A PASSIVE COQUETTE.
It is not to be that such an as Mr. Preston had just had with Roger Hamley the in which the two men each other. They had spoken to one another before, and but met; for the land-agent's had at Ashcombe, some sixteen or seventeen miles from Hamley. He was older than Roger by years; but the time he had been in the Osborne and Roger had been at and at college. Mr. Preston was prepared to the Hamleys for many reasons. Cynthia and Molly had spoken of the with familiar regard, intimacy; their flowers had been to his on the occasion of the ball; most people spoke well of them; and Mr. Preston had an animal's and against all popular men. Their "position"—poor as the Hamleys might be—was higher than his own in the county; and, moreover, he was agent to the great Whig lord, political were to those of the old Tory squire. Not that Lord Cumnor himself much about his political interests. His family had property and title from the Whigs at the time of the Hanoverian succession; and so, traditionally, he was a Whig, and had in his to Whig clubs, where he had of money to Whig gamblers. All this was satisfactory and enough. And if Lord Hollingford had not been returned for the on the Whig interest—as his father had been him, until he had succeeded to the title—it is Lord Cumnor would have the British in danger, and the of his ignored. But, at elections, he had no of making Whig and Tory a party cry. He had too much in London, and was of too a nature, to any man who jumped with his from the he was always to offer, be the Whig, Tory, or Radical. But in the of which he was lord-lieutenant, the old party was still a by which men were as to their for social intercourse, as well as on the hustings. If by any a Whig himself at a Tory dinner-table—or versâ—the food was hard of digestion, and and were than enjoyed. A marriage the people of the parties was almost as unheard-of and an as that of Romeo and Juliet's. And of Mr. Preston was not a man in such would die away. They were an to him for one thing, and called out all his for on of the party to which he was allied. Moreover, he it as to his to "scatter his enemies" by any means in his power. He had always and the Tories in general; and after that on the common in of Silas's cottage, he the Hamleys and Roger especially, with a very choice and particular hatred. "That prig," as he always Roger—"he shall pay for it yet," he said to himself by way of consolation, after the father and son had left him. "What a it is!"—watching the figures, "The old has twice as much spunk," as the Squire at his reins. "The old make her way without being led, my fellow. But I see through your dodge. You're of your old father and into another rage. Position indeed! a squire—a man who did turn off his men just winter, to or starve, for all he cared—it's just like a old Tory." And, under the of with the labourers, Mr. Preston his own private very pleasantly.
Mr. Preston had many for rejoicing: he might have this discomfiture, as he to it, in the of an of income, and in the he in his new abode. All Hollingford came to do the earl's new agent honour. Mr. Sheepshanks had been a crabbed, old bachelor, inn-parlours on market days, not to give dinners to three or four friends and familiars, with whom, in return, he from time to time, and with whom, also, he up an in the of wines. But he "did not female society," as Miss Browning his to accept the of the Hollingford ladies. He was to speak of these to his friends as "those old women's worrying," but, of course, they of this. Little quarter-of-sheet notes, without any envelopes—that was unknown in those days—but sealed in the when up of as they are at present—occasionally passed Mr. Sheepshanks and the Miss Brownings, Mrs. Goodenough or others. From the first-mentioned ladies the ran as follows:—"Miss Browning and her sister, Miss Phœbe Browning, present their to Mr. Sheepshanks, and to him that a friends have to them with their company at tea on Thursday next. Miss Browning and Miss Phœbe will take it very if Mr. Sheepshanks will join their little circle."
Now for Mrs. Goodenough.
"Mrs. Goodenough's respects to Mr. Sheepshanks, and he is in good health. She would be very if he would her with his company to tea on Monday. My daughter, in Combermere, has sent me a of guinea-fowls, and Mrs. Goodenough Mr. Sheepshanks will and take a of supper."
No need for the of the days of the month. The good ladies would have that the world was to an end if the had been sent out a week the party named. But not guinea-fowls for supper Mr. Sheepshanks. He the made-wines he had in days at Hollingford parties, and shuddered. Bread-and-cheese, with a of bitter-beer, or a little brandy-and-water, of in his old (which had into of comfort, and of tobacco), he liked than guinea-fowl and birch-wine, without into the the coat, and the tight and shoes. So the ex-agent had been seldom, if ever, at the Hollingford tea-parties. He might have had his of stereotyped, it was so the same.
