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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9dfe11e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61914 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61914) diff --git a/old/61914-0.txt b/old/61914-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cf38ba3..0000000 --- a/old/61914-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4328 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Effie Ogilvie; vol. 1, by Margaret Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Effie Ogilvie; vol. 1 - the story of a young life - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: April 24, 2020 [EBook #61914] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE; VOL. 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE. - - - - - PUBLISHED BY - JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW. - - * * * * * - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. - _London_, _Hamilton, Adams and Co._ - _Cambridge_, _Macmillan and Bowes_. - _Edinburgh_, _Douglas and Foulis_. - - * * * * * - - MDCCCLXXXVI. - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE: - - _THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE_. - - BY - - MRS. OLIPHANT, - AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,” ETC. - - - IN TWO VOLUMES. - - VOL. I. - - - GLASGOW: - JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS, - Publishers to the University. - LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1886. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE: - - _THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE_. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -The family consisted of Effie’s father, her stepmother, her brother Eric -who was in the army, and a little personage, the most important of all, -the only child of the second Mrs. Ogilvie, the pet and plaything of the -house. You may think it would have been more respectful and becoming to -reverse this description, and present Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie first to the -notice of the reader, which we shall now proceed to do. The only excuse -we can offer for the irregularity of the beginning consists in the fact -that it is the nature of their proceedings in respect to the young -people, and particularly to Mr. Ogilvie’s daughter Effie, which induces -us to disturb the decorous veil which hangs over the doors of every -respectable family, in the case of these worthy persons. - -In their own lives, had we time and space to recount all that befell -them, there would, no doubt, be many interesting particulars, as in the -lives of most other people: but when a country gentleman has attained -the age of fifty or a little more, with enough of money for his -necessities, and no more ambition than can be satisfied by the -regulation of the affairs of the parish, it is inevitably through the -fortunes of a son or daughter that he comes within reach of the -sympathies of the world. These troublesome productions, of whom we take -so little thought at first, who are nothing but playthings and -embellishments of our own estate for so many years, have a way of -pushing us out of our commanding position as the chief actors in our -own lives, setting us aside into a secondary place, and conferring upon -us a quite fictitious interest as influences upon theirs. It is an -impertinence of fate, it is an irony of circumstance; but still it is -so. And it is, consequently, as Effie’s father, a character in which he -by no means knew himself, that Mr. Ogilvie of Gilston, a gentleman as -much respected as any in his county, the chief heritor in his parish, -and a deputy-lieutenant, has now to be presented to the world. - -He was a good man in his way, not perfect, as in the general he was -himself very willing to allow, though he did not, any more than the rest -of us, like that niggling sort of criticism which descends to -particulars. He was a man who would have suffered a little personal -inconvenience rather than do anything which he was convinced was wrong, -which most of us, who are old enough to be acquainted with our own ways, -will be aware is no small thing to say. But, ordinarily, also like most -of us, his wrong acts were done without taking time to identify them as -wrong, on the spur of the moment, in the heat of a present impulse which -took from them all the sting of premeditation. - -Thus, when he gave good Glen, the virtuous collie, as he came forward -smiling and cheerful, with a remark upon the beauty of the morning -glistening in his bright eyes and waving majestically in his tail, that -sudden kick which sent the good fellow off howling, and oppressed his -soul all day with a sense of crime, Mr. Ogilvie did not do it by -intention, did not come out with the purpose of doing it, but only did -it because he had just got a letter which annoyed him. Glen, who had a -tender conscience, lived half the day under a weight of unnecessary -remorse, convinced that he must himself have done something very wicked, -though a confused moral sense and the absence of a recognized code made -him sadly incapable of discovering what it was; but his master had not -the slightest intention of inflicting any such mental torture. - -He treated his human surroundings in something of the same way, -convincing Effie sometimes, by a few well-chosen words, of her own -complete mental and physical incompetency; as, for example, when she ran -into his library to call his attention to something quite unimportant at -the very moment when he was adding up his “sundries,” and had nearly -arrived at a result. - -“If you had any sense of propriety in you, and were not a born idiot -that never can be taught there’s a time for everything, you would know -better than to dart in like a whirlwind in your high heels, and all that -nonsense