Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (38 page)

 
          
 
* * * * *

 
          
Maurice
waited with some impatience for Mrs. Snowdon's entrance, not only because of
his curiosity to see if she had discovered the thief, but because of the part
he had taken upon himself to play. He was equal to it, and felt a certain
pleasure in it for a threefold reason. It would serve his aunt and cousin,
would divert his mind from its own cares, and, perhaps by making Octavia
jealous, waken love; for, though he had chosen the right, he was but a man, and
moreover a lover.

 
          
Mrs.
Snowdon was late. She always was, for her toilet was elaborate, and she liked
to enjoy its effects upon others. The moment she entered Treherne's eye was on
her, and to his intense surprise and annoyance she addressed Octavia, saying
blandly, "My dear Miss Treherne, I've been admiring your peacocks. Pray
let me see you feed them tomorrow. Miss Talbot says it is a charming
sight."

 
          
"If
you are on the terrace just after lunch, you will find them there, and may feed
them yourself, if you like" was the cool, civil reply.

 
          
"She
looks like a peacock herself in that splendid green and gold
dress,
doesn't she?" whispered Rose to Sir Jasper, with a wicked laugh.

 
          
"Faith,
so she does. I wish Tavie's birds had voices like Mrs.
 
Snowdon's; their squalling annoys me
intensely."
 

 
          
"I
rather like it, for it is honest, and no malice or mischief is hidden behind
it. I always distrust those smooth, sweet voices; they are insincere. I like a
full, clear tone; sharp, if you please, but decided and true."

 
          
"Well
said, Octavia. I agree with
you,
and your own is a
perfect sample of the kind you describe." And Treherne smiled as he rolled
by to join Mrs. Snowdon, who evidently waited for him, while Octavia turned to
her brother to defend her pets.

 
          
"Are
you sure? How did you discover?" said Maurice, affecting to admire the
lady's bouquet, as he paused beside her.

 
          
"I
suspected it the moment I saw her this morning. She is no actress; and dislike,
distrust, and contempt were visible in her face when we met. Till you so
cleverly told me my note was lost, I fancied she was disturbed about her
brother—or you."

 
          
A
sudden pause and a keen glance followed the last softly uttered word, but
Treherne met it with an inscrutable smile and a quiet "Well, what
next?"

 
          
"The
moment I learned that you did not get the note I was sure she had it, and,
knowing that she must have seen me put it there, in spite of her apparent
innocence, I quietly asked her for it. This surprised her, this robbed the
affair of any mystery, and I finished her perplexity by sending it to the major
the moment she returned it to me, as if it had been intended for him. She
begged pardon, said her brother was thoughtless, and she watched over him lest
he should get into mischief; professed to think I meant the line for him, and
behaved like a charming simpleton, as she is."

 
          
"Quite a tumult about nothing.
Poor little Tavie! You
doubtlessly frightened her so that we may safely correspond hereafter."

 
          
"You
may give me an answer, now and here."

 
          
"Very
well, meet me on the terrace tomorrow morning; the peacocks will make the
meeting natural enough. I usually loiter away an hour or two there, in the
sunny part of the day."

 
          
"But the girl?"

 
          
"I'll
send her away."

 
          
"You
speak as if it would be an easy thing to do."

 
          
"It
will, both easy and pleasant."

 
          
"Now
you are mysterious or uncomplimentary. You either care nothing for a tête-à-tête
with her, or you will gladly send her out of my way. Which is it?"

 
          
"You
shall decide. Can I have this?"

 
          
She
looked at him as he touched a rose with a warning glance, for the flower was
both an emblem of love and of silence. Did he mean to hint that he recalled the
past, or to warn her that someone was near? She leaned from the shadow of the
curtain where she sat, and caught a glimpse of a shadow gliding away.

 
          
"Who
was it?" she asked, below her breath.

 
          
"A
Rose," he answered, laughing. Then, as if the danger was over, he said,
"How will you account to the major for the message you sent him?"

 
          
"Easily,
by fabricating some interesting perplexity in which I want sage counsel. He
will be flattered, and by seeming to take him into my confidence, I can hoodwink
the excellent man to my heart's content, for he annoys me by his odd way of
mounting guard over me at all times. Now take me in to dinner, and be your
former delightful self."

 
          
"That
is impossible," he said, yet proved that it was not.

 
          
It
was indeed a charming sight, the twelve stately birds perched on the broad
stone balustrade, or prancing slowly along the terrace, with the sun gleaming
on their green and golden necks and the glories of their gorgeous plumes,
widespread, or sweeping like rich trains behind them. In pretty contrast to the
splendid creatures was their young mistress, in her simple morning dress and
fur-trimmed hood and mantle, as she stood feeding the tame pets from her hand,
calling their fanciful names, laughing at their pranks, and heartily enjoying
the winter sunshine, the fresh wind, and the girlish
pastime.
As Treherne slowly approached, he watched her with lover's eyes, and found her
very sweet and blithe, and dearer in his sight than ever. She had shunned him
carefully all the day before, had parted at night with a hasty handshake, and
had not come as usual to bid him good-morning in the library. He had taken no
notice of the change as yet, but now, remembering his promise to his aunt, he resolved
to let the girl know that he fully understood the relation which henceforth was
to exist between them.

