‘Never, on the word of a gentleman-pioneer,’ rejoined Mr. Churbett. ‘It’s this exploration, new country, perils-of-the-wilderness business that has done it. “None but the brave deserve the fair.” We are the brave, sir, in this fortunate instance. We have solved the mystery of the unconquered Bogongs. We have gazed at the ocean outlets of the Great Lakes. We have proved ourselves to be the manner of men that found empires. Under the circumstances heroes always hastened to contract matrimonial alliances. Cortez did it. Dunois did it. William of Argyll is perilously near the Great Hazard. And I, Frederick de Churbett, am hugely minded to do likewise, if that confounded Irishman would only leave off his nonsense and let a fellow get a word in edgeways.’
Mr. Churbett had reason for complaint, inasmuch as Gerald O’More, when his national gallantry was kindled to action, appeared determined to permit ‘no rival near the throne,’ as he successively devoted himself to Annabel, Rosamond, and Miss Fane, or indeed occasionally kept all engaged in conversation and entertainment at the self-same time. It became difficult to discover, for a while, so rapid as well as brilliant were his evolutions, whom he intended to honour with his exclusive admiration. At length, however, those who were in the position of calm spectators had no doubt but that Annabel, with whom he kept up a ceaseless flow of badinage and raillery, was the real attraction. If so, he was likely to find a rival in the sarcastic Ardmillan, with whom he had more than once bade fair to pass from jest to earnest. For the cooler Scot was in the habit of waiting until he saw his antagonist upon the horns of a dilemma, or luring him on to the confines of a manifest absurdity. This he would explode, blowing his rival’s argument into the air, and graciously explaining his triumph to the surrounding fair.
Such was the satisfaction which filled the heart of Mrs. Effingham, that but for the absence of her husband and daughter she would certainly have gone the daring length of giving a party. But the absence of her husband was, to the conscience of the matron, an insuperable objection. No amount of specious argument or passionate appeal could alter her determination.
‘My dears, it would be wrong,’ she quietly replied, in answer to Annabel’s entreaty and Rosamond’s sober statement that there could not be any objection on the point of etiquette. ‘Suppose anything should happen to your father or Beatrice about the time—travelling is so very uncertain—we should never have another happy moment.’
So the project, much to Annabel’s openly expressed and Rosamond’s inwardly felt disappointment, was given up. However, Mrs. Effingham relented so far as to say that, although her principles forbade her to give a party, there could be nothing indecorous in asking their friends to dine with them on Christmas Day, when the time for dear Guy’s departure for the station would, alas! be drawing nigh.
This was a grand concession, and all kinds of preparations were made for the celebration of the festival. In the meanwhile, as there was next to nothing doing on any of the stations, what between riding-parties, chance visits, special arrivals for the purpose of bringing over new books or new music, it seemed as if The Chase had been changed into the caravanserai of the district. It would have been difficult to tell whether the neighbours lived more of their time with the Effinghams or at their own stations.
During this exciting season Wilfred Effingham was commencing to experience the elaborated torture of seeing the woman he now discovered to be his chief exemplar made love to by another man, apparently with prospects of success. When he set himself to work seriously to please, William Argyll was rarely known to fail. The restless spirit was stilled. The uncontrollable temper was lulled, like the wave of a summer sea. All the powers of a rare intellect, the stores of a cultivated mind, were displayed. Brave, athletic, of a striking personal appearance, if not regularly handsome, he was a man to whom few women could refuse interest, whom none could scorn. Besides all this, he was the heir to a fine estate in his native land.
When, therefore, day by day, he devoted himself in almost exclusive attendance to the appropriation of Miss Fane, keeping close to her bridle-rein in all excursions, monopolising her in the evenings, and holding æsthetic talks, in which she apparently took equal interest, the general conclusion arrived at was that Miss Fane was only awaiting a decorous interval to capitulate in due form.
Yet Wilfred was constrained to confess that however much he may have deserved such punishment, there was no change in her manner towards him. When he touched upon any of their old subjects of debate, he found she had not forgotten the points on which they had agreed or differed, and was ready, as of old, to maintain her opinions.
She seemed pleased to linger over reminiscences of those days and the confidences then made.