“Ah, but I can; I’m better! I’m really quite well. But it’s giving so much trouble. I could wait in the lodge...”
“Indeed you couldn’t; I wouldn’t allow it! There’s no accommodation there, and the children would annoy you. Take my arm and lean on me. Miss—er—your friend will support you on the other side.”
“Briskett!” volunteered Cornelia, bowing towards him in gracious acknowledgment. “Now then, Elma, up with you! Guess you’re about sick of that bank by this time. There’s nothing to it but nerves, and that won’t prevent you walking with a prospect of tea ahead. You’re not half as bad as you think you are.”
Elma thought she was a good deal worse! The sudden rise to her feet, drawn by two strong hands, brought with it a return of the faintness, and for a moment it seemed as if Geoffrey would have to carry out his first proposition. She struggled bravely, however, and Cornelia forcibly ducked her head forward—a sensible, though on the face of it, rather a callous remedy, of which Geoffrey plainly disapproved. He drew the little hand through his arm, pressing it close to his side, and thus linked together the three made their way to the lodge-gate and up the winding avenue.
As they went Cornelia kept casting quick, scrutinising glances at her companions, her brain busily at work trying to place this stranger, whose name had never been mentioned in her hearing, but who yet appeared to take such a deep interest in Elma’s welfare. Once, with a sigh, the girl had regretted that her mother disapproved of “some of the nicest people in the neighbourhood.” Was Geoffrey Greville to be regarded as representing that vague quantity? Again, with a second sigh, Elma had confessed that the county people on their side showed no desire to cultivate her own acquaintance. This afternoon, with a blush, she had maintained that the best road lay through Steadway, though a signpost persistently pointed in another direction. Two sighs, and a blush! In the court of love such evidence is weighty, while of still greater import was the manner in which Elma clung for support to the arm on the right, leaving only the gentlest pressure on that to the left.
As for the man himself, there could be no doubt that he had reached the stage of entire subjugation. His whole bearing was instinct with possessive pride, his strong, bronzed features softened into a beautiful tenderness as he watched the flickering colour in Elma’s cheeks, and smiled encouragement into her eyes. He had a good face; a trifle arrogant and self-satisfied, no doubt, but these were failings which would be mitigated by the power of an honest love. For the rest, he looked strong, and brave, and true. Cornelia’s frown gave way to a smile of approval.
“I guess it’s just about as ’cute a little romance as you can read for a dollar, and just as English! Her mommar don’t approve of him, ’cause he’s smart and worldly; and his mommar don’t approve of her, ’cause she lives in a row, and don’t mix with the tip-top set. She sits still and mopes, and he sets to and kills the first thing that comes handy, to distract his thoughts, and they’re going to stick right there till the door’s closed, and the lamps give out. This is where you step in, Cornelia Briskett! You’ve got to waltz round and fix up this business while you’ve a chance.—I guess I’ve been a bit too bracing. I’d better begin to feel a bit scared about Elma’s health. ... Seems to me she’s had a pretty bad shock and wants to settle right in, and not risk another move for the next three or four days!...”
The scarlet lips twisted whimsically, and a dimple dipped in the white cheek. If there was one thing Cornelia loved above another, it was to feel herself a kind of Deus ex machina, and she experienced a malicious satisfaction in ranging herself on the side of the lovers, in the battle between youth and age.
Presently a curve in the road brought the house into view, and the sight of its mullioned windows and old grey stone gables brought with it a sudden remembrance of her own dishevelled condition. The disengaged hand darted up to her head to set the cap at the correct angle, and from thence continued a patting, smoothing-out excursion, productive of distinctly smartening results. Fortunately the long coat had sheltered the dress from harm, so that on reaching the house she could shed it and look “just so.” As for Elma, it was a comfort to see her a little “mussed,” for in her conscientious adherence to order she sacrificed much of the picturesque nature of her beauty.
The great oak door stood hospitably open. At the inner glass door an old butler appeared, and was immediately despatched by the Squire to find his mistress, and inform her that her son had brought home two ladies who had experienced a carriage accident at the gates. Meantime Geoffrey led the way into the drawing-room, and while Elma rested thankfully against the cushions on her chair, Cornelia enjoyed her first view of a room in a typical English country house. It fascinated her by its very difference from the gorgeous apartments which took its place in her own country. Space, daintiness, simplicity—these were the first impressions. Long French windows standing open to a velvet stretch of lawn; deep chairs and couches covered with chintz; pale green walls and the fragrance of many flowers. A closer inspection showed the intrinsic value and beauty of each detail which went to make up the charming whole. Sheraton cabinets holding specimens of rare old china; ivory miniatures of Grevilles, dead and gone, simpering in pink-and-white beauty in the velvet cases on the walls; water-colours signed by world-famed artists; wonderful old sconces holding altar-like lines of candles; everywhere the eye turned, something beautiful, rare and interesting, and through it all an unobtrusive good taste, which placed the most precious articles in quiet corners, and filled the foreground with a bower of flowers.