The Hoyden by Margaret Wolfe Hungerford (first ebook reader .txt) 📕

lot. They tell one such horrid news about one's self. They do such nasty things. Give me a stranger for choice. And as for Mrs. Bethune, now you have told me she is not a friend of yours, I suppose I may speak freely. Do you know, Tita, I'd keep my eye on her if I were you. You have given me a free hand, so I can tell you what is in my mind. That woman--she means----"

"What?" asks Tita, turning upon her with some haughtiness.

_ "Business!"_ says Minnie Hescott, with an emphatic nod. "Mischief all through. She's up to mischief of some sort. I tell you what," says Minnie, with her old young look, "you've _got_ to keep your eye on her."

"I could never keep my eye on anyone," says Tita, with a sudden, irrepressible little laugh. "And why should I keep my eye on Mrs. Bethune? To tell you a solemn truth, Minnie, I can't bear to look at her. She's beautiful, so they say, but to me she is hideous. Therefore, why should I keep my eye on her? It," with a whimsical little glance, "would hurt me so."

"Nevertheless, you _should!"_ says Minnie solemnly. "She's a viper!"

"Vipers are ugly."

"And dangerous."

"Then why look at them?"

"To avoid them--lest they sting you," says Minnie, feeling quite pleased with herself for this flight of fancy.

"You think," says Tita, stopping and looking at her, "that Mrs. Bethune will sting me?"

"I think nothing," says Minnie Hescott, throwing out her hands in an airy fashion; "only, get rid of her--get rid of her, Tita, as soon as ever you can!"

"To get rid of a guest! _No,"_ says Tita. "She may stay here, and I shall make her welcome for ever----" She pauses and looks full at her cousin. There is great courage and great pride in her look. "For ever!" repeats she.

"There is always a fool somewhere!" says Minnie Hescott, with a sigh. "Well," abandoning the discussion for the present, "let us go for our walk round the garden."

As they pass beneath the balcony, Margaret, who is leaning over it, with Colonel Neilson beside her, makes a little irrepressible movement.

"What is it now?" asks he, who knows every mood of hers.

"Nothing. I was only thinking about Tita."

"A charming subject."

"Oh! _too_ charming," says Margaret, with a sigh. "That child troubles me."

"But why? She seems to be getting on all right, in spite of your evil prognostications before her marriage. She and Rylton seem on very good terms."

"Not to-day, at all events," shaking her head.

"No? I confess I did think there was a little rift somewhere."

"Oh yes! There is something," says Margaret somewhat impatiently. "Did you see the poor child's eyes, and her whole air? Her pretty little attempts at unconcern?"

"I thought Rylton looked rather put out, too."

"I didn't look at him. I have no patience with him. It is a mad marriage for any man to make." She pauses. "I am afraid there was some disagreeableness last night." She hesitates again. Though quite determined never to marry Colonel Neilson or any other man, she permits herself the luxury of retaining Neilson as a confidential friend. "I wish her cousin, Mr. Hescott, was not quite so attentive to her. She is very young, of course, but I don't think she ought to have danced so much with him last night."

"And what of Rylton?" asks the Colonel, pulling the glass out of his eye and sticking it in again in an angry fashion. "Who did _he_ dance with?"

"Yes. I saw," sadly.

"Well, why should he complain, then?" says Neilson, who can see the right and the wrong so _much_ better because it is not his own case. "To tell you the truth, Margaret, I think Mrs. Bethune should not be here."

"I think that, too. But it appears it was Tita who invited her."

"My dear girl, who else? But there is such a thing as coercion."

"It was the prettiest, the most cordial letter. I read it."

"Then you think she knows nothing of that old affair?"

"Old?" She looks quickly at Neilson. "Do you think it is old--worn out, I mean?"

"No, I don't," says Neilson promptly. "And in my opinion, the sooner Mrs. Bethune terminates her visit the better for everyone."

"What an unhappy marriage!" says Margaret, with a sigh. "All marriages are unhappy, I think."

"Not a bit of it. Most of the married people we know would not separate even were the power given them to do so."

"That is merely because they have grown necessary to each other."

"Well, what is love?" says Neilson, who is always defending his great cause against Margaret's attacks. "Was there ever a lover yet, who did not think the woman he loved necessary to him?"

"It is not the higher form of love," says Margaret, who still dreams of an ideal, born of her first attachment--an ideal that never in this practical world could have been realized, and if it _could,_ would have been condemned at once as tiresome to the last degree.

"It is high enough for most people," says Neilson. "Don't grow pessimistic, Margaret. There is a great deal of light and joy and laughter in the world, and I know _no_ one so framed to enjoy it as yourself, if only you would give yourself full sway. You condemn marriage, yet how can you speak of it with authority--you who have not tried it?"

"Oh, do, _do_ stop," says Margaret, lifting her hand. "You are getting on that--that wretched old tack again."

