and, in my humble opinion, there was far more grace in preventing heroism from being ‘unwept, unnoticed, and unsung,’ than in perilling my own neck, craning down and strangling the miserable beast, by pulling him up by the scrough of his neck! What an introduction would have been lost!”
“If you are going to play, Bessie,” said her brother, “it would be kind to take pity upon those boys.”
“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.”