 
          
"Good-morning, cousin.
Shall I drive you away, if I
take a turn or two here?" he said, in a cheerful tone, but with a
half-reproachful glance.

 
          
She
looked at him an instant,
then
went to him with
extended hand and cheeks rosier than before, while her frank eyes filled, and
her voice had a traitorous tremor in it, as she said, impetuously: "I
will
be myself for a moment, in spite of everything. Maurice, don't think me unkind,
don't reproach me, or ask my leave to come where I am. There is a reason for
the change you see in me; it's not caprice, it is obedience."

 
          
"My
dear girl, I know it. I meant to speak of it, and show you that I understand. Annon
is a good fellow, as worthy of you as any man can be, and I wish you all the
happiness you deserve."

 
          
"Do
you?" And her eyes searched his face keenly.

 
          
"Yes;
do you doubt it?" And so well did he conceal his love, that
neither face, voice, nor manner
betrayed a hint of it.

 
          
Her
eyes fell, a cloud passed over her clear countenance, and she withdrew her
hand, as if to caress the hungry bird that gently pecked at the basket she
held. As if to change the conversation, she said playfully, "Poor Argus,
you have lost your fine feathers, and so all desert you, except kind little
Juno, who never forgets her friends. There, take it all, and share between
you."

 
          
Treherne
smiled, and said quickly, "I am a human Argus, and you have been a kind
little Juno to me since I lost my plumes. Continue to be so, and you will find
me a very faithful friend."

 
          
"I
will." And as she answered, her old smile came back and her eyes met his
again.

 
          
"Thanks!
Now we shall get on happily. I don't ask or expect the old life—that is
impossible. I knew that when lovers came, the friend would fall into the
background; and I am content to be second, where I have so long been first. Do
not think you neglect me; be happy with your lover, dear, and when you have no
pleasanter amusement, come and see old Maurice."

 
          
She
turned her head away, that he might not see the angry color in her cheeks, the
trouble in her eyes, and when she spoke, it was to say petulantly, "I wish
Jasper and Mamma would leave me in peace. I hate lovers and want none. If Frank
teases, I'll go into a convent and so be rid of him."

 
          
Maurice
laughed, and turned her face toward
himself
, saying,
in his persuasive voice, "Give him a trial first, to please your mother.
It can do no harm and may amuse you. Frank is already lost, and, as you are
heart-whole, why not
see
what you can do for him? I
shall have a new study, then, and not miss you so much."

 
          
"You
are very kind; I'll do my best. I wish Mrs. Snowdon would come, if she is
coming; I've an engagement at two, and Frank will look tragical if I'm not
ready. He is teaching me billiards, and I really like the game, though I never
thought I should."

 
          
"That
looks well. I hope you'll learn a double lesson, and Annon find a docile pupil
in both."

 
          
"You
are very pale this morning; are you in pain, Maurice?" suddenly asked
Octavia, dropping the tone of assumed ease and gaiety under which she had tried
to hide her trouble.

 
          
"Yes,
but it will soon pass. Mrs. Snowdon is coming. I saw her at the hall door a
moment ago. I will show her the peacocks, if you want to go. She won't mind the
change, I dare say, as you don't like her, and I do."

 
          
"No,
I am sure of that. It was an arrangement, perhaps? I understand. I will not
play Mademoiselle De Trop."

 
          
Sudden
fire shone in the girl's eyes, sudden contempt curled her lip, and a glance
full of meaning went from her cousin to the door, where Mrs. Snowdon appeared,
waiting for her maid to bring her some additional wrappings.

 
          
"You
allude to the note you stole. How came you to play that prank,
 
Tavie?" asked Treherne tranquilly.

 
          
"I
saw her put it under the urn. I thought it was for Jasper, and I took it,"
she said boldly.

 
          
"Why
for Jasper?"

 
          
"I
remembered his speaking of meeting her long
ago,
and
describing her beauty enthusiastically—and so did you."

 
          
"You
have a good memory."

 
          
"I
have for everything concerning those I love. I observed her manner of meeting
my brother, his devotion to her, and, when they stood laughing together before
the fire, I felt sure that she wished to charm him again."

 
          
"Again?
Then she did charm him once?" asked
Treherne, anxious to know how much Jasper had told his sister.

 
          
"He
always denied it, and declared that you were the favorite."

 
          
"Then
why not think the note for me?" he asked.

 
          
"I
do now" was the sharp answer.

 
          
"But
she told you it was for the major, and sent it."

