Lover or Friend

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'Yes, you will never mend or alter me,' she rejoined with a light laugh. 'I am Irish to the backbone. Now, my boy, you really must not keep me any longer with all this nonsense about Mollie. I have to go up to Rosendale, you know; Mrs. Cardell begged me to sit with her a little, and I am late now. Mollie will give you your tea. Come—have you forgiven your mother?' passing her white taper fingers over his dark hair as she spoke.

Cyril's only answer was to draw her face down to his.

Mrs. Blake smiled happily at him as she left the room—what did she care if only everything were right between her and her idolised boy? But Cyril was not so satisfied. With all his love for his mother, he was by no means blind to her many faults. He knew she was far too partial in her treatment of her children—that she was often thoughtless of Kester's comfort, and a little hard in her judgment of him; and she was not always judicious with respect to Mollie. At times she was lax, and left the girl to her own devices; but in certain moods, when Cyril had been speaking to her, perhaps, there would be nothing right. It was then that Mollie was accused of untidiness and feckless ways, when hints of idleness were dropped, and strict rules, never to be carried out, were made. Mollie must do a copy every day; she wrote worse than a child of ten. Her ignorance of geography was disgraceful; she had no idea where the Tigris was, and she could not name half the counties in Scotland, and so on. For four-and-twenty hours Mollie would be drilled, put through her facings, lectured, and made generally miserable; but by the next morning or so the educational cleaning would be over. 'Mother wasn't in a mood for teaching,' Mollie would say in her artless fashion as she carried away her books.

'No; he could not alter his mother's nature,' Cyril thought sadly. He could only do the best he could for them all. He was clever enough to see that his mother was wilfully shutting her eyes to her own mismanagement of Mollie, and that she preferred drifting on in this happy-go-lucky fashion. With all her energy and fits of industry, she was extremely indolent, and never liked taking trouble about anything. No; it was no use talking to her any more about Mollie, unless he had some definite suggestion to make—and then it was that he wondered if Miss Ross would help him; she always helped everyone, and he knew that she was in full possession of the facts.

'I am not a bit ashamed of our poverty,' thought Cyril, as he plunged down the sweet, dewy lanes. 'One day I shall get on, and be any man's equal; but the only thing that troubles me is the idea that she thinks us too hard on Mollie. She has never said so, of course; but somehow it is so easy to read her thoughts—she is more transparent than other people.' And Cyril heaved a deep sigh. 'I wonder what she will think when she sees me. I do not want her to know that I am looking out for her. Everyone has a right to take an evening walk if he likes; and, of course, the roads are open to all. Even without this excuse I meant to do it; for after this evening——' And then Cyril groaned to himself as he thought of the seven long blank weeks that stretched before him, when a certain sweet face would be missing; and at that moment he espied the gleam of a white dress between the hedgerows.

Now, Audrey was right in saying Booty was a spoilt dog. He was as full of whimsies this evening as spoilt children generally are. He had testified extreme delight when Audrey had closed the gate of Vineyard Cottage behind her. By some curious canine train of reasoning he had arrived at the conviction that his master was at Woodcote—had probably arrived there during their absence; and with this pleasing notion he pattered cheerfully after Audrey down the long grass lanes. But Audrey walked fast, and being rather late, she walked all the faster; and Booty, who was used to Michael's leisurely pace, began to lag behind and to hold out signals of distress. 'Oh, Booty, Booty!' exclaimed Audrey, regarding the little animal indulgently; 'and so I am to carry you, just because your legs are so absurdly short that they tire easily.' Evidently this was what Booty wished, for he sat up and waved his paws in an irresistible way. 'Very well, I will carry you, old fellow; but you are dreadfully spoilt, you know.'

'Indeed, you shall do nothing of the kind, Miss Ross;' and Cyril jumped off the stile. 'I will carry him for you;' and Cyril hoisted him up on his arm, being rewarded by an affectionate dab on his nose from Booty's busy tongue.

Audrey had coloured slightly when she first caught sight of Cyril's tall figure; but she suppressed her surprise.

'Is this a favourite walk of yours?' she asked carelessly, as though it were a usual thing to meet Mr. Blake wandering about the Brail lanes.

Cyril was quite equal to the occasion. He hardly knew which was his favourite walk; he was trying them all by turns. He had taken his mother to Brail once, and she had been much pleased with the village. There was one cottage she thought very pretty—indeed, they had both fallen in love with it; it had a quaint old porch, smothered in jasmine.