in your mouth, to drive a man frantic!” - -Effie would withdraw in tears. But Mr. Ogilvie had not really meant any -harm. - -He had succeeded to his father’s little estate when he was still in his -twenties, and had many aspirations. He had not intended to withdraw from -the bar, although he had few clients to speak of. He had indeed fully -intended to follow up his profession, and it had not seemed impossible -that he might attain to the glorious position of Lord Advocate, or, if -not, to that of Sheriff-Substitute, which was perhaps more probable. But -by degrees, and especially after his marriage, he had found out that -professional work was a great “tie,” and that there were many things to -be done at home. - -His first wife had been the only daughter of the minister, which -concentrated his affections still more and more in his own locality. -When she died, leaving him with two children, who had never been -troublesome to him before, the neighbourhood was moved with the deepest -sympathy for poor Ogilvie. Some people even thought he would not survive -it, they had been so united a couple, and lived so entirely for each -other: or, at least, that he would go away, abandoning the scene of his -past happiness. - -But, on the contrary, he stayed at home, paying the tribute of the -profoundest dulness for one year to the lost partner of his life, -cheering up a little decorously afterwards, and at the end of the second -year marrying again. All this was done, it will be seen, in the most -respectable and well-regulated way, as indeed was everything that Mr. -Ogilvie did when he took time to think of it, being actuated by a -conscientious desire to do his duty, and set an example to all honest -and virtuous men. - -Mrs. Ogilvie was not too young to be the second wife of a gentleman of -fifty. She was “quite suitable,” everybody said--which, seeing that he -might have married a chit of twenty, as mature widowers have been known -to do, was considered by everybody a virtuous abstinence and concession -to the duties of the position. She was thirty-five, good-looking, even -handsome, and very conscientious. If it was her husband’s virtuous -principle to submit to personal inconvenience rather than do anything -that he knew to be wrong, she went many steps farther in the way of -excellence, and seldom did anything unless she was convinced that it was -right. - -With this high meaning she had come to Gilston, and during the four -years of her reign there had, not sternly--for she was not stern: but -steadily, and she was a woman of great steadiness of mind and -purpose--adhered to it. - -These years had been very important years, as may be supposed, in the -life of the two young people whom Mrs. Ogilvie described as “the first -family.” The boy had been seventeen and the girl fifteen when she came -home a bride. And their mother had been dead only two years: an age at -which criticism is more uncompromising, or circumstances under which it -would be more difficult to begin married life, could scarcely be. They -gazed at her with two pairs of large eyes, and countenances which did -not seem able to smile, noting everything she did, putting a mute -criticism upon the silent record, objecting dumbly to everything, to her -entrance there at all, to her assumption of their mother’s chair, their -mother’s name, all that was now legally and honourably hers. - -Can any one imagine a more terrible ordeal for a woman to go through? -She confided to her sister afterwards that if she had acted upon -impulse, as Robert, poor dear, so often did, the house would have become -a hell on earth. - -“I would have liked to have put that boy to the door a hundred times a -day: and as for Effie!--I never can tell till this day how it was that -I kept my hands off her,” she said, reddening with the recollection of -many exasperations past. Women who have filled the office of stepmother, -aunt, or any other such domestic anomaly, will understand and -sympathize. And yet, of course, there was a great deal to be said on the -other side too. - -The children had heard with an indignation beyond words of their -father’s intention. It had been said to them, with that natural -hypocrisy which is so transparent and almost pardonable, that he took -this step very much for their sakes, to give them a new mother. - -A new mother! Seven and five might have taken this in with wondering -ears and made no remark; but seventeen and fifteen! The boy glowed with -fierce wrath; the girl shed torrents of hot tears. They formed plans of -leaving Gilston at once, going away to seek their fortunes--to America, -to Australia, who could tell where? Effie was certain that she would -mind no hardship, that she could cook and wash, and do everything in the -hut, while Eric (boys are always so much luckier than girls!) spent the -day in the saddle after the cattle in the ranche. - -Or they would go orange-farming, ostrich-farming--what did it matter -which?--anything, in fact, but stay at home. Money was the great -difficulty in this as in almost all other cases, besides the dreadful -fact that Effie was a girl, a thing which had always been hard upon her -in all their previous adventures, but now more than ever. - -“We might have gone to sea and worked our passages before the mast, if -you had only been a laddie and not a lassie,” Eric said with a sigh and -a profound sense of the general contrariety of events. This unalterable -misfortune, which somehow seemed (though it was she who suffered from it -most) her fault, stopped Effie’s tears, and brought instead a look of -despair into her round face. There flashed through her mind an idea of -the possibility of neutralizing this disability by means of costume. -Rosalind did so in Shakespeare, and Viola, and so had other heroines in -less distant regions. - -But at the idea of _trousers_ Effie’s countenance flamed, and she -rejected the thought. It was quite possible to endure being unhappy, -even in her small experience she was well aware of that--but unwomanly! -Oh, what would mamma say? That utterance of habit, the words that rose -to her lips without thinking, even now when mamma was about to have a -successor--a new mother! brought back the tears in torrents. She flung -herself upon Eric’s shoulder, and he, poor fellow, gave her with -quivering lips a little furtive kiss, the only consolation he could -think of, though they were not at all used to caressing each other. Poor -children! and yet Mr. Ogilvie had done nothing cruel, and Mrs. Ogilvie -was the best-intentioned woman in the world. - -It was lucky that they were found at this critical moment by an -individual who is of great importance in this little record of events, -as he was in the parish and the neighbourhood generally,--that is Uncle -John. He was the minister of Gilston; he was their mother’s brother; and -he was one of the men selected by Providence for the consolation of -their fellow-creatures. - -Perhaps he was not always very wise. He was too much under the sway of -his heart to be infallible in the way of advice, although that heart was -so tender and full of sympathy that it often penetrated secrets which -were undiscoverable to common men. But in his powers of comfort-giving -he was perfect. The very sight of him soothed the angry and softened the -obdurate, and he dried the tears of the young by some inspiration given -to him alone. - -“What is the matter?” he said in his large soft voice, which was deep -bass and very masculine, yet had something in it too of the -wood-pigeon’s brooding tones. They were seated at the foot of a tree in -the little wood that protected Gilston House from the east, on the roots -of the big ash which were like gray curves of rock among the green moss -and the fallen leaves. He came between them, sitting down too, raising -Effie with his arm. - -“But I think I can guess. You are just raging at Providence and your -father, you two ungrateful bairns.” - -“Ungrateful!” cried Effie. She was the most speechless of the two, the -most prostrate, the most impassioned, and therefore was most ready to -reply. - -“Oh, what have we to be grateful for?--our own mamma gone away and we’ll -never see her more; and another woman--another--a Mistress Ogilvie----” -In her rage and despair she pronounced every syllable, with what -bitterness and burning scorn and fury! Uncle John drew her little hands -down from her face and held them in his own, which were not small, but -very firm, though they were soft. - -“Your own mother was a very good woman, Effie,” said Uncle John. - -The girl paused and looked at him with those fiery eyes which were not -softened, but made more angry, by her tears, not seeing how this bore -upon the present crisis of affairs. - -“Have you any reason to suppose that being herself, as we know she is, -with the Lord whom she loved”--and here Uncle John took off his hat as -if he were saluting the dearest and most revered of friends--“that she -would like you and the rest to be miserable all your lives because she -was away?” - -“Miserable!” cried Effie. “We were not miserable; we were quite happy; -we wanted nothing. Papa may care for new people, but we were happy and -wanted nothing, Eric and me.” - -“Then, my little Effie,” said Uncle John, “it is not because of your -own mother that you are looking like a little fury--for you see you have -learned to let her go, and do without her, and be quite contented in a -new way--but only because your father has done the same after his -fashion, and it is not the same way as yours.” - -“Oh, Uncle John, I am not contented,” cried Effie, conscience-stricken; -“I think of mamma every day.” - -“And are quite happy,” he said with a smile, “as you ought to be. God -bless her up yonder, behind the veil. She is not jealous nor angry, but -happy too. And we will be very good friends with Mistress Ogilvie, you -and me. Come and see that everything is ready for her, for she will not -have an easy handful with you two watching her night and day.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Though Mr. Moubray said this, it is not to be supposed that he liked his -brother-in-law’s second marriage. It was not in flesh and blood to do -that. - -Gilston House must always be the most important house in that parish to -the minister; for it is at once nearest to the manse, and the house in -which he is most likely to find people who have at least the outside -gloss of education. And he had been used to go there familiarly for -nearly twenty years. He had been a favourite with the old people, Mr. -Ogilvie’s father and mother, and when their son succeeded them he was -already engaged to the minister’s young sister. There was therefore a -daily habit of meeting for nearly a lifetime. The two men had not always -agreed. Indeed it was not in human nature that they should not have -sometimes disagreed strenuously, one being the chief heritor, -restraining every expenditure, and the other the minister, who was -always, by right of his position, wanting to have something done. - -But after all their quarrels they “just ’greed again,” which is the best -and indeed the only policy in such circumstances. And though the laird -would thunder against that “pig-headed fellow, your brother John,” Mrs. -Ogilvie had always been able to smile, knowing that on the other hand -she would hear nothing worse from the minister than a recommendation to -“remind Robert that schoolhouse roofs and manse windows are not -eternal.” - -And then the children had woven another link between the two houses. -Eric had been Uncle John’s pupil since the boy had been old enough to -trot unattended through the little wood and across the two fields which -separated