The bolt struck the granite fairly, but it did not shiver off one splinter, nor even leave a stain. Royston only remarked, “Then for to-day it is useless to say au revoir;” and so, raising his cap, passed on.
The poor mignonne had a very rough time of it soon afterward. Cecil was morally and physically incapable of scolding any one; but she was very severe on the sin of vacillation and yielding to unauthorized interference. The culprit did not attempt to justify herself; she only said, “They both wanted me to go so much, and I did not like to vex Harry.” Then she began to coax and pet her monitress in the pretty, childish way which interfered so much with matronly dignity, till the latter was brought to think that she had been cruelly harsh and stern; at last she got so penitent that she offered to accompany her friend, and lend the light of her countenance to Madame de Verzenay. For this infirmity of purpose many female Dracos would have ordered her off to instant execution—very justly. That silly little Fanny only kissed her, and said, “She was a dear, kind darling.” What can you expect of such irreclaimably weak-minded offenders? They ought to be sentenced to six months’ hard labor, supervised by Miss Martineau; perhaps even this would not work a permanent cure. Still, on The Tresilyan’s part, it was an immense effort of self-denial. She was well aware how she laid herself open to Royston Keene’s satire, and how unlikely he was this time to spare her. Only perfect trust or perfect indifference can make one careless about giving such a chance to a known bitter tongue.
However, having made up her mind to the self-immolation, she proceeded to consider how best she should adorn herself for the sacrifice. Others have done so in sadder seriousness. Doubtless, Curtius rode at his last leap without a speck on his burnished mail: purple, and gold, and gems flamed all round Sardanapalus when he fired the holocaust in Nineveh: even that miserable, dastardly Nero was solicitous about the marble fragments that were to line his felon’s grave. So it befell that, on this particular evening, Cecil went through a very careful toilet, though it was as simple as usual; for the ultra-gorgeous style she utterly eschewed. The lilac trimmings of her dress broke the dead white sufficiently, but not glaringly, with the subdued effect of color that you may see in a campanula. The coiffure was not decided on till several had been rejected. She chose at last a chaplet of those soft, silvery Venetian shells—such as her bridesmaids may have woven into the night of Amphitritè’s hair when they crowned her Queen of the Mediterranean.
It was a very artistic picture. So Madame de Verzenay said, in the midst of a rather too rapturous greeting; so the Frenchmen thought, as a low murmur of admiration ran through their circle when she entered. Fanny, too, had her modest success. There were not wanting eyes that turned for a moment from the brilliant beauty of her companion to repose themselves on the sweet girlish face shaded by silky brown tresses, and on the perfect little figure floating so lightly and gracefully along amid its draperies of pale cloudy blue.
Miss Tresilyan felt that there might be one glance that it would be a trial to meet unconcernedly, and she had been schooling herself 31 sedulously for the encounter. She might have spared herself some trouble; for Royston Keene was not there when they arrived. She knew that Mrs. Molyneux had told him of the change in their plans; but the latter did not choose to confess how she had been puzzled by the very peculiar smile with which the major greeted the intelligence: it was the only notice he took of it. So the evening went on, with nothing to raise it above the dead level of average soirées. Cecil delayed going to the piano till she was ashamed of making more excuses, and was obliged to “execute herself” with the best grace she could manage. Even while she was singing, her glance turned more than once toward the door; but the stalwart figure, beside which all others seemed dwarfed and insignificant, never showed itself. It was clear he was not among those who had given up other engagements to hear her songs. If we have been at some trouble and mental expense in getting ourselves into any one frame of mind—whether it be enthusiasm, or self-control, or fortitude, or heroism—it is an undeniable nuisance to find out suddenly that there is to be no scope for its exercise. Take a very practical instance. Here is Lieutenant Colonel Asahel ready on the ground, looking, as his conscience and his backers tell him, “as fine as a star, and fit to run for his life;” at the last moment his opponent pays forfeit. Just ascertain the sentiments of that gallant fusileer. Does the result at all recompense him for the futile privations and wasted asceticism of those long weary months of training—when pastry was, as it were, an abomination unto him—when his lips kept themselves undefiled from dryest Champagne or soundest claret—when he fled, fast as Cinderella, from the pleasantest company at the stroke of the midnight chimes? Of course he feels deeply injured, and would have forgiven the absentee far more easily if the latter had beaten him fairly, on his merits, breasting the handkerchief first by half a dozen yards.
On this principle, Miss Tresilyan labored all that evening under an impression that Keene had treated her very ill, and was prepared to resent it accordingly. Another there besides herself felt puzzled and uncomfortable. Harry Molyneux could not understand it at all. Royston had seemed so very anxious in the morning to induce Fanny to go—a proceeding which would probably involve the presence of her “inseparable;” and disinterested persuasion was by no means in the Cool Captain’s line. So Harry went wandering about in a purposeless, disconsolate fashion for some time, till he found himself near Cecil. I fancy he had an indistinct idea that some apology was owing to her for his chief’s unaccountable absence; at all events, he began to confide his misgivings on the subject as soon as the men who surrounded her moved away. They soon did so; for The Tresilyan had a way, quite peculiar to herself, of conveying to those whom she wished to get rid of that their audience was ended, without speaking one word. There was a very unusual element of impatient pettishness in her reply.
“What a curious fascination Major Keene appears to exercise over his friends! I suppose you would think it quite wrong to be amused any where unless he were present to sanction it. Do you become a free agent again when you are given up entirely to your own devices? And do all subalterns keep up that veneration for their senior officers after they have left the service? It seems to be carrying the esprit du corps rather far.”
Harry laughed out his own musical laugh; even the imputation of dependency and helplessness which is apt to ruffle most people fell back harmlessly from his impenetrable good-humor. “I dare say it does look very absurd. But you ought to have lived with him as long as I have done to understand how naturally Royston gains his influence, and makes us do what he chooses.”
“Certainly I can not understand it. The poco-curante style is so very common just now that one gets rather tired of it. I do not like the affectation at all, but I dislike the reality still more. I believe it is a reality with Major Keene. I can not fancy him betraying any unrestrained excitement, however strong the passion that moved him might be. You have never known him do so, now? Confess it.”
“Yes I have, once,” he answered, gravely, “and I never wish to see it again.”