CHAPTER XX.
PECULIAR TO NEVADA.
Whether, or not, Lucia was right in accusing Octavia Bassett of beingclever, and thinking a great deal, is a riddle which those who areinterested in her must unravel as they read; but, whether the surmise wascorrect or incorrect, it seemed possible that she had thought a littleafter the interview. When Barold saw her next, he was struck by a slightbut distinctly definable change he recognized in her dress and coiffure.Her pretty hair had a rather less "professional" appearance: he had thepleasure of observing, for the first time, how very white her foreheadwas, and how delicate the arch of her eyebrows; her dress had a novel airof simplicity, and the diamond rings were nowhere to be seen.
"She's better dressed than usual," he said to himself. "And she's alwayswell dressed,--rather too well dressed, fact is, for a place like this.This sort of thing is in better form, under the circumstances." It wasso much "better form," and he so far approved of it, that he quitethawed, and was very amiable and very entertaining indeed.
Octavia was entertaining too. She asked several most interestingquestions.
"Do you think," she inquired, "that it is bad taste to wear diamonds?"
"My mother wears them--occasionally."
"Have you any sisters?"
"No."
"Any cousins--as young as I am?"
"Ya-as."
"Do they wear them?"
"I must admit," he replied, "that they don't. In the first place, youknow, they haven't any; and, in the second, I am under the impressionthat Lady Beauchamp--their mamma, you know--wouldn't permit it if theyhad."
"Wouldn't permit it!" said Octavia. "I suppose they always do as shetells them?"
He smiled a little.
"They would be very courageous young women if they didn't," he remarked.
"What would she do if they tried it?" she inquired. "She couldn't beatthem."
"They will never try it," he answered dryly. "And though I have neverseen her beat them, or heard their lamentations under chastisement, Ishould not like to say that Lady Beauchamp could not do any thing. She isa very determined person--for a gentlewoman."
Octavia laughed.
"You are joking," she said.
"Lady Beauchamp is a serious subject for jokes," he responded. "Mycousins think so, at least."
"I wonder if she is as bad as Lady Theobald," Octavia reflected aloud."She says I have no right to wear diamonds at all until I am married. ButI don't mind Lady Theobald," she added, as a cheerful afterthought. "I amnot fond enough of her to care about what she says."
"Are you fond of any one?" Barold inquired, speaking with a languid air,but at the same time glancing at her with some slight interest from underhis eyelids.
"Lucia says I am," she returned, with the calmness of a young person whowished to regard the matter from an unembarrassed point of view. "Luciasays I am affectionate."
"Ah!" deliberately. "Are you?"
She turned, and looked at him serenely.
"Should _you_ think so?" she asked.
This was making such a personal matter of the question, that he did notexactly enjoy it. It was certainly not "good form" to pull a man up insuch cool style.
"Really," he replied, "I--ah--have had no opportunity of judging."
He had not the slightest intention of being amusing, but to his infinitedisgust he discovered as soon as he spoke that she was amused. Shelaughed outright, and evidently only checked herself because he looked sofurious. In consideration for his feelings she assumed an air of mild butpreternatural seriousness.
"No," she remarked, "that is true: you haven't, of course."
He was silent. He did not enjoy being amusing at all, and he made nopretence of appearing to submit to the indignity calmly.
She bent forward a little.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "you are mad again--I mean, you are vexed. I amalways vexing you."
There was a hint of appeal in her voice, which rather pleased him; but hehad no intention of relenting at once.
"I confess I am at a loss to know why you laughed," he said.
"Are you," she asked, "really?" letting her eyes rest upon him anxiouslyfor a moment. Then she actually gave vent to a little sigh. "We look atthings so differently, that's it," she said.
"I suppose it is," he responded, still chillingly.
In spite of this, she suddenly assumed a comparatively cheerful aspect. Ahappy thought occurred to her.
"Lucia would beg your pardon," she said. "I am learning good manners fromLucia. Suppose I beg your pardon."
"It is quite unnecessary," he replied.
"Lucia wouldn't think so," she said. "And why shouldn't I be aswell-behaved as Lucia? I beg your pardon."
He felt rather absurd, and yet somewhat mollified. She had a way oflooking at him, sometimes, when she had been unpleasant, which rathersoothed him. In fact, he had found of late, a little to his privateannoyance, that it was very easy for her either to soothe or disturb him.
And now, just as Octavia had settled down into one of the prettiest andleast difficult of her moods, there came a knock at the front door,which, being answered by Mary Anne, was found to announce the curate ofSt. James.
Enter, consequently, the Rev. Arthur Poppleton,--blushing, a trifletimorous perhaps, but happy beyond measure to find himself in MissBelinda's parlor again, with Miss Belinda's niece.
Perhaps the least possible shade of his joyousness died out when hecaught sight of Mr. Francis Barold, and certainly Mr. Francis Barold wasnot at all delighted to see him.
"What does the fellow want?" that gentleman was saying inwardly. "Whatdoes he come simpering and turning pink here for? Why doesn't he go andsee some of his old women, and read tracts to them? That's _his_business." Octavia's manner toward her visitor formed a freshgrievance for Barold. She treated the curate very well indeed. Sheseemed glad to see him, she was wholly at her ease with him, she made notrying remarks to him, she never stopped to fix her eyes upon him inthat inexplicable style, and she did not laugh when there seemed nothingto laugh at. She was so gay and good-humored that the Rev. ArthurPoppleton beamed and flourished under her treatment, and forgot tochange color, and even ventured to talk a good deal, and make diversquite presentable little jokes.
"I should like to know," thought Barold, growing sulkier as the othersgrew merrier,--"I should like to know what she finds so interesting inhim, and why she chooses to treat him better than she treats me; for shecertainly does treat him better."