the manse from the House; and Effie had trotted by his side -when the days were fine, and when she pleased--a still more important -stipulation. They had been the children of the manse almost as much as -of the House. - -The death of the mother had for a time drawn the tie still closer, -Ogilvie in his first desolation throwing himself entirely upon the -succour and help of his brother-in-law; and the young ones clinging with -redoubled tenderness to the kind Uncle John, whom for the first time -they found out to be “so like mamma!” There never was a day in which he -did not appear on his way to his visiting, or to a session meeting, or -some catechising or christening among the hills. They were dependent -upon him, and he upon them. But now this constant association had come -to an end. No, not to an end--that it could never do; but, in all -likelihood, it must now change its conditions. - -John Moubray was an old bachelor without chick or child: so most people -thought. In reality, he was not a bachelor at all; but his married life -had lasted only a year, and that was nearly thirty years ago! The little -world about might be excused for forgetting--or himself even--for what -is one year out of fifty-four? Perhaps that one year had given him more -insight into the life of men; perhaps it had made him softer, tenderer -to the weak. That mild celibacy, which the Church of Rome has found so -powerful an instrument, was touched perhaps to a more benignant outcome -still in this Scotch minister, by the fact that he had loved like his -fellows, and been as other men in his time, a triumphant bridegroom, a -woman’s husband. But the experience itself was long past, and had left -no trace behind; it was to him as a dream. Often he felt uncertain -whether there had been any reality in it at all--whether it was not a -golden vision such as is permitted to youth. - -In these circumstances, it may be supposed that the closing upon him in -any degree of the house which had been his sister’s, which belonged to -the most intimate friend of everyday life, and which was the home of -children who were almost his own children, was very serious to Uncle -John. - -Mrs. Ogilvie, to do her justice, was anxious to obviate any feeling of -this kind. The very first time he dined there after her marriage, she -took him aside into a corner of the drawing-room, and talked to him -privately. - -“I hope there will be no difference, Mr. Moubray,” she said; “I hope you -will not let it make any difference that I am here.” - -“Difference?” said John, startled a little. He had already felt the -difference, but had made up his mind to it as a thing that must be. - -“I know,” said the lady, “that I’m not clever enough to take your -sister’s place; but so far as a good meaning goes, and a real desire to -be a mother to the children, and a friend to you, if you will let me, -nobody could be better disposed than I am, if you will just take me at -my word.” - -The minister was so unprepared for any such speech that he stammered a -little over his reply. - -“My sister,” he said, “had no pretensions to be clever. That was never -the ground my poor Jeanie took up. She was a good woman, and very dear -to----very dear to those she belonged to,” he said, with a huskiness in -his voice. - -“That’s just what I say. I come here in a way that is hard upon a woman, -with one before me that I will always be compared to. But this one thing -I must say, that I hope you will come about the house just as often as -you used to do, and in the same way, coming in whenever it enters your -head to do so, and believing that you are always welcome. Always -welcome. I don’t say I will always be here, for I think it only right to -keep up with society (if it were but for Effie’s sake) more than the -last Mrs. Ogilvie did. But I will never be happy if you don’t come out -and in just in your ordinary, Mr. Moubray, just as you’ve always been -accustomed to do.” - -John Moubray went home after this address with a mingled sense of humour -and vexation and approval. It made him half angry to be invited to his -brother-in-law’s house in this way, as if he required invitation. But, -at the same time, he did not deny that she meant well. - -And she did mean well. She meant to make Effie one of the most complete -of young ladies, and Gilston the model country-seat of a Scots -gentleman. She meant to do her duty to the most minute particular. She -meant her husband to be happy, and her children to be clothed in scarlet -and prosperity, and comfort to be diffused around. - -All these preliminaries were long past at the point at which this -narrative begins. Effie had grown up, and Eric was away in India with -his regiment. He had not been intended for a soldier, but whether it was -that Mrs. Ogilvie’s opinion, expressed very frankly, that the army was -the right thing for him, influenced the mind of the family in general, -or whether the lad found the new rule too unlike the old to take much -pleasure in his home, the fact was that he went into the army and -disappeared, to the great grief of Effie and Uncle John, but, so far as -appeared, of no one else, for little Roderick had just been born, and -Mr. Ogilvie was ridiculously delighted with the baby, which seemed to -throw his grown-up son altogether into the shade. - -It need scarcely be said that both before and after this event there -was great trouble and many struggles with Effie, who had been so used to -her own way, Mrs. Ogilvie said, that to train her was a task almost -beyond mortal powers. Yet it had been done. So long as Eric remained at -home, the difficulties had been great. - -And then there was all but the additional drawback of a premature love -story to make matters worse. But that had been happily, silently, -expeditiously smothered in the bud, a triumph of which Mrs. Ogilvie was -so proud that it was with difficulty she kept it from Effie herself; and -she did not attempt to keep it from Mr. Moubray, to whom, after the lads -were safely gone, she confided the fact that young Ronald Sutherland, -who had been constantly about the house before her marriage, and who -since that had spent as much of his time with the brother and sister -out-of-doors as had been possible, had come to Mr. Ogilvie a few days -before his departure--“What for, can you imagine?” the lady said. - -Now Ronald was a neighbour’s son, the companion by nature of the two -children of Gilston. He had got his commission in the same regiment, and -joined it at the same time as Eric. He was twenty when Eric was -eighteen, so much in advance and no more. The minister could have -divined, perhaps, had he set his wits to the task, but he had no desire -to forestall the explanation, and he shook his head in reply. - -“With a proposal for Effie, if you please!” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and she -only sixteen, not half-educated, nor anything like what I want her to -be. And, if you will believe me, Robert was half-disposed--well, not to -accept it; but to let the boy speak to her, and bring another bonny -business on my hands.” - -“They are too young,” said Uncle John. - -“Too young! They are too--everything that can be thought of--too -ridiculous I would say. Fortunately Robert spoke to me, and I got him -to make the lad promise not to say a word to Effie or to any one till he -comes back. It will be a long time before he can come back, and who -knows what may happen in the meantime? Too young! There is a great deal -more than being merely too young. I mean Effie to make a much better -match than that.” - -“He is a good boy,” said Mr. Moubray; “if he were older, and perhaps a -little richer, I would not wish a better, for my part.” - -“If all ministers were as unworldly as you!--it is what is sorely wanted -in the Church, as Robert always says. But parents may be pardoned if -they look a little more to interest in the case of their children. I -will very likely never have grown-up daughters of my own. And Effie must -make a good match; I have set my heart on that. She is growing up a -pretty creature, and she will be far more quiet and manageable for her -education now that, heaven be praised, those boys are away.” - -“As one of the boys carries a large piece of my heart with him, you will -not expect me to be so pious and so thankful,” the minister said. - -“O Uncle John! I am sure you would like Effie to get the best of -educations. She never would have settled down to it, never! if that lad -had got his way.” - -Mr. Moubray could not say a word against this, for it was all true; but -he could not meet Effie’s wistful eyes when she crept to his side, in -his study or out-of-doors whenever they met, and hung upon his arm, and -asked him where he thought they would be by now? It was Eric chiefly -they were both thinking of, yet Effie unawares said “they.” How far -would they be on their journey? It was not then the quick way such as we -are happily used to now, but a long, long journey round the stormy Cape, -three lingering months of sea, and so long, so long before any news -could come. - -The uncle and niece, who were now more close companions than ever, were -found in the minister’s study one day with a map stretched out before -them, their heads closely bent over it, his all clad with vigorous curls -of gray, hers shining in soft locks of brown, their eyes so intent that -they did not hear the opening door and the rustle of Mrs. Ogilvie’s silk -gown. - -“What are you doing with your heads so close together?” that lady said. -And the two started like guilty things. But Uncle John explained calmly -that Effie was feeble in her geography, and no more was said. - -And so everything settled down. Effie, it was true, was much more -manageable after her brother was away. She had to confine herself to -shorter walks, to give up much of that freedom of movement which a girl -can only be indulged in when she has a brother by her side. She was -very dull for a time, and rather rebellious; but that too wore out, as -everything will wear out if we but wait long enough. - -And now she was nineteen, on the threshold of her life--a pretty -creature, as her stepmother had said, not a great beauty like those that -bewitch the world when they are seen, which is but rarely. Effie was -pretty as the girls are by dozens, like the flowers, overflowing over -all the face of the country, making it sweet. Her hair and her eyes were -brown, like most other people’s. She was no wonder or prodigy, but fair -and honest and true, a pleasure to behold. And after all those youthful -tribulations she was still a happy girl enough at home. - -Mrs. Ogilvie, when all was said, was a well-meaning woman. There was no -tyranny nor unkindness in the house. - -So this young soul expanded in the hands of the people who had the care -of it, and who had cared for it so far well, though not with much -understanding; how it sped in the times of action, and in the crisis -that was approaching, and how far they did their duty by it, we have now -to see. