‘Indeed! He has a more retentive memory than I have; you can tell him so next time he speaks of me.’ I answered so haughtily that little Amy looked timidly up in my face, and I remembered suddenly that I was speaking of her lover. ‘There is your mamma beckoning to you, Amy; and Mattie and Tom are clearing away the chairs and tables. I suppose they want a dance. Tell them I shall be charmed to play for them;’ and then, seeing that Bruce Armytage was crossing the room with a view to seeking Amy, I quickly left my seat, and taking possession of the music-stool, commenced to rattle off a polka. Soon they were all busily engaged in dancing, and the noise occasioned by their feet and voices almost prevented my hearing the conversation which Mrs Rodwell, who had taken up a station with her knitting close to the piano, addressed to me.
‘You were very much surprised to hear our news, Lizzie, I’m sure,’ she began, as she bent toward my ear.
‘Very much surprised, Mrs Rodwell—never more so.’
‘Ah!’ with a sigh, ‘dear Amy is full young—only eighteen last October, you know, Lizzie; but I think she’ll be happy. I’m sure I trust so. He is a very steady young man, and they are to live in Rockledge, which is a great comfort to me.’
‘In Rockledge!’ Was I to undergo the pain of continual intercourse with him, or the alternative of quitting my present situation? ‘Did I hear you rightly, Mrs Rodwell?’
‘Yes, my dear. His papa, who appears to be a very pleasant old gentleman, has decided to set him up in an office here, that Amy may not be separated from her family. So thoughtful of him, Lizzie, is it not?’
‘Very!’ I remembered the pleasant old gentleman’s conduct on a similar occasion more immediately concerning myself, and could scarcely trust my voice to answer her.
‘You have heard that Mr Armytage is in the law, have you not?’ I nodded my head: I had heard it. ‘A nice profession—so gentlemanly; and he is a fine-looking young man too; don’t you think so? I have heard that some people prefer his cousin’s looks to his; but beauty is such a matter of taste, and Amy is quite satisfied on the subject. You may stop playing now, my dear, for they have all done dancing. Nelly, child, how hot you are! Come away at once from the draught of the door.’
‘A waltz, a waltz, Lizzie!’ they all shouted as they surrounded the piano.
‘Perhaps Miss Lacy is tired,’ suggested the deep voice of Bruce Armytage. I had been going to plead for a brief respite, but at that sound the desire for repose fled, and without a look in his direction I returned to the instrument and began to play the dance they had asked for. But I had not been so occupied long before I became aware that some one amongst them continued to hover about the piano, and felt by intuition that it was Bruce Armytage. At that discovery my fingers flew faster and more gaily, and I regarded the notes before me with a fixed smile, whilst, in order to keep up my courage, I kept repeating to myself: ‘He deserted me: he left me for no fault of mine. My father and mother died, and he never came near me in my sorrow. He is fickle, base, dishonourable—unworthy of regard.’ I tried to set the notes of the waltz that I was playing to the words, ‘Fickle, base, dishonourable!’ but they refused to be so matched, and only seemed to repeat instead, ‘I loved him, I loved him, I loved him!’ and then a blurred mist came before my eyes, and I had to play from memory; for Bruce Armytage had taken up his station at the back of the piano and was looking me full in the face.