CHAPTER XLI.
SIR HARRY BIDES HIS TIME.
Phillis might have spared herself that little outburst to which she had given vent on the day of her cousin’s arrival. For, in spite of the lordly way in which he had claimed his prerogative as the only male Challoner, Sir Harry took no further steps to interfere with her liberty: indeed, as the days and even the weeks passed away, and nothing particular happened in them, she was even a little disappointed.
For it is one thing to foster heroic intentions, but quite 300 another when one has no choice in the matter. The heroism seemed lost, somehow, when no one took the trouble to combat her resolution. Phillis began to tire of her work,—nay, more, to feel positive disgust at it. The merry evenings gave her a distaste for her morning labors, and the daylight seemed sometimes as though it would never fade into dark, so as to give her an excuse for folding up her work.
These fits of impatience were intermittent, and she spoke of them to no one: in other respects the new cousin brought a great deal of brightness and pleasure into their daily life.
They all grew very fond of him. Mrs. Challoner, indeed, was soon heard to say that she almost loved him like a son,—a speech that reached Dick’s ears by and by and made him excessively angry. “I should like to kick that fellow,” he growled, as he read the words. But then Dick never liked interlopers. He had conceived a hatred of Mr. Drummond on the spot. Sir Harry took up his quarters at the same hotel where Dick and his father had spent that one dreary evening. He gave lavish orders and excited a great deal of attention and talk by his careless munificence. Without being positively extravagant he had a free-handed way of spending his money: as he often said, “he liked to see things comfortable about him.” And, as his notions of comfort were somewhat expensive, his host soon conceived a great respect for him,—all the more that he gave himself no airs, never talked about his wealth except to his cousins, and treated his title as though it were not of the slightest consequence to himself or any one else; indeed, he was decidedly modest in all matters pertaining to himself.
But, being a generous soul, he loved to give. Every few days he went up to London, and he never returned without bringing gifts to the Friary. Dulce, who was from the first his chief favorite, revelled in French bonbons; hampers of wine, of choice game, or fruit from Covent Garden, filled the tiny larder to overflowing. Silks and ribbons, and odds and ends of female finery, were sent down from Marshall & Snelgrove’s, or Swan & Edgar’s. In vain Mrs. Challoner implored him not to spoil the girls, who had never had so many pretty things in their lives, and hardly knew what to do with them. Sir Harry would not deny himself this pleasure; and he came up evening after evening, overflowing with health and spirits, to join the family circle in the small parlor and enliven them with his stories of colonial life.
People began to talk about him. He was too big and too prominent a figure to pass unnoticed in Hadleigh. The Challoners and their odd ways, and their cousin the baronet who was a millionaire and unmarried, were canvassed in many a drawing-room. “We always knew they were not just ‘nobodies,’” as one young lady observed; and another remarked, a little scornfully, “that she supposed Sir Henry Challoner would put a stop to all that ridiculous dressmaking now.” But when they 301 found that Nan and Phillis went about as usual, taking orders and fitting on dresses, their astonishment knew no bounds.