It was hardly fair, however, that he should complain; for, at times, hewas treated extremely well, and his intimacy with Octavia progressedquite rapidly. Perhaps, if the truth were told, it was always himself whowas the first means of checking it, by some suddenly prudent instinctwhich led him to feel that perhaps he was in rather a delicate position,and had better not indulge in too much of a good thing. He had not beenan eligible and unimpeachable desirable _parti_ for ten years withoutacquiring some of that discretion which is said to be the better part ofvalor. The matter-of-fact air with which Octavia accepted his attentionscaused him to pull himself up sometimes. If he had been Brown, or Jones,or even Robinson, she could not have appeared to regard them as moreentirely natural. When--he had gone so far, once or twice--he had deignedto make a more than usually agreeable speech to her, it was received withnone of that charming sensitive tremor to which he was accustomed.Octavia neither blushed, nor dropped her eyes.
It did not add to Barold's satisfaction to find her as cheerful and readyto be amused by a mild little curate, who blushed and stammered, and wasneither brilliant, graceful, nor distinguished. Could not Octavia see thewide difference between the two? Regarding the matter in this light, andwatching Octavia as she encouraged her visitor, and laughed at his jokes,and never once tripped him up by asking him a startling question, didnot, as already has been said, improve Mr. Francis Barold's temper; and,by the time his visit was over, he had lapsed into his coldest and mosthaughty manner. As soon as Miss Belinda entered, a
nd engaged Mr.Poppleton for a moment, he rose, and crossed the little room to Octavia'sside.
"I must bid you good-afternoon," he said.
Octavia did not rise.
"Sit down a minute, while aunt Belinda is talking about red-flannelnightcaps and lumbago," she said. "I wanted to ask you something. By theway, what _is_ lumbago?"
"Is that what you wished to ask me?" he inquired stiffly.
"No. I just thought of that. Have you ever had it? and what is it like?All the old people in Slowbridge have it, and they tell you all about itwhen you go to see them. Aunt Belinda says so. What I wanted to ask youwas different"--
"Possibly Miss Bassett might be able to tell you," he remarked.
"About the lumbago? Well, perhaps she might. I'll ask her. Do you thinkit bad taste in _me_ to wear diamonds?"
She said this with the most delightful seriousness, fixing her eyes uponhim with her very prettiest look of candid appeal, as if it were the mostnatural thing in the world that she should apply to him for information.He felt himself faltering again. How white that bit of forehead was! Howsoft that blonde, waving fringe of hair! What a lovely shape her eyeswere, and how large and clear as she raised them!
"Why do you ask _me_?" he inquired.
"Because I think you are an unprejudiced person. Lady Theobald is not. Ihave confidence in you. Tell me."
There was a slight pause.
"Really," he said, after it, "I can scarcely believe that my opinion canbe of any value in your eyes. I am--can only tell you that it is hardlycustomary in--an--in England for young people to wear a profusion ofornament."
"I wonder if I wear a profusion."
"You don't need any," he condescended. "You are too young, and--all thatsort of thing."
She glanced down at her slim, unringed hands for a moment, her expressionquite thoughtful.
"Lucia and I almost quarrelled the other day," she said--"at least, Ialmost quarrelled. It isn't so nice to be told of things, after all. Imust say I don't like it as much as I thought I should."
He kept his seat longer than, he had intended; and, when he rose to go,the Rev. Arthur Poppleton was shaking hands with Miss Belinda, and so itfell out that they left the house together.
"You know Miss Octavia Bassett well, I suppose," remarked Barold, withcondescension, as they passed through the gate. "You clergymen arefortunate fellows."
"I wish that others knew her as well, sir," said the little gentleman,kindling. "I wish they knew her--her generosity and kindness of heart andready sympathy with misfortune!"
"Ah!" commented Mr. Barold, twisting his mustache with somewhat of anincredulous air. This was not at all the sort of thing he had expected tohear. For his own part, it would not have occurred to him to suspect herof the possession of such desirable and orthodox qualities.
"There are those who--misunderstand her," cried the curate, warming withhis subject, "who misunderstand, and--yes, and apply harsh terms to herinnocent gayety and freedom of speech: if they knew her as I do, theywould cease to do so."
"I should scarcely have thought"--began Barold.
"There are many who scarcely think it,--if you will pardon myinterrupting you," said the curate. "I think they would scarcely believeit if I felt at liberty to tell them, which I regret to say I do not. Iam almost breaking my word in saying what I cannot help saying toyourself. The poor under my care are better off since she came, and thereare some who have seen her more than once, though she did not go as ateacher or to reprove them for faults; and her way of doing what she didwas new to them, and perhaps much less serious than they were accustomedto, and they liked it all the better."
"Ah!" commented Barold again. "Flannel under-garments, and--that sortof thing."
"No," with much spirit, "not at all, sir; but what, as I said, they likedmuch better. It is not often they meet a beautiful creature who comesamong them with open hands, and the natural, ungrudging way of givingwhich she has. Sometimes they are at a loss to understand, as well as therest. They have been used to what is narrower and more--more exacting."
"They have been used to Lady Theobald," observed Barold, with a faintsmile.
"It would not become me to--to mention Lady Theobald in any disparagingmanner," replied the curate: "but the best and most charitable among usdo not always carry out our good intentions in the best way. I dare sayLady Theobald would consider Miss Octavia Bassett too readily influencedand too lavish."
"She is as generous with her money as with her diamonds perhaps," saidBarold. "Possibly the quality is peculiar to Nevada. We part here, Mr.Poppleton, I believe. Good-morning."
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