 
          
"She
deceived me; I am not surprised. I am glad Jasper is safe, and I wish you a
pleasant tête-à-tête."

 
          
Bowing
with unwonted dignity, Octavia set down her basket, and walked away in one
direction as Mrs. Snowdon approached in another.

 
          
"I
have done it now," sighed Treherne, turning from the girlish figure to
watch the stately creature
who
came sweeping toward
him with noiseless grace.

 
          
Brilliancy
and splendor became Mrs. Snowdon; she enjoyed luxury, and her beauty made many
things becoming which in a plainer woman would have been out of taste, and
absurd. She had wrapped herself in a genuine Eastern burnous of scarlet, blue,
and gold; the hood drawn over her head framed her fine face in rich hues, and
the great gilt tassels shone against her rippling black hair. She wore it with
grace, and the barbaric splendor of the garment became her well. The fresh air
touched her cheeks with a delicate color; her usually gloomy eyes were brilliant
now, and the smile that parted her lips was full of happiness.

 
          
"Welcome,
Cleopatra!" cried Treherne, with difficulty repressing a laugh, as the
peacocks screamed and fled before the rustling amplitude of her drapery.

 
          
"I
might reply by calling you Thaddeus of Warsaw, for you look very romantic and
Polish with your pale, pensive face, and your splendid furs," she
answered, as she paused beside him with admiration very visibly expressed in
her eyes.

 
          
Treherne
disliked the look, and rather abruptly said, as he offered her the basket of
bread, "I have disposed of my cousin, and offered to do the honors of the
peacocks. Here they are—will you feed them?"

 
          
"No,
thank you—I care nothing for the fowls, as you know; I came to speak to
you," she said impatiently.

 
          
"I
am at your service."

 
          
"I
wish to ask you a question or two—is it permitted?"

 
          
"What
man ever refused Mrs. Snowdon a request?"

 
          
"Nay,
no compliments; from you they are only satirical evasions. I was deceived when
abroad,
and rashly married that old man. Tell me truly how
things stand."

 
          
"Jasper
has all. I have nothing."

 
          
"I
am glad of it."

 
          
"Many
thanks for the hearty speech. You at least speak sincerely," he said
bitterly.

 
          
"I
do, Maurice—I do; let me prove it."

 
          
Treherne's
chair was close beside the balustrade. Mrs. Snowdon leaned on the carved
railing, with her back to the house and her face screened by a tall urn.
Looking steadily at him, she said rapidly and low, "You thought I wavered
between you and Jasper, when we parted two years ago. I did; but it was not
between title and fortune that I hesitated. It was between duty and love. My
father, a fond, foolish old man, had set his heart on seeing me a lady. I was
his all; my beauty was his delight, and no untitled man was deemed worthy of
me. I loved him tenderly. You may doubt this, knowing how selfish, reckless,
and vain I am, but I have a heart, and with better training had been a better
woman. No matter, it is too late now. Next my father, I loved you. Nay, hear
me—I
will
clear myself in your eyes. I mean no wrong to the general. He
is kind, indulgent,
generous
; I respect him—I am
grateful, and while he lives, I shall be true to him."

 
          
"Then
be silent now. Do not recall the past, Edith; let it sleep, for both our
sakes," began Treherne; but she checked him imperiously.

 
          
"It
shall, when I am done. I loved you, Maurice; for, of all the gay, idle,
pleasure-seeking men I saw about me, you were the only one who seemed to have a
thought beyond the folly of the hour. Under the seeming frivolity of your life
lay something noble, heroic, and true. I felt that you had a
purpose,
that your present mood was but transitory—a
young man's holiday, before
the real work of his life began. This attracted, this won me; for even in the
brief regard you then gave me, there was an earnestness no other man had shown.
I wanted your respect; I longed to earn your love, to share your life, and
prove that even in my neglected nature slept the power of canceling a frivolous
past by a noble future. Oh, Maurice, had you lingered one week more, I never
should have been the miserable thing I am!"

 
          
There
her voice faltered and failed, for all the bitterness of lost love, peace, and
happiness sounded in the pathetic passion of that exclamation. She did not
weep, for tears seldom dimmed those tragical eyes of hers; but she wrung her
hands in mute despair, and looked down into the frost-blighted gardens below,
as if she saw there a true symbol of her own ruined life. Treherne uttered not
a word, but set his teeth with an almost fierce glance toward the distant
figure of Sir Jasper, who was riding gaily away, like one unburdened by a
memory or a care.

 
          
Hurriedly
Mrs. Snowdon went on, "My father begged and commanded me to choose your
cousin. I could not break his heart, and asked for time, hoping to soften him.
While I waited, that mysterious affair hurried you from
Paris
, and then came the wreck, the illness, and
the rumor that old Sir Jasper had disinherited both nephews. They told me you
were dying, and I became a passive instrument in my father's hands. I promised
to recall and accept your cousin, but the old man died before it was done, and
then I cared not what became of me.