THERE seemed, however, no of this for the present. Mr. Greydon had, till lately, so any of in love, or of the possibility of marrying, that now he had once the idea, he upon it with his energy. He said it was how often he met Captain Hopkinson and his out walking–there must be a about it–the being that he looked out of his window, which a view of their house, till they came out, and then, by walking very fast, he either them or met then; and in either case, by another fatality, he to have some work to do in the direction in which they were going. Then he to so much in Lady Chester and her that it only be satisfied by from Mrs. Hopkinson, who was at Pleasance; and if she to be there when he called, Captain Hopkinson him and took him up to the drawing-room, and then there was a talk, and a little music; and altogether, if Mr. Greydon's had at all in to his passion, there would have been a Mrs. Greydon in a very weeks. Captain Hopkinson saw how stood, and from interference. He if the people liked each other they would make it out somehow: when Jane and he married they had not more than a hundred a year, and now they had more money than they spend. Mr. Greydon might ask him for his daughter, and would, perhaps, be to that little Janet would her the of a family, and in the meanwhile they were welcome to see as much of each other as they liked.
Willis, in days, would not have spoke to his sisters-in-law or not; but some had come over the of his very dream. He looked more at what was around him, and less at his own grievances. It appeared that he had been with the Sampsons, or calling on them; and he talked of the of a great fête at Columbia Lodge to return the that had been to him; and, to the of Janet and Rose, that he had had the tuned, on which Mary had been used to play some little that like the of a linnet, "And if you will your music, girls, it will be a great for–" and then he added in one of his old tones, "for the Baroness."
The girls were much that Charles should think their a for anybody, and to what the pause in his meant; and when Miss Monteneros was soon after, the something almost to in Willis's manner their suspicions. Rachel had called on them lately; sometimes with gifts for people, a list of she had from Janet–sometimes in a humour, which she them only be by talking it off to them–sometimes full of fun, and to take life as a farce; but was the of the day, little Charlie was the "master of the situation."
The child had taken a to her the time he saw her, and Rachel had had so little of that his touched her to the heart; she loved him with a love, she herself his slave, told him odd stories, and then again talked to him in earnest, as if he and she the world and each other than any other two people on earth. There is nothing so to a child, particularly to a child, as being like a very old man. Charlie would on Rachel's knee, his on her, while she "fabled of green fields," or the white clouds on the above into of angels, to she gave destinations; and Charlie would say, "Yes, true, Rachel," and shake his with an air of that her.
"Nay, shake your at me, such dear little locks, too, as they are. And now, Charlie, your have got some more visitors to entertain," she whispered, as Mr. Greydon was announced, "so you and I will go and in the in grandmamma's garden, and I will tell you such a of a little kitten," and with a to the girls she him off. Willis looked fidgety, and did not himself to with his asperity, and after a time he too in the direction of the garden. There he Charlie in of at the and doings of the kitten.
"You will my little man, Miss Monteneros," looking at Charlie with an shake of the head.
"Oh! shake your at me," said the child.
"Now, was there such a darling?" said Rachel, "and I only said that once to him. He is too clever!"
"Ah, yes, little fellow," said Willis, with another shake of his "golly locks," meant to the of such early percocity.
"Charlie pet, go and me a quantity of and I will make such a necklace for you. I sent him away, Mr. Willis, I want to you not to speak so of his health when he is present. He is old enough, or, at least, quick to understand, in some degree, your forebodings. I know," she added, in her most manner, "that I am taking a very great in saying this; but you are very of your little boy, and I am sure you will me."
"More than that," said Mr. Willis, looking complacent. "I very much to you; I know I ought to my from the of that babe."
"Certainly," said Rachel, "and from else. There is no great in grievously, and there is no great in melancholy, be it or artificial."
"I hope, Miss Monteneros, you do not me of being artificial."
"Are not you? Well, I do not know, I am very myself, a regular actress, but I have always you me in that line. Why now, Mr. Willis, Hamlet, you know, says that
'The cloak,
That of breath,
And the 'haviour of the visage,'
are that a man may seem, they do not 'denote him truly.' Now, what good have you for all this of distress?"
