Miser Farebrother Volume I Part 19

"Why should he, dear?"

Phoebe stroked her cousin's face fondly, and rested her head on f.a.n.n.y's shoulder.

"I hope," said f.a.n.n.y, "that they won't be disappointed when they find out that he doesn't mean _me_, after all. But I don't think they will be when they know it is you, darling."

"Oh, f.a.n.n.y! And he has never said one word to me!"

"What of that, sly puss? I can speak with my eyes quite as well as I can with my tongue; and Fred Cornwall is a great deal cleverer than I am. I don't positively hate him, you know."

"It would be very wrong of you to do so."

"And I don't positively love him. I like him, just a little, in a so-soish way. How it might have been if I didn't happen to have the dearest, sweetest, prettiest cousin that a foolish girl could ever boast of, isn't for me to say." (More hugs and embraces here.) "I _might_ have fallen a victim to his lords.h.i.+p's charms; I don't say I should, but I might."

"But, f.a.n.n.y," said Phoebe, in a low tone, her lips slightly trembling, "it is foolish, it is wrong, to speak like this."

"Now, Phoebe!" said f.a.n.n.y, holding up a warning forefinger.

"Well, I won't say a word."

"That's a good, sensible, sweet-hearted cousin."

"You are not sorry, f.a.n.n.y?"

"That he is not made for me? Well, it gives me a pang here to say no"--she placed her hand on her heart, and emitted a comically pathetic sigh--"because, you know, he _is_ the very loveliest waltzer that ever put his arm round a girl's waist. You said so yourself. Now confess, Phoebe, if Fred _did_--eh?--you wouldn't run away, would you?" Phoebe's silence was the most eloquent answer she could give to her cousin's question, which, enigmatical as it may sound in the ears of unsentimental persons, was as clear and as sweet to the young girls as the sound of wedding bells. "If he doesn't," added f.a.n.n.y, energetically, "I shall call him out!"

"Would Aunt and Uncle Leth be very angry?" murmured Phoebe.

"Why, Phoebe," replied f.a.n.n.y, reproachfully, "they love you as much as they love me. I should feel dreadful if I wasn't sure of that. We are more than cousins, dear; we are sisters. Just put your ear to my heart: don't you hear it beat, 'Phoebe, Phoebe'? It is a good job for Fred Cornwall that I am _not_ a man. _He_ shouldn't have you, if I were; no--not if he were fifty Fred Cornwalls. I would run away with you, just as Young Lochinvar did with--I forget her name, but it doesn't matter; I'd do it. Isn't it strange that elderly people can't see half as well as young?--they don't look at what is under their noses; they are always looking over their spectacles."

"Aunt and Uncle Leth don't wear them," said Phoebe smiling.

"I am speaking--metaphorically. That's not my word; it's Fred's--rather a favourite with him, you know. Of course, if they asked me plainly, I should tell them; but it wouldn't do for me to start it--would it?--till things are properly settled. They will be overjoyed, Phoebe; and so shall I be; for, don't you see, my dear, when you are disposed of, there will be a chance for _me_, and if a young gentleman comes to the house there will be no mistake the next time, because I shall be the only disposable young lady in view. To that young gentleman, whoever he is, wherever he may be, I extend an invitation--I say, with a courtesy, 'Come!' Oh! but I must tell you, Phoebe, it was so funny.

You remember the last time Fred Cornwall had tea with us here--before he went on his holiday trip?"

"Yes."

"_I_ invited him, and perhaps you may remember that I wrote to you and told you to be sure and come and spend two or three days with us. I didn't mention Fred's name in my letter to you, for you would have kept away." It was delightful to hear f.a.n.n.y's laugh at this innocent badinage. "Well, you came--and Fred came--and I sent Bob off to the theatre, with an order. Now what does mamma pride herself especially upon in the way of jams?"

"Her gooseberry jam."

"Yes, and it really is very fine; I never tasted any half as good.

Well, all the while we were at tea I saw it was you Fred was feeding on."

"f.a.n.n.y, f.a.n.n.y! You are incorrigible!"

