“I do not think I ever spent so happy a morning,” Harry said very low.
Margaret made no sign of having heard him. She walked upstairs without any reply, leaving him without ceremony. “He is going too fast,” she said to herself. And Harry was a little, just a little, mortified, but soon got over that, and went after her, and was happy once more—happy as the day was long. Indeed, the visit altogether was very successful. Margaret was full of adaptability, very ready to accept any tone which such a personage as Lady Mary chose to give to the conversation, and with, in reality, a lively and open intelligence, easily roused to interest. Besides, though an eager young admirer like Harry was pleasant enough, and might possibly become important, she never for a moment deceived herself as to the great unlikelihood that his friends would permit him to carry out his fancy; and the chance that, instead of bringing advantage, she might bring harm to herself and her brother if she gave any one a right to say that she had “encouraged” him. Whereas nothing but unmingled good could come from pleasing Lady Mary, who was, in every way, the more important person. This being the principle of Margaret’s conduct, it is almost unnecessary to say that Lady Mary found it perfect, and felt that nothing could be in better taste than the way in which the young Scotchwoman kept Harry’s attentions down, and accorded the fullest attention to her own observations. She even took her nephew aside after luncheon, to impress upon him a greater respect for their guest.
“This Mrs. Smith is evidently a very superior person,” said Lady Mary, “and I am sorry to see, Harry, that you are rather disposed to treat her simply as a very pretty young woman. I am not at all sure that you have not been trying to flirt with her during lunch.”
“I—flirt!—Aunt Mary,” stammered Harry, “you altogether mistake—”
“Oh, of course, you never did such a thing in your life,” she said mocking, “but this is not quite an ordinary young lady. The Scotch are so well educated—we can see at a glance that she has read a great deal, and thought as well—which is by no means common. If you take her round the conservatories, you must recollect that it is not a mere pretty girl you are with, Harry. She will not understand your nonsense,” said Lady Mary with a little warmth.
She, herself, had some final arrangements to make with Herr Hartstong, who was also very much interested in the graceful listener, from whom he had received such flattering attention. He made her his best bow, and hoped he should see her next day at the lecture, when Harry, doing his best to suppress all manifestations of feeling, led her away.
“It is so kind of you to let me treat you without ceremony,” said Lady Mary. “Show Mrs. Smith the orchids, Harry. Before you get to the palm tree, I shall be with you—” and then Harry was free and alone with his enchantress. He could not talk to her—he was so happy—he led her away quickly out of sight of his aunt—who had seated herself in a corner of the big drawing-room, to settle all her final arrangements with the botanist—and of Herr Hartstong’s big yellow eyes, which looked after him with suspicion. Harry was eager to get her to himself, to have her alone, out of sight of everybody; but when he had secured this isolation, he could not make much use of it. He was dumb with bliss and excitement—he took her into the fairy palace of flowers where summer reigned in the midst of winter; and instead of making use of his opportunities in this still perfumy place, where everything suited the occasion, found that he had nothing to say. He had talked, laboriously it is true, but still he had talked, when he had called on her at the cottage; he had made a few remarks while he drove her round the park; but on this, the first opportunity he had of being alone with her, he felt his tongue tied. Instead of taking her to the orchids as Lady Mary had suggested, he conducted her straight to the palm tree, and there placed her on the sofa, and stood by, gazing at her, concealing his agitation by cutting sprays of Cape jasmine, of which there happened to be a great velvety cluster in front of her seat.
“It is like something in a book,” said Margaret, with a sigh. “What a fine thing it is to be very rich! I never was in such a beautiful place.”
“Yes, it’s nice to be well off,” said Harry; “but heaps of people are well off who never could invent anything so pretty. You see Tottenham was very much in love with Aunt Mary. She’s a nice little woman,” he added, parenthetically. “A man in love will do a deal to please the woman he likes.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Margaret, feeling somewhat disposed to laugh; “and that makes it all the more interesting. Is Mr. Tottenham very poetical and romantic? I have not seen him yet.”