Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa

by Robert Cleland

CHAPTER XV.

[MARY].

It was a revival of the dear dead past to Mary Brown, to find herself again at Inchbracken. General Drysdale took her in to dinner, and, perhaps because he would not touch upon the present, leading, as it must, to her brother's defection from the national Church, nor, in fact, on that young man in any way or respect whatever, he talked to her about her father and mother.

She found it very grateful to listen to their praises; and something like a tear glistened in her eye while she looked in the old gentleman's face, and the faint colour of her cheek deepened into a warmer pink.

We value our powers to interest others most when we feel them leaving us, and it is not often that an old man's conversation can bring a flush or a tear to the cheek of youth and beauty. General Drysdale felt pleased as he marked the effect of his words. It recalled, who can say what associations with the time when he was a young man, and an object of more interest to the fair, and he became more and more warmed himself, out of sympathy, as he dwelt on the charities and the worth of Mary's parents.

Julia, from her place across the table, remarked with surprise the General's unusual animation and loquacity, and his unwonted inattention to the high duty of the hour--dining. Mary's eyes were shining, and in her plain black dress with the roses, she bloomed a brighter flower than they, radiant in pure content. So, at least, it was evident that Kenneth thought. He sat at some distance from her, and had even to lean forward somewhat to see, but his eyes were ever travelling in that direction, and he appeared to answer the gentlemen on either side of him in so distraught and unsatisfactory a manner, that they soon ceased to disturb his musings by further talk.

Julia had arrayed herself for conquest. She always dressed well and carefully, but on the present occasion her effort had risen into the region of art. Arrayed in some combination of white and green, which cured any tendency to yellowness in her complexion (and her shoulders at times were a trifle too suggestive of old waxwork), her pale eyes twinkled with quite an unwonted lustre, and there was positively a bloom on her cheeks and lips, while the falling ringlets were longer and more poetic than ever. When Briggs went into her room during the dressing hour, she had surprised her in the act of locking something very like a paint-box into her desk, and she had made a pretty sharp survey while she added the few pins that were all the office required of her; but, as she remarked subsequently, 'I could not take my oath of it, Mrs. Kipper; if she do, she manages uncommon clever.' Painting is a fine art, and Julia had studied it as well as all the others, and would have thought it but a paltry achievement to deceive the stupid eyes of poor Briggs.

There were several strange gentlemen at table, and Julia was on her mettle. The two who sat next her found her most agreeable, but sparkle her best, she failed to catch one glance of appreciation from Kenneth's eyes. At the end of the table she saw Mary, and the General still smiling and engrossed in their talk, and confessed to herself that she had undervalued the strength of the enemy. To think that that slip of a girl, brought up in a country manse, should manage so splendidly, and contrive to win the old gentleman to her side as well as the young one! How was it done? Through all the years she had dined at his table, she had never been able to extract more conversation from him than a casual remark between the courses, and latterly she had ceased even to expect that.

Matters did not progress much more satisfactorily in the drawing-room. Julia had sat down to the piano, and played her best, which is saying a great deal, for she was a brilliant performer. She also sang, and although her voice was thin, it had had the best training, and she could warble through the most intricate compositions with consummate taste and execution. She soon had all the gentlemen gathered around her in silent admiration, all, that is to say, except the General, who was in his usual corner, by his own lamp, his eye-glass on his nose and a blue book in his lap. As one of the legislators of this great nation, he felt it incumbent to fall asleep--to fall asleep over its affairs every evening; it reminded him of the House in fact, where he had had many a good nap in his day. However, as he never spoke, and always voted straight with his party, that made no difference. Kenneth too was wanting. Mary Brown sat on a low stool beside Lady Caroline's arm-chair, who,--the lady that is, not the chair--was chatting drowsily to her, while she swayed her great fan to and fro, and Kenneth, with his elbow on the chimney-piece, hung over both. Julia was by no means insensible to the admiration of the strangers,--at another time it would have given her great satisfaction; but just at present, the defection of Kenneth and his father out-weighed it all.

There is now but one chance to outshine her rival--to get her to the piano and try how her poor little efforts will sound after her own finished performance. After one more song, therefore, which she took care should be the chef d'œuvre, she declared she could sing no more, but suggested that some one should ask Miss Brown. Miss Brown was asked, and would fain have declined, but Lady Caroline recollected how sweetly her mother used to sing old Scotch ballads, and enquired if she had not taught them to Mary. Mary had to admit so much, and thereupon was led to the piano, while Julia seated herself in full view to enjoy a triumph.