And so Mrs Grove concentrated all her forces to meet the emergency. Another invitation was given, and it was accepted. In the single minute that preceded the entrance into the dining-room, the first of a series of decisive measures was carried into effect. With a voice that trembled, and eyes that glistened with grateful tears, the lady thanked her “dear friend” for the kind consideration, the manly delicacy that had induced him to withdraw himself from their society, as soon as he had become aware of the danger to her sweet, but too susceptible Fanny.
“Fanny does not dream that her secret is suspected. But oh! Mr Elliott, when was a mother at fault when the happiness of her too sensitive child was concerned?”
In vain Arthur looked the astonishment he felt. In vain he attempted to assure her in the strongest terms, that he had had no intention of withdrawing from their society—that he did not understand—that she must be mistaken. The tender mother’s volubility was too much for him. He could only listen in a very embarrassed silence as she went on.
Mr Elliott was not to suppose that she blamed him for the unhappiness he had caused. She quite freed him from all intention of wrong. And after all, it might not be so bad. A mother’s anxiety might exaggerate the danger; she would try and hope for the best. Change of scene must be tried; in the meantime, her fear was, that pique, or wounded pride, or disappointed affection might induce the unhappy child to—in short Mr Elliott must understand—. And Mrs Grove glanced expressively toward the wearer of the shining epaulets, with whom Arthur being unenlightened, might have fancied that the unhappy child was carrying on a pretty energetic and prosperous flirtation.
But “pique and wounded pride!” He had never in all his life experienced a moment of such intense uncomfortableness as that in which he had the honour to hand the lady of the house to her own well-appointed table. Indignation, vexation, disbelief of the whole matter spoiled his dinner effectually. Mrs Grove’s exquisite soup might have been ditch-water for all he knew to the contrary. The motherly concern so freely expressed, looked to him dreadfully like something not so praiseworthy. How she could look her dear Fanny in the face, and talk, so softly on indifferent subjects, after having so—so unnecessarily, to say the least, betrayed her secret, was more than he could understand. If, indeed, Miss Fanny had a secret. He wished very much not to believe it. Secret or not, this was a very uncomfortable ending to a pleasant three months’ acquaintance, and he felt very much annoyed, indeed.
Not till course after course had been removed, and the dessert had been placed on the table, did he summon resolution to withdraw his attention from the not very interesting conversation of his host, and turn his eyes to Miss Grove and the epaulets. The result of his momentary observation was the discovery that the young lady was looking very lovely, and not at all miserable. Greatly relieved, he ventured an appropriate remark or two, on the subject under discussion. He was listened to with politeness, but not with Miss Fanny’s usual amiability and interest, that was evident.
By and by the gentlemen followed the ladies into the drawing-room, and here Miss Fanny was distant and dignified still. She gave brief answers to his remarks, and glanced now and then toward the epaulets, of whom Mrs Grove had taken possession, and to whom she was holding forth with great energy about something she had found in a book. Arthur approached the centre-table, but Mrs Grove was too much occupied with Captain Starr to include him in the conversation. Mr Grove was asleep in the dining-room still, and Arthur felt there was no help for him. Miss Fanny was left on his hands; and after another vain attempt at conversation, he murmured something about music, and begged to be permitted to hand her to the piano. Miss Grove consented, still with more than her usual dignity and distance, and proposed to sing a new song that Captain Starr had sent her. She did sing it, very prettily, too. She had practised it a great deal more than was necessary, her mamma thought, within the last few days. Then she played a brilliant piece or two; then Mrs Grove, from the centre-table, proposed a sweet Scottish air, a great favourite of hers, and, as it appeared, a great favourite of Mr Elliott’s, also. Then there were more Scottish airs, and French airs, and then there was a duet with Captain Starr, and mamma withdrew Mr Elliott to the centre-table, and the book, and did not in the least resent the wandering of his eyes and his attention to the piano, where the Captain’s handsome head was at times in close proximity with that of the fair musician. Then, when there had been enough of music, Miss Grove returned to her embroidery, and Captain Starr held her cotton and her scissors, and talked such nonsense to her, that Arthur hearing him now and then in the pauses of the conversation, thought him a great simpleton; and firmly believed that Miss Fanny listened from “pique or wounded pride,” or something else, not certainly because she liked it. Not but that she seemed to like it. She smiled and responded as if she did, and was very kind and gracious to the handsome soldier, and scarcely vouchsafed to Mr Elliott a single glance.
By and by Mr Grove came in and withdrew Mr Elliott to the discussion of the harbour question, and as Arthur knew everything that could possibly be said on that subject, he had a better opportunity still of watching the pair on the other side of the table. It was very absurd of him, he said to himself, and he repeated it with emphasis, as the young lady suddenly looking up, coloured vividly as she met his eye. It was very absurd, but, somehow, it was very interesting, too. Never, during the whole course of their acquaintance, had his mind been so much occupied with the pretty, silly little creature.
It is very likely, the plan of piers and embankments, of canals and bridges, which Miss Fanny’s working implements were made to represent, extending from an imaginary Point Saint Charles, past an imaginary Griffintown, might have been worthy of being laid before the town council, or the commissioner for public works. It is quite possible that Mr Grove’s explanations and illustrations of his idea of the new harbour, by means of the same, might have set at rest the doubts and fears of the over-cautious, and proved beyond all controversy, that there was but one way of deciding the matter, and of securing the prosperity of Mount Royal City, and of Canada. And if Mr Grove had that night settled the vexed question of the harbour to the satisfaction of all concerned, he would have deserved all the credit, at least his learned and talented legal adviser would have deserved none of it.
It was very absurd of him, he said again, and yet the interest grew more absorbing every moment, till at last he received a soft relenting glance as he bowed over Miss Fanny’s white hand when he said good-night. He had one uncomfortable moment. It was when Mrs Grove hoped aloud that they should see him often, and then added, for his hearing alone,—