"Am I? Nevertheless, I am right. When he wasn't looking at you, he was thinking of you; when he wasn't thinking of you, he was looking at you.

I am quite an experienced person in love matters. 'Mr. Cornwall,' said mamma, 'this is home-made gooseberry jam--my own making. What do you think of it?' 'It is a dream,' replied Fred. He was gazing at you when he pa.s.sed that very remarkable opinion upon mamma's gooseberry jam.

Afterward I heard mamma say to papa, 'Did you hear what Mr. Cornwall said of my gooseberry jam? He said it was a dream. Depend upon it, he means something by it.' And I happening to pop into the room just then, mamma looked at papa significantly; and papa looked at mamma significantly; and then both of them kissed me. I couldn't help laughing to myself and thinking, 'Mamma will have to try her gooseberry jam on some other young man.' And now, Phoebe, we will read Fred's letter."

"How is it, f.a.n.n.y, that Mr. Cornwall has written you so many letters?"

asked Phoebe.

"Jealous?" inquired f.a.n.n.y.

"No, I have no right to be; Mr. Cornwall is really nothing to me."

"You should have ended that sentence with 'yet.' 'Mr. Cornwall is really nothing to me--yet!' Quite right for you to call him _Mr._ Cornwall; I shall call him Fred, to his face. He will like it--so shall I."

"How you rattle on, f.a.n.n.y!"

"Yes," said f.a.n.n.y, composedly; "papa used to call me a regular little chatterbox."

"You have not answered my question, f.a.n.n.y."

"Oh, about the letters. How is it Fred has written me so many? I have received one, two, three, and this is the fourth. A famous correspondence, isn't it? The fact is," said f.a.n.n.y unblus.h.i.+ngly, "I asked him to write to me, and he, being such a polite young fellow, couldn't very well refuse. I did it quite openly; mamma was present.

'You might write me a nice chatty letter or two, Mr. Cornwall,' said I, 'while you are away.' 'I shall be very happy,' said he, looking at mamma, 'if I may be allowed.' '_I_ have no objection,' said mamma. His asking mamma was almost like a declaration, wasn't it? Many a man has been had up for breach of promise for less than that. And to think of a lawyer so committing himself! But I don't believe they are a bit cleverer than other people; they only pretend to be. 'But I shall stipulate,' said Fred, 'that you answer my letters.' 'Of course I will,' said I, without asking mamma; and I have. In the last one I wrote to him I said that you sent him your dearest love."

"I hope you did not say that, f.a.n.n.y."

"If I didn't, I meant it; so that it amounts to the same thing. Don't be ungrateful, Phoebe. I inveigled him into writing to me for your sake, not for mine, though I _do_ wear his letters next to my heart. He is supposed to be addressing me in his correspondence, but he is really writing to you, and he knows that you read every word. Is there one of his letters without a lot about you in it?"

"He is always thoughtful."

"A model young man; when he comes home we'll put him in a gla.s.s case.

And now we must really get to sleep, or we shall have mamma crying outside in the pa.s.sage, 'Girls, girls, put out the light!' Don't you feel tired, Phoebe?"

"But the letter, f.a.n.n.y!"

"Oh, the letter! Well, if I wasn't almost forgetting it! I suppose it _must_ be read. See, it is addressed from the Grimsel Hospice. That's where the monks are. What a splendid monk Fred would make! He really ought to become one. What do _you_ think, Phoebe?"

Then f.a.n.n.y kissed her cousin half a dozen times, and proceeded to read Fred Cornwall's letter.

CHAPTER XIV.

A BIT OF EDELWEISS.

"My dear Miss Lethbridge--"

("That's altogether too formal, isn't it?" said f.a.n.n.y, looking up from the letter. "Why doesn't the stupid fellow commence with, 'My own dearest f.a.n.n.y'? It would be very much nicer, wouldn't it?")

"My dear Miss Lethbridge,--Since my last we have had glorious weather, and I have been to no end of places, enjoying myself thoroughly. The only drawback is that I am without a companion, and that I sometimes feel rather lonely--"

("If there ever _was_ a young fellow," said f.a.n.n.y, "cut out for a family man, it is Fred.")