“Don’t name it!” said Charley. “Almost a pity it’s left off raining.”
“For shame—no! How can you talk so!” exclaimed Laura, shaking her sunshade at the speaker. “But I really am so much obliged—I am indeed!”
Charley dismounted and opened the carriage-door, handing in first Miss Bray, who stepped forward, leaned heavily upon his arm, and then took her place, arranging her skirts so as to fill the back seat, talking gushingly the while as she made play at Charley with her great dark eyes.
But the glances were thrown away, Charley’s attention being turned to her companion, who bent slightly, just touched the proffered hand, and stepped into the brougham, taking her seat with her back to the horse.
“So much obliged—so grateful!” cried Laura, as Charley closed the door. “I shall never be able to repay you, I’m sure. Thanks! So much! Good-bye! See you at the flower-show to-morrow, of course? Good-bye!—good-bye!”
“She’s getting a precious deal too affectionate! Talk about wanting me to marry her, why she’ll run away with me directly!” grumbled Charley, as Mr Dudgeon impatiently drove off, leaving the young man with the impression of a swiftly passing vision of Laura Bray showing her white teeth in a great smile as she waved her hand, and of a fair gentle face bent slightly down, so that he could see once more the rich massive braids resting upon a shapely, creamy neck. “Have they been saying anything to her?” said Charley, as the brougham disappeared. “She’s getting quite unpleasant. Grows just like the old woman: regularly parrot-beaked. Why didn’t she introduce me? Took the best seat, too! Looks strange! I say, though, ‘bai Jove’—as that sweet brother says—this sort of thing won’t do! I should like to please the dad; but I don’t think I could manage to do it ‘that how,’ as they say about here. She quite frightens me! Heigho! what a bother life is when you can’t spend it just as you like! Wish I was out in Australia or Africa, or somewhere to be free and easy—to hunt and shoot and ride as one liked. Let’s see: I shall not go over to the town now—it’s nearly lunch-time, and I’m wet.”
He had mounted his horse, and was about to turn homeward, when something shining in the grass caught his eye, and leaping down, he snatched up from among the glistening strands, heavy with raindrops, a little golden cross—one that had evidently slipped from velvet or ribbon as the ladies stood beneath that tree.
“That’s not Miss Laura’s—can’t be!” muttered Charley, as he gazed intently at the little ornament. “Not half fine enough for her.”
Then turning it over, he found engraved upon the reverse:
“E.B. From her Mother, 1860.”