“He may not enjoy being educated, but, like me, he knows that it is good for him,” replied Bonnybell, with pretty insincerity, throwing a glance, as she delivered herself of her fib, at Edward, to see how he took it—whether with approbation of her sweet docility, or with that grain of distrust which she had uneasily surmised several times lately in his reception of her statements both as to fact and sentiment?
She could read no expression of either approval or disapproval in his eyes; but he broke out into one of his rare laughs, as she capered off again down the long room, whirling Jock along in an ambling waltz, against which his dragging hind legs made a bored protest. There was calculation and consciousness in the childish frisking gaiety of Jock’s partner; but yet there was real young enjoyment too. One might be a little Mayfair mudlark, obliged to earn one’s bread by currying favour with one’s patrons in any way that seemed most likely to succeed; but one was only eighteen, and it took but a very little to make one’s heart feel uncommonly light.
Having landed Jock in front of his mistress, and by judicious pressure upon his stomach forced him to execute an angry bow to that lady as a finale to his performances, Miss Ransome, forsaken by her good genius, lapsed into ruinous reminiscence.
“When we were at Deauville there was a poodle at the hotel who could walk as well on his forelegs, with his hind ones in the air, as on all four. My mother was so pleased with him that she wanted to buy him; but the lady to whom he belonged—she was not quite a lady; she was with the Prince de Compiègne—would not hear of parting with him. Claire could never bear not getting what she wished; so we had a scene about it one night on the stairs.”
This interesting trait was followed by absolute silence.
“There is nothing for it but patience, I suppose!” said Mrs. Tancred, a little later, when Bonnybell, not enjoying the atmosphere which she had created, expressed herself tired and went to bed; and Edward answered, with brief acquiescence—
CHAPTER XIV
A week had elapsed, and a morning came on which Edward set off for London accompanied by his wife, instead of, as usual, alone! The result was obvious: freedom—temporary, indeed! but still freedom for Miss Ransome. But of what use was that noblest of God’s gifts to one who had no means of employing it?
“Don’t get into mischief if you can help it,” was Camilla’s parting benediction; and the smiling humility of Bonnybell’s “I will try not,” took an ambiguous meaning as she turned it over afterwards in the leisure and liberty of her own mind. “Try not to get into mischief?” or “Try not to help getting into mischief? How can I help helping? What mischief could I get into if I tried?”