"Mr. Sheepshanks' to Miss Browning and her sister" (to Mrs. Goodenough, or to others, as the case might be). "Business of him from himself of their invitation; for which he to return his best thanks."
But now that Mr. Preston had succeeded, and come to live in Hollingford, were changed.
He every right and left, and opinions accordingly. Parties were in his honour, "just as if he had been a bride," Miss Phœbe Browning said; and to all of them he went.
"What's the man after?" said Mr. Sheepshanks to himself, when he of his successor's affability, and sociability, and amiability, and a of other "ilities," from the friends the old still at Hollingford. "Preston's not a man to put himself out for nothing. He's deep. He'll be after something than popularity."
The old was right. Mr. Preston was "after" something more than popularity. He he had a of meeting Cynthia Kirkpatrick.
It might be that Molly's were more at this time than they were in general; or that Cynthia was exultant, to herself, in the amount of attention and she was from Roger by day, from Mr. Preston in the evening, but the two girls to have company in cheerfulness. Molly was always gentle, but very and silent. Cynthia, on the contrary, was merry, full of mockeries, and silent. When she came to Hollingford one of her great had been that she was such a listener; now her excitement, by caused, her too to her tongue; yet what she said was too pretty, too witty, not to be a and interruption, by those who were under her sway. Mr. Gibson was the only one who this change, and upon it. "She's in a of some kind," he to himself. "She's very fascinating, but I don't her."
If Molly had not been so to her friend, she might have this a little when into every-day life; it was not the of a lake, it was the of the pieces of a mirror, which and bewilders. Cynthia would not talk about anything now; of or to have their relative value. There were to this mood of hers, when she into of silence, that would have been had it not been for the of her temper. If there was a little to be done to either Mr. Gibson or Molly, Cynthia was just as as to do it; did she to do anything her mother wished, might be the that the wish. But in this case Cynthia's were not by her heart.
Molly was dejected, she not why. Cynthia had a little apart; that was not it. Her had moods; and if Cynthia her, she would Molly with small and pseudo-affection. Or else was wrong, the world was out of joint, and Molly had failed in her mission to set it right, and was to be accordingly. But Molly was of too a to be much moved by the of an person. She might be annoyed, or irritated, but she was not depressed. That was not it. The was this. As long as Roger was to Cynthia, and her of his own accord, it had been a pain and to Molly's heart; but it was a attraction, and one which Molly acknowledged, in her and great power of loving, to be the most natural thing in the world. She would look at Cynthia's and grace, and as if no one it. And when she all the small of which Roger was at no pains to conceal, she thought, with a sigh, that surely no girl help her to such tender, as Roger's ensured. She would have been to cut off her right hand, if need were, to his to Cynthia; and the self-sacrifice would have added a to a happy crisis. She was at what she to be Mrs. Gibson's to so much and worth; and when she called Roger "a country lout," or any other epithet, Molly would pinch herself in order to keep silent. But after all, those were peaceful days to the present, when she, the of the tapestry, after the of those who in the same house with a plotter, aware that Mrs. Gibson had totally her to Roger, from some unknown to Molly.
But he was always the same; "steady as old Time," as Mrs. Gibson called him, with her originality; "a of strength, under very there is rest," as Mrs. Hamley had once spoken of him. So the of Mrs. Gibson's manner not in him. Yet now he was sure of a welcome, let him come at any hour he would. He was for having taken Mrs. Gibson's too literally, and for lunch. But he said he her for such to be valid, and should respect them. And this was done out of his simplicity, and from no of malice. Then in their family at home, Mrs. Gibson was making for Roger and Cynthia together, with so a of her wish to about an engagement, that Molly at the spread so evidently, and at Roger's in so to be entrapped. She his previous willingness, his of for the Cynthia; she only saw plots of which he was the victim, and Cynthia the if bait. She as if she not have as Cynthia did; no, not to Roger's love. Cynthia and saw as much of the as she did, and yet she submitted to the rôle to her! To be sure, this rôle would have been played by her unconsciously; the were what she would naturally have done; but they were prescribed—by only, it is true—Molly would have resisted; have gone out, for instance, when she was to at home; or have in the garden when a long country walk was planned. At last—for she not help Cynthia, come what would—she to that Cynthia was of all; but it was with an that she herself to it.
