FullReads

“Yes,” he would say complacently to some admiring satellite, “I know I’m a good match, and I know what makes the gals so civil. They’re very pretty, and they’re very friendly to a fellow; but I don’t care about ’em. They’re all alike—they can only drop their eyes and say, ‘Lor’, Sir Harry, why do you call that curly black dog a retriever?’ or ‘Oh Sir Harry, and did the poor mare really sprain her pastern shoulder-blade?’ I haven’t got much brains myself, I know,” the baronet would add deprecatingly; “and I don’t want a strong-minded woman, who writes books and wears green spectacles; but, hang it! I like a gal who knows what she’s talking about.”

So when Alicia said “No,” or rather made that pretty speech about esteem and respect, which well-bred young ladies substitute for the obnoxious monosyllable, Sir Harry Towers felt that the whole fabric of the future he had built so complacently was shivered into a heap of dingy ruins.

Sir Michael grasped him warmly by the hand just before the young man mounted his horse in the court-yard.

“I’m very sorry, Towers,” he said. “You’re as good a fellow as ever breathed, and would have made my girl an excellent husband; but you know there’s a cousin, and I think that—”

“Don’t say that, Sir Michael,” interrupted the fox-hunter, energetically. “I can get over anything but that. A fellow whose hand upon the curb weighs half a ton (why, he pulled the Cavalier’s mouth to pieces, sir, the day you let him ride the horse); a fellow who turns his collars down, and eats bread and marmalade! No, no, Sir Michael; it’s a queer world, but I can’t think that of Miss Audley. There must be some one in the background, sir; it can’t be the cousin.”

Sir Michael shook his head as the rejected suitor rode away.

“I don’t know about that,” he muttered. “Bob’s a good lad, and the girl might do worse; but he hangs back as if he didn’t care for her. There’s some mystery—there’s some mystery!”

The old baronet said this in that semi-thoughtful tone with which we speak of other people’s affairs. The shadows of the early winter twilight, gathering thickest under the low oak ceiling of the hall, and the quaint curve of the arched doorway, fell darkly round his handsome head; but the light of his declining life, his beautiful and beloved young wife, was near him, and he could see no shadows when she was by.

She came skipping through the hall to meet him, and, shaking her golden ringlets, buried her bright head on her husband’s breast.

“So the last of our visitors is gone, dear, and we’re all alone,” she said. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Yes, darling,” he answered fondly, stroking her bright hair.

“Except Mr. Robert Audley. How long is that nephew of yours going to stay here?”

“As long as he likes, my pet; he’s always welcome,” said the baronet; and then, as if remembering himself, he added, tenderly: “But not unless his visit is agreeable to you, darling; not if his lazy habits, or his smoking, or his dogs, or anything about him is displeasing to you.”

Lady Audley pursed up her rosy lips and looked thoughtfully at the ground.

“It isn’t that,” she said, hesitatingly. “Mr. Audley is a very agreeable young man, and a very honorable young man; but you know, Sir Michael, I’m rather a young aunt for such a nephew, and—”

“And what, Lucy?” asked the baronet, fiercely.

“Poor Alicia is rather jealous of any attention Mr. Audley pays me, and—and—I think it would be better for her happiness if your nephew were to bring his visit to a close.”

“He shall go to-night, Lucy,” exclaimed Sir Michael. “I am a blind, neglectful fool not to have thought of this before. My lovely little darling, it was scarcely just to Bob to expose the poor lad to your fascinations. I know him to be as good and true-hearted a fellow as ever breathed, but—but—he shall go tonight.”