CHAPTER XXXIV.
No one ever accused the dinners _en famille_ at Felton of being toolively; but, that evening, Gerard decides that they yield the palm, inpoint of perfect stagnation, to Blessington. There is, indeed, none ofthat lynx-eyed watching of the servants, none of that pouncing upontheir minutest derelictions, which makes dining in Sir Thomas's companyso thoroughly uncomfortable a process: no one calls the fat red-facedbutler and the two blue-and-yellow footmen "hounds, louts, fools."
At Blessington, indeed, the servants have things pretty much their ownway; and, accustomed to their master's total and mistress's partialdeafness, have got into a habit of conversing with one another in atone of voice considerably above that usually considered seemly incivilised _menages_. With one member of the company (Miss Craven)St. John has entered into a pact to exchange no remarks, good orbad; a second member (Mr. Blessington) contributes nothing to theconversation but a series of inarticulate though loud mumblings overhis food--with the exception of a question, addressed to the butler,as to what the viands upon the table under his sightless eyes consistof. "'Aricot--Volly Vong--Line of Mutton--Biled Turkey," enumeratesthat functionary, glibly, at the top of his voice. From a third member(Mrs. Blessington) St. John has already heard all that is to be saidon the subject of draughts and sand-bags; and with the fourth member,conversation always drives as heavily as a loaded waggon dragged up aperpendicular hill.
The evening is but a prolongation of the dinner, with the additionaldisadvantage of there being no eating and drinking to employ theotherwise unoccupied jaws. "England expects every man to do his duty!"She expects every man who has the misfortune to be in the position ofan affianced to sit, hours long, idle beside his betrothed--howeverardently his soul may be sighing for a sheet of the _Times_ or a whiffof Latakia: to hold converse with no other man, woman, or child, if shebe in the room.
Since, at the entrance of the gentlemen, Constance looked up expectant,and since he has a vague idea that it is part of his share of theirbargain to pay her all outward observance and attention, St. John seatshimself on the sofa beside her. She sits rather forward, upright asa dart; he leans back, with his arms resting on the sofa behind her.It is not a caress; but, from a little distance, it has the air ofone. The old gentleman, rendered surprisingly wakeful by the unwontedincident of the addition of a stranger to his little circle, insistsupon hearing a pungent article on Gladstone and the Irish Church, overwhich he has fallen asleep in the morning, re-read to him by his littlewhite slave.
"I am afraid I can hardly see, Mr. Blessington; there is so littlelight!" she has remonstrated, mildly.
"Light!--pooh!" repeats the old gentleman, gaily. "What do young eyeslike yours want with light? They ought to be able to see in the dark,like cats. You'll be borrowing Mrs. Blessington's spectacles next--eh,Mrs. Blessington?"
"Mrs. Blessington is asleep, Mr. Blessington."
"Oh! Go on, then, my dear--go on. Let us hear what they have got to sayfor these rascally placehunters, who are trying to remove the landmarksof the Constitution for the sake of getting into office."
Her long damp evening rambles--rambles on which a mother would haveput so decided a veto--have brought back Miss Craven's cold. She hasbeen hoarse all day; and it is a well-known fact that hoarsenessalways becomes worse towards night: a tiresome little tickling coughinterrupts her every moment. Add to which, her attention is completelydistracted from the subject in hand by the involuntary and vain effortto catch what Mr. Gerard and his love are saying to one another. Shewould hardly have been repaid for her trouble had she succeeded.
"Had you a good run to-day?"
"Yes, rather a quick thing."
"Which horse did you ride?"
"The grey--one you have not seen. I bought her in Ireland of Brownrigg;_he_ required more of a weight-carrier."
"Does she seem likely to prove satisfactory?"
"Very: she has a good turn of speed, jumps capitally, and is verytemperate."
"Was it a large field?"
"Middling."
"Any one you knew?"
"Two or three" (with a yawn).
"You are going out to-morrow again, of course?" with a slight attemptat a pout, which is not even perceived by the person for whose benefitit is intended.