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -The parish of Gilston is not a wealthy one. It lies not far from the -Borders, where there is much moorland and pasture-land, and not much -high farming. The farmhouses are distant and scattered, the population -small. The greatest house in the district, indeed, stands within its -boundaries, but that was shut up at this moment, and of use to nobody. -There were two or three country houses of the smaller sort scattered -about, at four and five miles’ distance from each other, and a cluster -of dwellings near the church, in which amid a few cottages rose the -solid square house of the doctor, which he called Gowanbrae, and the -cottage of the Miss Dempsters, which they called Rosebank. - -The doctor, whose name was Jardine, had a great deal to do, and rode -about the country early and late. The Miss Dempsters had nothing to do -except to keep up a general supervision of the proceedings of the -neighbours and of all that happened in the country side. It was a -supervision not unkind. - -They were good neighbours, always handy and ready in any case of family -affliction or rejoicing. They were ready to lend anything and everything -that might be required--pepper, or a lemon, or cloves, or soap, or any -of the little things that so generally give out before the storeroom is -replenished, when you are out of reach of co-operative stores or -grocers’ shops; or their glass and china, or knives, or lamps--or even a -fine pair of silver candlesticks which they were very proud of--when -their neighbours had company: or good advice to any extent, which -sometimes was not wanted. - -It was perhaps because everybody ran to them in case of need that they -were so well acquainted with everybody’s affairs. And then people were -so unreasonable as to find fault and call the Miss Dempsters gossips. It -was undeserved: they spoke ill of nobody unless there was good cause; -they made no mischief: but they did know everything, and they did more -or less superintend the life of the parish, having leisure and unbounded -interest in life. - -The neighbours grumbled and sometimes called them names--old maids, old -cats, and many other pretty titles: which did not prevent them from -borrowing the spoons or the candlesticks, or sending for Miss Robina -when anything happened. Had these excellent ladies died the parish would -have mourned sincerely, and they would have been universally missed: -but as they were alive and well they were called the old cats. Human -nature is subject to such perversities. - -The rural world in general had thus an affectionate hostility to the -all-seeing, all-knowing, all-aiding ladies of Rosebank; but between them -and Dr. Jardine the feeling was a great deal stronger. Hatred, it was -understood, was not too strong a word. Rosebank stood a little higher -than Gowanbrae: it was raised, indeed, upon a knoll, so that the house, -though in front only one storey, was two storeys behind, and in reality -a much larger house than it looked. The doctor’s house was on the level -of the village, and the Miss Dempsters from their point of vantage -commanded him completely. - -He was of opinion that they watched all his proceedings from the windows -of their drawing-room, which in summer were always open, with white -curtains fluttering, and baskets of flowers so arranged that it was -hopeless to attempt to return the inspection. There was a garden bench -on the path that ran in front of the windows, and on fine days Miss -Robina, who was not at all rheumatic, would sit there in order to see -the doctor’s doings more distinctly. So at least the doctor thought. - -“You may say it’s as good as a lady at the head of my table,” said the -doctor. “That old cat counts every bite I put into my mouth. She knows -what Merran has got for my dinner, and watches me eat. I cannot take a -glass of wine, when I’m tired, but they make a note of it.” - -“Then, doctor, you should draw down your blind,” said the minister, who -was always a peacemaker. - -“Me!” cried Dr. Jardine, with a fine Scotch contempt for the other -pronoun. “Me give the old hag that satisfaction. Not for the half of -Scotland! I am doing nothing that I am ashamed of, I hope.” - -Miss Robina on her side expressed other views. She had a soft, -slightly-indistinct voice, as if that proverbial butter that “would not -melt in her mouth” was held there when she spoke. - -“It’s a great vexation,” she said, in her placid way, “that we cannot -look out at our own windows without being affronted with the sight of -that hideous house. It’s just an offence: and a man’s house that is -shameless--that will come to the window and take off his dram, and nod -his head as if he were saying, Here’s to ye. It is just an offence,” -Miss Robina said. - -Miss Robina was the youngest. She was a large woman, soft and -imperfectly laced, like a cushion badly stuffed and bulging here and -there. Her hair was still yellow as it had been in her youth, but her -complexion had not worn so well. Her features were large like her -person. Miss Dempster was smaller and gray, which she considered much -more distinguished than the yellow braids of her sister. - -“It’s common to suppose Beenie dyes her hair; but I’m thankful to say -nobody can doubt me,” she would say. “It was very bonny hair when we -were young; but when the face gets old there’s something softening in -the white. I would have everybody gray at our age; not that Beenie -dyes--oh no. She never had that much thought.” - -Miss Beenie was always in the foreground, taking up much more room than -her sister, and able to be out in all weathers. But Miss Dempster, -though rheumatic, and often confined to the house, was the real head of -everything. It was she who took upon her chiefly the care of the manners -of the young people, and especially of Effie Ogilvie, who was the -foremost object of regard, inspection, and criticism to these ladies. -They knew everything about her from her birth. She could not have a -headache without their knowledge (though indeed she gave them little -trouble in this respect, her headaches being few); and as for her -wardrobe, even her new chemises (if the reader will not be shocked) had -to be exhibited to the sisters, who had an exasperating way of -investigating a hem, and inspecting the stitching, which, as they were -partly made by Effie herself, made that young lady’s brow burn. - -“But I approve of your trimmings,” Miss Dempster said; “none of your -common cotton stuff. Take my word