"So I am. I know it. I shall be on that tack to the end of my life. And I think it so unfair of you to condemn anybody without even a hearing."

"Why, I must," says she, laughing in spite of herself.

"No, you needn't. Marry me, and then give judgment!"

"I shall never marry," says Margaret, with cold decision; then, as if ashamed of her tone, she looks up at him. It is rather a shy look, and makes her even more admirable in the eyes of the man watching her. _"Why_ will you persist?" asks she.

"I must. I must."

"It sounds like a doom," says she lightly, though tears are gathering in her eyes. "Don't waste your life. _Don't!"_

"I am not wasting it. I am spending it on you," says the Colonel, who is really a delightful lover.

"Ah! but that is so dreadful--for me!"

"Do I worry you, then?"

"No! no! A thousand times no!" cries she eagerly. "It is only that I must always reproach myself?"

"Why always? Give in, Margaret, and let me change my place from lover to husband."

"It is often a fatal change."

"You mistrust me?"

"You! No, indeed! You least of all. I believe in you from my very soul! Don't think that, Harry. But," impatiently, "why go over it again and again?"

Colonel Neilson turns a solemn face to hers.

"Margaret!" says he. "Are you bent on dying an old maid?"

Miss Knollys flushes; she turns aside.

"What an odious word!" says she.

She walks deliberately into the drawing-room behind her. Neilson still stands leaning over the balcony--a slow and distinctly satisfied smile crosses his features.


CHAPTER II.

HOW TITA COMMITS A GREAT FOLLY, THOUGH LITTLE IS THE SIN THAT LIES THEREIN. AND HOW MARGARET TRIES TO MAKE PEACE, AND WHAT COMES OF IT.


Breakfast is nearly over--an uncomfortable breakfast, with only a host to guide it--the hostess had put in no appearance. This would be nothing if the plea of headache had been urged, but headache had been out of it altogether. In fact, Lady Rylton had gone out riding at eight o'clock with her cousin, Mr. Hescott, and has not yet come back, though the clock points at ten-thirty.

Sir Maurice had made very light of it. He had asked Mrs. Bethune to pour out the tea, and had said that Tita would be back presently. But everyone can see that he is upset and angry, and Margaret, noting it all, feels her heart grow cold within her.

As a fact, Rylton is feeling something more than anger. Something akin to fear. Where is she--the girl he had married, meaning to be true to her if nothing else? He had questioned her maid very casually, very unconcernedly, and she had told him that her mistress had gone out riding this morning about eight o'clock with Mr. Hescott. His questions had been so clever, so altogether without anxiety, that the maid had believed in him, and saw nothing in his words to dwell upon later.

Yet Rylton's heart had seemed to cease beating as she answered him. She had gone riding with Hescott. With Hescott! Will she ever come back?

Tita's face, when she had left him that last night, is before him now. Tita's determination not to accept the olive branch he offered her yesterday is before him too. What if she----

And, in truth, Tita _had_ been angry. Her spirit had been roused. His open declaration that he believed her capable of carrying on a flirtation with her cousin had hurt her more than she cared to confess even to herself. It was so silly--so unjust! She--_she!_

And he! What of him? Everything that his mother had told her of his affection for Marian grew, all at once, fresh in her mind. How did he then _dare _to speak to _her_ of inconstancy? He--who had been false to her from the very beginning. When he had spoken to her to-day, as she passed him on her way to the garden, she had felt as though she could hardly bring herself to answer him--and always revenge was in her mind. Revenge--to show him how little she cared for his censures.

When, therefore, Hescott during the evening asked her to go for a ride with him before breakfast next morning, she had said yes quickly--so quickly, that Hescott foolishly believed she meant more than a readiness to ride in the early morning. Did she wish to be _with_ him? A mad hope made his heart warm.

As for Tita--she thought only of that small revenge. She would go for a ride with Tom, without telling Maurice one word about it. She could easily be back in time for breakfast, and no one, therefore, would be annoyed, except Maurice! It seemed _delightful_ to annoy Maurice!


* * * * *


The little revenge hardly seems so delightful now, however, as she springs from her horse, and running into the hall, followed by Hescott, sees by the clock there that it is just half-past ten.

"Oh! you should have _told_ me," cries she, most unjustly turning upon Tom.

"Good heavens! How could I? I didn't know myself. I told you I had left my watch on my dressing-table."

"Well, we are in for it now, any way," says she, with a little nervous laugh.

She walks straight to the breakfast-room, and, throwing open the door, goes in.

"I'm so sorry!" says she at once.

She gives a little general, beaming smile all round. Only Margaret can see the nervousness of it. She had taken off her hat in the hall, and her pretty, short air is lying loosely on her forehead. There is a tiny dab of mud on her cheek, close to the eye. It