It may be all very "to sport with Amaryllis in the shade, or with the of Neæra's hair," but men at the of their life have many other in this England to their time and their thoughts. Roger was Fellow of Trinity, to be sure; and from the it appeared as if his position, as long as he to keep unmarried, was a very easy one. His was not a nature, however, to into ease, had his been at his disposal. He looked to an active life; in what direction he had not yet determined. He what were his and his tastes; and did not wish the to buried, the latter, which he as gifts, him for some work, to be or thwarted. He liked an object, secure in his own energy to his way to it, when once he saw it clearly. He of money for his own personal needs, which were small, and for the of any project he might see fit to undertake; the of his was Osborne's; and in the which the these two so perfect. It was only the of Cynthia that Roger off his balance. A man in else, about her he was as a child. He that he not and his fellowship; his was to himself from any or until he had one to his mind, so there was no prospect—no for many years, indeed, that he would be able to marry. Yet he on Cynthia's sweet company, to the music of her voice, in her sunshine, and his in every possible way, just like an child. He that it was folly—and yet he did it; and it was this that him so with Osborne. Roger his about Osborne's much more than Osborne himself. Indeed, he had so and of late, that the Squire only very to his for of scene, though he used to so much at the necessary it involved.
"After all, it doesn't cost much," the Squire said to Roger one day. "Choose how he it, he it cheaply; he used to come and ask me for twenty, where now he it for five. But he and I have each other's language, that's what we have! and my dictionary" (only he called it "dixonary") "has all got of those debts—which he will to me, or talk about—he always me off at arm's length when I upon it—he does, Roger—me, his old dad, as was his of all, when he was a little of a chap!"
The Squire so much upon Osborne's to himself, that over this one he more and than in his manner to Osborne, the want of the and that he thus repelled. So much so that Roger, who to avoid being the of his father's against Osborne—and Roger's was the his father always sought—had often to have to the of the as a counter-irritant. The Squire had Mr. Preston's speech about the of his work-people very keenly; it in with the of his own conscience, though, as he would repeat to Roger over and over again,—"I couldn't help it—how I?—I was of money—I wish the land was as as I am," said he, with a touch of that came out he was aware, and at which he sadly enough. "What was I to do, I ask you, Roger? I know I was in a rage—I've had a to make me so—and maybe I didn't think as much about as I should ha' done, when I gave orders for 'em to be sent off; but I couldn't have done otherwise if I'd ha' for a in blood. Consequences! I consequences; they've always been against me; they have. I'm so up I can't cut a more, and that's a 'consequence' of having the property so well settled; I wish I'd had any ancestors. Ay, laugh, lad! it me good to see laugh a bit, after Osborne's long face, which always longer at o' me!"
"Look here, father!" said Roger, suddenly, "I'll manage somehow about the money for the works. You trust to me; give me two months to turn myself in, and you shall have some money, at any rate, to with."
The Squire looked at him, and his as a child's at the promise of a to him by some one on he can rely. He a little graver, however, as he said,—"But how will you it? It's hard work."
"Never mind; I'll it—a hundred or so at first—I don't yet know how—but remember, father, I'm a senior wrangler, and a 'very promising writer,' as that called me. Oh, you don't know what a you've got for a son! You should have read that to know all my merits."
"I did, Roger. I Gibson speaking of it, and I him it for me. I should have it if they have called the animals by their English names, and not put so much of their French into it."
"But it was an answer to an article by a French writer," Roger.
"I'd ha' let him alone!" said the Squire, earnestly. "We had to 'em, and we did it at Waterloo; but I'd not myself by any of their lies, if I was you. But I got through the review, for all their Latin and French—I did; and if you me, you just look at the end of the great ledger, turn it down, and you'll I've out all the they said of you: 'careful observer,' 'strong English,' 'rising philosopher.' Oh! I can nearly say it all off by heart, for many a time when I'm by debts, or Osborne's bills, or with accounts, I turn the way up, and a pipe over it, while I read those pieces out of the which speak about you, lad!"