for it, a real lace is ten times -thriftier. It will wear and wear--while that rubbish has to be thrown -into the fire.” - -“It was some we had in the house,” Mrs. Ogilvie said; “I could not let -her buy thread lace for her underclothes.” - -“Oh ay, it would be some of her mother’s,” and Miss Robina, with a nod -and a tone which as good as said, “That accounts for it.” And this made -Mrs. Ogilvie indignant too. - -The Miss Dempsters had taken a great interest in Ronald Sutherland. They -knew (of course) how it was that Mrs. Ogilvie so skilfully had baulked -that young hero in his intentions, and they did not approve. The lady -defended herself stoutly. - -“An engagement at sixteen!” she cried, “and with a long-legged lad in a -marching regiment, with not enough money to buy himself shoes.” - -“And how can ye tell,” said Miss Robina, “that she will ever get another -offer? He was a nice lad--and nice lads are not so plentiful as they -were in our days.” - -“For all so plentiful as they were, neither you nor me, Mrs. Ogilvie is -thinking, ever came to that advancement,” said Miss Dempster. “And -that’s true. But I’m not against young engagements, for my part. It is a -great divert to them both, and a very good thing for the young man; -where there’s land and sea between them that they cannot fash their -neighbours I can see no harm in it; and Ronald was a good lad.” - -“Without a penny!” - -“The pennies will come where there’s good conduct and a good heart. And -I would have let her choose for herself. It’s a great divert----” - -“I must do my own business my own way, Miss Dempster, and I think I am -the best judge of what is good for Effie. I and her father.” - -“Oh, no doubt--you, and her father; her mother might have been of a -different opinion. But that’s neither here nor there, for the poor thing -is dead and gone.” - -“Well, Sarah,” said Miss Robina, “it’s to be hoped so, or the laird, -honest man, would be in a sad position, and our friend here no better. -It’s unbecoming to discourse in that loose way. No, no; we are meaning -no interference. We’ve no right. We are not even cousins or kinswomen, -only old friends. But Ronald, ye see--Ronald is a kind of connection. We -are wae for Ronald, poor lad. But he’s young, and there’s plenty of -time, and there’s no saying what may happen.” - -“Nothing shall happen if I can help it; and I hope there will not be a -word said to put anything in Effie’s head,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. And ever -since this discussion she had been more severe than ever against the two -old ladies. - -“Take care that ye put no confidence in them,” she said to her -stepdaughter. “They can be very sweet when it suits their purpose. But I -put no faith in them. They will set you against your duties--they will -set you against me. No doubt I’m not your mother: but I have always -tried to do my duty by you.” - -Effie had replied with a few words of acknowledgment. Mrs. Ogilvie was -always very kind. It was Uncle John’s conviction, which had a great deal -of weight with the girl, that she meant sincerely to do her duty, as she -said. But, nevertheless, the doors of Effie’s heart would not open; they -yielded a little, just enough to warrant her in feeling that she had not -closed them, but that was all. - -She was much more at ease with the Miss Dempsters than with her -stepmother. Her relations with them were quite simple. They had scolded -her and questioned her all her life, and she did not mind what they said -to her. Sometimes she would blaze into sudden resentment and cry, or -else avenge herself with a few hot words. But as there was no bond of -duty in respect to her old friends, there was perfect freedom in their -intercourse. If they hurt her she cried out. But when Mrs. Ogilvie hurt -her she was silent and thought the more. - -Effie was just nineteen when it began to be rumoured over the country -that the mansion-house of Allonby was let. There was no place like it -within twenty miles. It was an old house, with the remains of a house -still older by its side--a proof that the Allonbies had been in the -countryside since the old days when life so near the Border was full of -disturbance. - -The house lay low on the side of a stream, which, after it had passed -decorously by the green lawns and park, ran into a dell which was famed -far and near. It was in itself a beautiful little ravine, richly wooded, -in the midst of a country not very rich in wood; and at the opening of -the dell or dene, as they called it, was one of those little lonely -churchyards which are so pathetic in Scotland, burying-places of the -past, which are to be found in the strangest unexpected places, -sometimes without any trace of the protecting chapel which in the old -times must have consecrated their loneliness and kept the dead like a -faithful watcher. - -In the midst of this little cluster of graves there were, however, the -ruins of a humble little church very primitive and old, which, but for -one corner of masonry with a small lancet window still standing, would -have looked like a mound somewhat larger than the rest; and in the -shadow of the ruin was a tombstone, with an inscription which recorded -an old tragedy of love and death; and this it was which brought pilgrims -to visit the little shrine. - -The proprietor of the house was an old Lady Allonby, widowed and -childless, who had long lived in Italy, and was very unlikely ever to -return; consequently it made a great excitement in Gilston when it -became known that at last she had been persuaded to let her house, and -that a very rich family, a very gay family, people with plenty of money, -and the most liberal inclinations in the way of spending, were coming to -Allonby. - -They were people who had been in business, rich people, people from -London. There were at least one son and