“You can but try,” said one, patting him on the shoulder. “Faint heart never won fair lady,” said another. “I would not wonder if it was all settled a year ago!” said a third; and various looks, some veiled, some openly significant, were turned upon the corner where, amid a little knot of girls, Nora sat apart. It was no revelation to Nora; but the thought of being thus openly indicated set her pride up in arms. She to marry Willy Erskine for any reason whatsoever except her sovereign grace and pleasure! She to take him because he was a doctor and wanted a wife! She had to dance the first reel with him, when the room was cleared after supper, and Mrs. Sinclair went to the piano—partly because he was the hero of the occasion and she the daughter of the house, partly because they were such old friends; but she would scarcely grant the young fellow a look even when her hand was in his in the pretty, animated dance. And Willy, in his excitement, held that soft hand longer and clasped it closer than was at all needful. Nora’s girlish temper blazed up; but he could not see it, the foolish boy. His own heat and ardour, long suppressed, the pleasant intoxication of all those friendly plaudits and flattering good wishes, the seduction of the moment, when all were gone but himself, and the careful mistress of the house had begun to put away the remnants of the feast and lock up her “garde-vin,” were too much for him. Willy was so far left to himself as to arrest Nora in the hall when she had said good-night to the last guest. He was by way of leaving himself, when he stopped her and took her hand. “Say a kind word to me, Nora,” he cried, drawing her into the dimly-lighted little room behind, which was called the library. Mrs. Sinclair was in the dining-room close by, with her confidential handmaiden, putting away the things. They could hear her voice where they stood, and there was no harm in this little chance interview. “Say a kind word to me, Nora,” he pleaded; “you know how fond I am of you. I’ve never thought of another since I was a boy at school. I’ve looked forward to this for years and years.”
“What have you looked forward to, Mr. Erskine?” said Nora, with the insolence of power.
“Nora—Nora, don’t speak like that!” cried the young man. “I’m not worth it, but you must take me—you know you must take me; you’re all the world to me. What do I care for my degree or anything else but for you? Say you’ll take a poor fellow, Nora! You know you are all the world to me.”
“Indeed, I know nothing of the kind,” said Nora. “I am very sleepy, and I don’t care much about your degree. Must take you, indeed! I never do anything that I must do. What with their toasts, and their talk, and their nonsense, they’ve turned your head. Good-night.”
And she went away from him, while he stood and looked after her stupefied. “Nora!” he said, in a voice of such pain that Mrs. Sinclair heard, and left the “things” on the table. She came in while Nora stood still, haughty and offended, at the door. The mother saw at once what was the matter. She thought it was a lover’s quarrel, and she saw there had been enough of it for the night.
“I thought you had gone with the Lindsays, Willy,” she said, looking at him in her motherly way; “and you must be wearied and fit for your bed. What’s Nora making her little moue at now? But never mind her, my man; to-morrow’s a new day.”
“Yes, to-morrow’s a new day,” cried Willy. “I’ll take no thought of what I’ve heard to-night. To-morrow I’m coming back.”
And with that he rushed away. As for Nora, she flew upstairs, and went to bed, that she might not come in for that little sermon which was on her mother’s lips. When she had shut herself into her own room she had a good cry. She could not have told anyone the reason of her perversity. She was angry with herself and Willy, and the guests who had put such nonsense in his head, and all the world. Must take him! very likely! If she, Nora Sinclair, ever had anything to say to a man who came to her with such a plea—She paused, on the verge of a petulant vow. Perhaps, on the whole, it would be as well not to make any oaths on the subject. And, luckily, at that moment she fell asleep, which was the easiest way out of the dilemma. To-morrow would be, as Mrs. Sinclair said, a new day.
But, unfortunately, to-morrow is not always a new day. When Nora got up in the chilly spring morning, she was, on the whole, rather more irritated and petulant than she had been the evening before. As for Mrs. Sinclair, it was her fixed opinion that the young folk should be left to themselves to make up their little matters. “They know each other’s ways best,” she said; “older folk do more harm than good when they interfere.” So when Willy came in, pale and breathless, the kind woman withdrew herself that the two might get it over undisturbed. It was not a new day for young Erskine any more than it was for Nora. It was a feverish supplement to last night. He had not perhaps gone to bed calmly after all his excitement, as a girl has to do. There was a rere-supper somewhere, to which his friends had dragged him, and where, probably, Willy’s brain had been heated by strong drinks. The morning found him parched with mental impatience and suspense, as well as with a certain degree of bodily feverishness and misery. It seemed to his heated eyes as if Nora meant to jilt him after all his devotion. He swore a big oath to himself as he rushed along to Heriot Row. “If she’ll not take me now, after all,” said Willy, “by——! I’ll go off to sea, and I’ll never be heard of more.”
In this mutual mood the two met. It was not an amiable interview on either side. The young lover took up precisely the line of argument which was most prejudicial to him. He pleaded his faithful services—his devotion which had lasted for years. He established a claim upon Nora, which she was not the girl to put up with. And she, on her side, scornfully denied any claim he had upon her. “If that is what you call love,” said the indignant maiden, “to follow a girl about, whether she likes or not, and then to tell her she must take you, to pay you for it!” This, alas, was not the way of settling their affairs!