Not Like Other Girls

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

First Sir Henry took his cousins to the hotel, where they heard him order his apartments and dinner: he evidently considered he had not dined; and there was a good deal of discussion about some game that he ordered, and a certain brand of champagne that was to his liking.

“If they make me comfortable, I may stop on a goodish bit,” he informed them, “until we have settled where my aunt would like to live. I shall run up to London every few days, and can do all your commissions. By the bye, I got some trinkets for you girls on my way down; we will haul them over when I come up for the cup of coffee Aunt Catherine promised me this evening.”

“Now, Harry, we don’t want presents,” remarked Phillis, taking him to task as easily as though she had known him all her life long.

In spite of his bigness, his great burly figure and plain face, there was something very pleasant about him. He was rough and unpolished, his dress was careless and of colonial cut; and yet one could not fail to see he was a gentleman. His boyishness and fun would have delighted Dick, who was of the same calibre; only Dick was far cleverer, and had more in his little finger than this great lumbering Harry in his whole body.

He was slow and clumsy, but his heart and intentions were excellent; he was full of tenderness for women, and showed a touching sort of chivalry in his intercourse with them. In some way, his manners were far finer than those of a New Bond Street gentleman; for he could not sneer at a woman, he believed in the goodness of the sex, in spite of much knowledge to the contrary, he could not tell a lie, and he only cheated himself. This was saying a good deal for the son of that very black sheep Sir Francis; but, as Sir Harry once simply observed, “his mother was a good woman:” if this were the case, her husband’s vices must have shortened her life, for she died young.

Phillis was glad when they turned their backs on the town: she found her cousin’s long purse a difficulty: it seemed an impossibility to get him past the shops.

First, he was sure Aunt Catherine was fond of champagne,—all ladies liked sweet sparkling things; but he would see about that at the hotel presently. Then his attention was attracted by some grouse hanging up at the poulterer’s: Aunt Catherine must have some grouse, as he remembered the cold mutton. Phillis made no objection to the grouse, for she knew her mother’s fondness for game; but she waxed indignant when partridges and a hare were added, and still more when Sir Harry ransacked the fruiterers for a supply of the rarest fruit the town could afford. After this, he turned his attention to cakes and bonbons; but here Dulce took his part, for she loved bonbons. Phillis caught Nan by the arm, and compelled her to 292 leave them; but Mattie deserted her friends, and remained to watch the fun.

Dulce grew frightened at last, and tried to coax her cousin away.

“Oh, no more—no more?” she pleaded. “Phillis and Nan will be so angry with us.”

“I don’t see anything more worth getting,” returned her cousin, contemptuously. “What a place this is, to be sure! Never mind, Dulce; I am going up to London to-morrow, and I will bring you down as many bonbons as you like from the French place in Regent Street. I will bring Miss Mattie some too,” he continued, as the girls hurried him along. “And, Dulce, just write out a list of what you girls want; and I will get them, as sure as my name is Harry.”