"No, I think not; it is five-and-twenty miles, and the trains do notfit: one gets lazy in one's old age. I suppose I shall agree soon withBrakespeare, of the --th, who sent seven horses down to Melton lastyear; and at the end of the season confessed that he hated hunting, andthat he thought it a very dangerous amusement."
"Really?" answers Constance, who always takes everything _au serieux_,opening her great eyes.
"No, not really--most assuredly!" he answers, laughing lazily. "Onthe contrary, I am nearer coinciding with the opinion of the Jewishgentleman, who said it would be a very pleasant world if there were no_shummers_ and no _shabbaths_."
It is hardly worth Miss Craven's while, you will perceive, to lose herplace twice, and get rated by her old employer, for the sake of hearingbrilliant questions and answers of the above description. Though herjealous eyes are fixed upon the _Saturday's_ columns, they see, nonethe less clearly, those two figures reclined upon the distant sofa.Once she sees St. John raise himself, and, stooping forward over hiscompanion, speak with more animation than he has yet used. If she breakthe drum of her ear in the attempt, she _must_ catch the drift of thatremark--some delicious tender nothing, no doubt. She succeeds:
"By-the-bye, Conny, how was the lump on your pony's leg when you lefthome?"
As another and another article follow the first, Esther's cough becomesincreasingly troublesome: her throat aches with the effort of reading:her voice at each paragraph waxes huskier and huskier. For severalminutes past Gerard's answers to Miss Blessington's questions have beengrowing ever more wildly random; suddenly he leaves the sofa, and comesover to Mr. Blessington's armchair.
"Will you let _me_ read to you a bit?" he asks, in that loudunmodulated roar that people unused to the deaf think the only methodof making them hear.
"Eh! what does he say?" inquires the old gentleman, sharply, liftinghis head, and peering blindly up in the direction whence the voice came.
"I asked whether you would let _me_ read to you, for a change, insteadof Miss Craven?"
"No--thanks, no," replies the old man, ungraciously. "Much obliged toyou, but I cannot hear a word you say; you run all your words into oneanother."
"Do I? I daresay," rejoins Gerard, good-humouredly; "but have you everheard me read? I think not."
"Begging your pardon, I have, though; I heard you read prayers here oneSunday evening."
"And I am afraid my mode of conducting divine worship has not lefta pleasant impression," says the young man, laughing. "Well, but Ipromise to read as slow as ever you choose, and to count four at everyfull-stop."
"No--no," cries the old man, obstinately. "Get away with you, my dearboy! you are interrupting us. No offence, but we are very happy withoutyou--aren't we, Miss Esther? You attend to your own business; we don'toffer to help you in that--do we--eh, my dear?"
Baffled and vexed, St. John stands silent; and as he so stands, theyoung girl lifts her great meek eyes, dumbly grateful, to his. He hasforbidden her to speak to him, but he cannot lay an embargo upon thegentle messages sent from those sorrowful shining orbs. His own meetthem for an instant; then he turns away with a half-shudder.
"What a churchyard cough that girl has!" says Miss Blessington, fanningherself gently, as he reseats himself beside her; "it really quitefidgets one. Of course it is very unjust of one, but I always feel so_angry_ with a person who goes 'cough, cough, cough' every minute."
"I feel angrier with the person who is the cause of it," answersGerard, thoroughly chafed: "it is positive barbarity. You see whatsuccess _I_ met with when I tried to relieve guard. Suppose you offer:you can always make him hear!"
"I should be delighted," answers Conny, blandly; "only, unfortunately,this damp weather makes my thr
oat so relaxed" (touching the firm roundpillar with two white slender fingers), "that I really should beafraid."
"Just try--there's a good girl," urges he, coaxingly; "you can stop ina minute if you find that it hurts you."
A mulish expression comes into her face; small good would persuasion,cajolery, threats, or promises do now!
"I am very sorry I cannot oblige you; but as I am to dine out onThursday, and one is always expected to sing, I really must nurse myvoice."
Red as a Rose is She: A Novel Page 34
