“Still, my dear, you should be careful,” interposed my mother; “though it's play to you, it may be death to him, poor young man! I got into a terrible scrape once in that way myself, when I was a girl; laughing and joking with a young gentleman in our neighbourhood, till he made me an offer one morning, and I really believe I should have been persuaded into marrying him, though I did not care a bit about him, if I had not been attached to your poor dear father at the time: now you have nothing of that sort to save you; so, as I said before, my dear, mind what you are about.”
“I don't think Mr. Lawless's heart will be broken while there is a pack of hounds within reach, mamma dear,” replied Fanny, glancing archly at me as she spoke.
As we were about to proceed to our several rooms for the night, I contrived to delay my mother for a moment under pretext of lighting a candle for her, and closing the door, I said:—
“My dear mother, if, by any odd chance, Fanny should be inclined to like Lawless, don't you say anything against it. Lawless is a good fellow; all his faults lie on the surface, and are none of them serious; he is completely his own master, and might marry any girl he pleased tomorrow, and I need not tell you would be a most excellent match for Fanny. He seems very much taken with her; and no wonder, for she is really excessively pretty; and when she is in spirits, as she was to-night, her manner is most piquante and fascinating.”
“Well, my dear boy,” was the reply, “you know your friend best, and if he and Fanny choose to take a fancy to each other, and you approve of it, I shall not say anything against it.”
Whereupon I kissed her, called her a dear, good old mother, and carried up for her, in token of affection, her work-box, her reticule, her candle and a basket, containing a large bunch of keys, sundry halfpence and three pairs of my own stockings which wanted mending, a process which invariably rendered them unwearable ever after.
CHAPTER XLII — THE MEET AT EVERSLEY GORSE
“We'll make you some sport with the fox Ere we case him.”
—All's Well that Ends Well.
“Oh! for a fall, if fall she must,
On the gentle lap of Flora;
But still, thank Heaven, she clings to her seat.”
—Hood.
“She held his drooping head,
Till given to breathe the freer air,
Returning life repaid their care;
He gazed on them with heavy sigh—
I could have wished e'en thus to die.”
—Rokeby.
IT had been arranged between my mother and Oaklands, in the earlier part of the evening on which the events described in the last chapter took place, that Fanny should have her first ride on the day but one following, by which time it was supposed that the habit would be fit for service, and the young lady's mind sufficiently familiarised with the idea, to overcome a rather (as I considered) unnecessary degree of alarm which I believe would have led her, had she been allowed to decide for herself, to relinquish it altogether. The only stipulation my mother insisted on was, that I should accompany my sister in the character of chaperon, an arrangement to which, as it was quite evident that Lawless intended to form one of the party, I made no objection. Accordingly, on the day appointed, Oaklands made his appearance about ten o'clock, mounted on his favourite horse, and attended by a groom, leading the grey Arab which was destined to carry Fanny, as well as a saddle-horse for me.