“You? Oh, well, I don’t know—you are a girl,” said Law, “and girls are used to it. I don’t know what you would do if you wanted to have a little fun, eh? I dare say you don’t know yourself. Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if it was dull; but what can anyone do? It’s nature, I suppose,” said Law. “There isn’t any fun for girls, as there is for us. Well, is there? How should I know?”
But there was “fun” for Emma and her sisters of the workroom, Law reminded himself with a compunction. “I’ll tell you what, Lottie,” he said hastily; “you must just do as other girls do. You must get some one to walk with you, and talk, and all that, you know. There’s nothing else to be done; and you might have plenty. There’s that singing fellow, that young Purcell; they say he’s in love with you. Well, he’s better than nobody; and you could give him the sack as soon as you saw somebody you liked better. I thought at one time that Ridsdale——”
“I think, Law,” said Lottie, “you had better go out for your walk.”
He laughed. He was half-pleased to have roused and vexed her, yet half-sorry too. Poor Lottie! Now that she was abandoned by her grand admirer and all her fine friends, it must be dull for her, staying in the house by herself; but then what could he do, or anyone? It was nature. Nature, perhaps, might be to blame for not providing “fun” for girls, but it was not for Law to set nature right. When he had got his hat, however, and brushed his hair before going out, he came back and looked at Lottie with a compunction. He could not give up meeting Emma in order to take his sister for a walk, though, indeed, this idea actually did glance across his mind as a rueful possibility. No, he could not go; he had promised Emma to meet her in the woods, and he must keep his word. But he was very sorry for Lottie. What a pity she had not some one of her own—Purcell, if nobody better! and then, when the right one came, she might throw him off. But Law did not dare to repeat his advice to this effect. He went and looked at her remorsefully. Lottie had seated herself upstairs in the little drawing-room; she was leaning her elbow on the ledge of the little deep window, and her head upon her hand. The attitude was pensive; and Law could not help thinking that to be a girl, and sit there all alone looking out of a window instead of roaming about as he did, would be something very terrible. The contrast chilled him and made him momentarily ashamed of himself. But then he reflected that there were a great many people passing up and down, and that he had often heard people say it was amusing to sit at a window. Very likely Lottie thought so; probably, on the whole, she liked that better than going out. This must be the case, he persuaded himself, or else she would have been sure to manage to get some companion; therefore he said nothing to her, but went downstairs very quietly and let himself out softly, not making any noise with the door. Law had a very pleasant walk with Emma under the trees, and enjoyed himself, but occasionally there would pass a shadow over him as he thought of Lottie sitting at the window in the little still house all alone.
But indeed, for that evening at least, Lottie was not much to be pitied. She had her dreams to fall back upon. She had what is absolutely necessary to happiness—not only something to look back to, but something to look forward to. That is the true secret of bliss—something that is coming. With that to support us can we not bear anything? After a while, no doubt, Lottie felt, as she had often felt before, that it was dull. There was not a sound in the little house; everybody was out except herself; and it was Sunday, and she could not get her needlework to occupy her hands and help on her thoughts. As the brightness waned slowly away, and the softness of the evening lights and then the dimness of the approaching dark stole on, Lottie had a great longing to get out of doors; but she could not go and leave the house, for even the maid was out, having her Sunday walk with her young man. It was astonishing how many girls had gone wandering past the window, each with her young man. Not much wonder, perhaps, that Law had suggested this sole way of a little “fun” for a girl. Poor Law! he did not know any better; he did not mean any harm. She laughed now at the suggestion which had made her angry at the time, for to-night Lottie could afford to laugh. But when she heard the maid-servant come in, Lottie, wearied with her long vigil, and longing for a breath of cool air after the confinement of the house, agreed with herself that there would be no harm in taking one little turn upon the slopes. The townspeople had mostly gone. Now and then a couple of the old Chevaliers would come strolling homeward, having taken a longer walk in the calm of the Sunday evening than their usual turn on the Slopes. Captain Temple and his wife had gone by arm-in-arm. Perhaps they had been down to the evening service in the town, perhaps only out for a walk, like everybody else. Gradually the strangers were disappearing; the people that belonged to the Precincts were now almost the only people about, and there was no harm in taking a little walk alone; but it was not a thing Lottie cared much to do. With a legitimate errand she would go anywhere; but for a walk! The girl was shy, and full of all those natural conventional reluctances which cannot be got out of women; but she could not stay in any longer. She went out with a little blue shawl folded like a scarf—as was the fashion of the time—over her shoulders, and flitted quickly along the Dean’s Walk to the slopes. All was sweet in the soft darkness and in the evening dews, the grass moist, the trees or the sky sometimes distilling a palpable dewdrop, the air coming softly over all those miles of country to touch with the tenderest salutation Lottie’s cheek. She looked out upon the little town nestling at the foot of the hill with all its twinkling lights, and upon the stars that shone over the long glimmer of the river, which showed here and there, through all the valley, pale openings of light in the dark country. How sweet and still it was! The openness of the horizon, the distance, was the thing that did Lottie good. She cast her eyes to the very farthest limit of the world that lay within her sight and drew a long breath. Perhaps it was this that caught the attention of some one who was passing. Lottie had seated herself in a corner under a tree, and she did not see this wayfarer, who was behind her; and the reader knows that she did not sigh for sorrow, but only to relieve a bosom which was very full of fanciful anticipations, hopes, and dreams. It was not likely, however, that Mr. Ashford would know that. He too was taking his evening walk; and when he heard the sigh in which so many tender and delicious fancies exhaled into the air, he thought—who could wonder?—that it was somebody in trouble; and, drawing a little nearer to see if he could help, as was the nature of the man, found to his great surprise—as she, too, startled, turned round her face upon him—that it was Lottie Despard who was occupying the seat which was his favourite seat also. They both said “I beg your pardon” simultaneously, though it would be hard to tell why.
“I think I have seen you here before,” he said. “You like this time of the evening, Miss Despard, like myself—and this view?”
“Yes,” said Lottie; “but I have been sitting indoors all the afternoon, and got tired of it at last. I did not like to come out all by myself; but I thought no one would see me now.”
“Surely you may come here in all safety by yourself.” The Minor Canon had too much good breeding to suggest any need of a companion or any pity for the girl left alone. Then he said suddenly, “This is an admirable chance for me. The first time we met, Miss Despard, you mentioned something about which you wished to consult me——”
“Ah!” cried Lottie, coming back out of her dreams. Yes, she had wanted to consult him, and the opportunity must not be neglected. “It was about Law, Mr. Ashford. Law—his name is Lawrence, you know, my brother; he is a great boy, almost a man—more than eighteen. But I am afraid he is very backward. I want him so very much to stand his examination. It seems that nothing—nothing can be done without that now.”
“His examination—for what?”