She and I Volume I Part 19

"Ah, my dear," groaned her mother at her levity, "always frivolous, Seraphine! I'm afraid you will never marry a pious, holy man, as I would wis.h.!.+"

"Not if I know it, ma!" she retorted, so heartily that both her sister Bessie and I--in spite of my anxiety about Min--could not but join in her catching laughter. "No," continued the pert and impetuous young lady, "when I enter the holy estate of matrimony I shall choose a gay soldier laddie. None of your solemn-faced parsons for me! If they were all like our good old vicar, whom I would take to-morrow if he asked me, it would be quite a different thing; but they are not. They are all too steady and starch and stiff now-a-days. They look as if b.u.t.ter would not melt in their mouths!"

"Ah, my dear!" said her mother, "you will not think so by-and-by.

'Beggars mustn't be choosers.' You have got nothing but your face for your fortune, you know, although it would have been very different if my poor dear papa had been alive!"

"What, my face, ma?" said her dutiful daughter, "I'm sure I hope not!

Really, I'm very well satisfied with it;" and, getting up and going to the mirror, she set about altering the riband in her hair, humming the while the old ballad--

"'My face is my fortune, kind sir,' she said, 'Kind sir,' she said, 'sir,' she said; 'My face is my fortune, kind sir,' she said."

I did not like to press any more inquiries with reference to Mr Mawley's rumoured engagement, thinking they would look too pointed, disclosing my interest in the affair,--however much I was transported with the feelings of mingled jealousy, doubt, and uncertainty, that were preying on my heart; consequently, I now took my leave, all the suspicions and fears, which Shuffler's news had given rise to, more rife than ever:--the renewed hope that Miss Pimpernell's cheery address had inspired me with, completely dispelled.

I'm afraid my anxiety was only too apparent; for, Seraphine Dasher whispered to me as I went out, "I don't believe a word of it, there! It is only one of those absurd 'true stories' that ma is always getting hold of."

But I wouldn't be comforted.

It was only likely enough. Mawley was constantly going there, as Lady Dasher had said, and Mrs Clyde encouraged him, there could be no doubt; there must be something in it, or these reports would never have got about. "There is never any smoke without fire."

Besides, Min herself did not dislike the curate as I did.

I could see that plainly for myself the night of that birthday party at her house. His insinuating address and treacherous advances had probably succeeded at last in entrapping her affections.

False, cruel girl that she was, how could she encourage me as she had done, to nurse delusive hopes which, as she must have known, would only end in disappointment! What had been probably sport to her was death to me!

And yet, I _could_ not believe it of her.

My pure angel-natured Min, with her darling madonna-like face and honest, trustful grey eyes, to act like this?

No. It could not be. It was impossible.

Still, the very next day I saw her walking out alone with the curate.

It must be true, then, I thought; and I ground my teeth in anguish.

I determined to avoid her, never pa.s.sing her house as I had been previously accustomed to; and, only bowing coldly when I met her in the street.

At last she spoke to me one day, as I was coming out of the vicarage.

She was just going to knock at the door; so I encountered her face to face on the step, without a chance of escape.

She held out her hand to me.

I took it mechanically, and then let it drop; raising my hat at the same time, without saying a word.

She addressed me with heightened colour and a wistful look in the deep, grey eyes.

"Why are you so angry with me, Frank?" she asked in her sweet, low voice, which had a slight tremble in it as she spoke. "What have I done to offend you? You never stop and speak to me now, never call at our house, and always pa.s.s me by with a cold frigid bow! Have I done anything to offend you, Frank?" she entreated again. "If so, tell me; and I will beg your pardon, for it must have been unintentional on my part?"

I was foolish, and proud, and conceited. I thought that I would not allow myself to be deceived twice.

I was bitter and rude. I made a mockery of all the friendly overtures which she made so lovingly with all the coy bashfulness of her maiden heart.

I could have strangled myself afterwards, when I thought it all over!

"I'm not aware, Miss Clyde," said I, as stiffly as you please--just as if she were a stranger to me, and not the dear Min whom I knew and loved so well--"I am not aware that there is any necessity for your asking my forgiveness:--if you cannot suggest to yourself the reason for my altered manner, words on my part would be useless indeed!"

I spoke thus harshly to her, and coldly, when my heart was almost breaking the while.

"And is that all you have got to say to me, Frank?" she said, still in the same dear, tender, entreating voice, and with glistening eyes.

My sternness was nearly melted; but I continued to hold out and stand upon my dignity.

"I have nothing more to add, Miss Clyde," I said, with another Grandisonian bow.

"Then, Mr Lorton," she said, her grey eyes flas.h.i.+ng, and her whole dear little self roused into a fiery, impulsive little Min--she looked glorious in her pique!--"then, Mr Lorton, I will not seek to detain you further--let me pa.s.s, sir!" she added pa.s.sionately, as, relenting of my behaviour, I tried to stop her and explain my conduct--"Let me pa.s.s, sir! I do not wish to hear another word from you!"

And she walked, as stately as a little queen, into the hall of the vicarage, tossing up her sweet little dimpled chin proudly; while, I?-- went back disconsolately home, my heart torn with conflicting emotions.

Was I right, or wrong?

Perhaps the rumour of her engagement had not the slightest foundation, in fact.

However, it was too late now to think about that!

All was over.

We were parted for ever!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

ON THE RIVER.

We left behind the painted buoy That tosses at the harbour mouth; And madly danced our heart with joy, As fast we fleeted to the south.

How fresh was every sight and sound On open main, on winding sh.o.r.e!

We knew the merry world was round, And we might sail for evermore.

"Frank, what do you mean by behaving so unkindly to Minnie Clyde?" was the opening salutation of little Miss Pimpernell to me, the same evening, when I called round again at the vicarage, like Telemachus, in search of consolation.

I was so utterly miserable and disheartened at the conviction that everything was over between Min and myself--at the sudden collapse of all my eager hopes and ardent longings--that I felt I must speak to somebody and unbosom myself; or else I should go out of my senses.

"_I_ behave unkindly to Miss Clyde!" I exclaimed, in astonishment at her thus addressing me, before I could get out a word as to why I had come to see her--"I--I--I--don't know what you mean, Miss Pimpernell?"

"You know, or ought to know very well, Frank, without my telling you,"

she rejoined; and there was a grave tone in her voice, for which I could not account.