Willis was posed. He to Rachel, with he was in love, that he was still for the of a wife for he had little while she was alive, and when he came to think what other he had, he somehow not them at that moment; so he something about a home and Charlie's health, a great and a natural to the worst, &c.
"That is a misfortune, certainly," said Rachel; "many people would call it a fault. But dear little Charlie's health is daily, so there is one of happiness. With that set of people we have just left, who you like a son and brother, you can always a home that is not solitary. As for your great bereavement, for which I you, time must have done something for you, and as for the you make to it, I long to say to you–but no, I have no right to speak. Ah," she added, trying to into her careless manner, "of all people in the world, I am about the last to give good advice."
"No, you are not," said Willis, with more than he often evinced. "What is it you long to say?"
"Why, just what the Quaker said to the Duchess of Buckingham, when he her, two years after her husband's death, in a room, with black, 'What, friend, not God Almighty yet?' And now I must go to Charlie and his daisies," said Rachel and escaping, for she was at her own daring.
But Willis followed, by her last of wisdom, and of her into his character, but to the last by the she appeared to take in his happiness, and not at all aware that Charlie was at the of all this plot against his querulousness. Rachel did not choose that Charlie should under the of Willis's gourd, and she did not think that the had any right to with such a Charlie to on it.
"Miss Monteneros," he began, "I you will allow me to thank you for the you have me, and I to you–"
"Oh!" said Rachel, "if I have not you, I am more than satisfied; and now for my daisy-chain. Papa must not us, must he, Charlie? We are on that point."
"Twite detided," said Charlie with great energy; "papa, go."
"Are you not going to do what Charlie tells you?" said Rachel, smiling, after a time that Willis was still by them.
"I am not going," he said, moodily. "Miss Monteneros," he added after a pause, "you to take great in my little boy."
"The possible; Charlie and I are friends."
" Dat we are," said Charlie, "oh, imitate."
"Cannot you that to his father?"
"I am not much to friendship," she said carelessly, and more in her Charlie's than in his father's remarks. "But if I had been your friend for the last twenty years, I not have told you more crude, than I did to-day. I can tell you as many again," she added, laughing, "if that proof of will satisfy you."
"No, it will not," he said with some spirit; "I ask for more; the you have spoken were not disagreeable, they came from you, and I you will see they have not been spoken in vain. When you tell me to be more cheerful, when you say my home might be happy, Miss Monteneros, it is in your power to your own prophecy."
Rachel looked up with an air of astonishment.
"You are of that child–oh! Miss Monteneros, let him in you the mother he has lost. It is in your power to make the child and father happy."
"Oh, Mr. Willis, what are you saying? Stay one moment–" Then there was a pause and, to Willis's surprise, she into a laugh.
"I your pardon," she said, "but to think of all my to you to be happy in your me to be your wife! Why, of all the methods of being which you are so of trying, you not have one so to produce the result as that. I there are not two people in England who would each other so little as we should. We do not about each other, to with; and there are you, still in the mourning, and for the of your wife, a woman every way to her to be your second."
"But Mary did not me," the Willis, "I not love her; she was certainly, but without the charm, the power that you have, Miss Monteneros. You would give an to my home that it has had, and the gloom–"
"Say no more, Mr. Willis," said Rachel gravely; "you can that I should have your under any circumstances, and we know each other so little that my can give you but little pain. But think of the you are now making; you have and wide, and in all directions, and yet you tell me that the Mary has been with such 'did not you,' you not love her. Oh! where is Truth? am I to it? I can in the and of the world–it is all in itself, all heartless–but should be as true as it is sacred. Falseness there and me."
She was with excitement, but she took up Charlie as she spoke, and the of his and the touch of his hand her, for she and added: "Perhaps I have spoken too harshly, but the should be named slightingly; she was Charlie's mother, too–do not say you loved her."
And so she departed, Willis more ashamed, more in his own than he have possible, and yet with a of the and of truth that gave him an of he had known.
Rachel deposited Charlie with his aunts, and walked home annoyed, with what had passed. "That comes of advice," she thought. "It answers, but I did it for Charlie's sake; and as the man has no feeling, no great is done. I wish little Charlie had not been so and about the 'golly locks,' it me long to be his mother; but to be sure it would not do to Mr. Willis on the of that one quotation."