some daughters. The inhabitants -of the smaller houses, the Ogilvies, the Johnstons, the Hopes, and even -the Miss Dempsters--all the families who considered themselves county -people,--had great talks and consultations as to whether they should -call. There were some who thought it was their duty to Lady Allonby, as -an old friend and neighbour; and there were some who thought it a duty -to themselves. - -The Diroms, which was the name of the strangers, were not in any case -people to be ignored. They gave, it was said, everything that could be -given in the way of entertainment; the sons and the daughters at least, -if not the father and mother, were well educated. - -But there were a few people who were not convinced by these arguments. -The Miss Dempsters stood in the front of this resisting party. They did -not care for entertainments, and they did not like _parvenoos_. The -doctor on the other hand, who had not much family to brag of, went to -Allonby at once. He said, in his rough way, that it was a providence -there was so much influenza fleeing about, which had made it necessary -to send for him so soon. - -“I went, you may be sure, as fast as Bess’s four legs could carry me. -I’m of opinion there are many guineas for me lying about there, and it -would be disgraceful not to take them,” the doctor said with a laugh. - -“There’s no guineas in the question for Beenie and me,” said Miss -Dempster. “I’m thinking we’ll keep our view of the question. I’m not -fond of new people, and I think Lady Allonby, after staying so long -away, might just have stayed to the end, and let the heirs do what they -liked. She cannot want the money; and it’s just an abomination to put -strange folk in the house of your fathers; and folk that would have -been sent down to the servants’ hall in other days.” - -“Not so bad as that,” said the minister, “unless perhaps you are going -back to feudal times. Money has always had its acknowledgment in modern -society--and has paid for it sweetly.” - -“We will give it no acknowledgment,” said the old lady. “We’re but -little likely to be the better for their money.” - -This conversation took place at a little dinner in Gilston House, -convened, in fact, for the settlement of the question. - -“That accounts for the difference of opinion,” said the doctor. “I’ll be -a great deal the better for their money; and I’m not minding about the -blood--so long as they’ll keep it cool with my prescriptions,” he added, -with a laugh. He was a coarse man, as the Rosebank ladies knew, and what -could you expect? - -“There is one thing,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that has a great effect upon -me, and that is, that there are young people in the house. There are not -many young people in the neighbourhood, which is a great disadvantage -for Effie. It would be a fine thing for her to have some companions of -her own age. But I would like to hear something more about the family. -Can anybody tell me who _she_ was? The man may be a _parvenoo_, but -these sort of persons sometimes get very nice wives. There was a friend -of my sister’s that married a person of the name of Dirom. And she was a -Maitland: so there is no telling.” - -“There are Maitlands and Maitlands,” said Miss Robina. “It’s a very good -name: but our niece that is married in the north had a butler that was -John Maitland. I said she should just call him John. But he did not like -that. And then there was a joke that they would call him Lauderdale. But -the man was just very much offended, and said the name was his own name, -as much as if was a duke: in which, no doubt, he was right.” - -“That’s the way with all Scots names,” said her sister. “There are -Dempsters that I would not hire to wait at my table. We are not setting -up to be better than our neighbours. I’m not standing on a name. But I -would not encourage these mere monied folk to come into a quiet -neighbourhood, and flaunt their big purses in our faces. They’ll spoil -the servants, they’ll learn the common folk ill ways. That’s always what -happens. Ye’ll see the very chickens will be dearer, and Nancy Miller at -the shop will set up her saucy face, and tell ye they’re all ordered for -Allonby; so they shall have no countenance from me.” - -“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we have plenty of -chickens of our own: I seldom need to buy. And then there is Effie to -take into consideration. They will be giving balls and parties. I have -Effie to think of. I am thinking I will have to go.” - -“I hope Effie will keep them at a distance,” said Miss Robina. Effie -heard this discussion without taking any part in it. She had no -objection to balls and parties, and there was in her mind the vague -excitement with which a girl always hears of possible companions of her -own age. - -What might be coming with them? new adventures, new experiences, eternal -friendship perhaps--perhaps--who can tell what? Whether the mother was a -Maitland or the father a _parvenoo_, as the ladies said, it mattered -little to Effie. She had few companions, and her heart was all on the -side of the new people with a thoughtlessness in respect to their -antecedents which perhaps was culpable. - -But then Effie was but nineteen, which made a difference, Miss Robina -herself was the first to allow. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -“We will just go without waiting any longer,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “We are -their nearest neighbours--and they will take it kind if we lose no time. -As for these old cats, it will be little matter to the Diroms what they -do--but your papa, that is a different affair. It can do no harm, for -everybody knows who _we_ are, Effie, and it may do good. So we will be -on the safe side, whatever happens. And there is nothing much doing for -the horses to-day. Be you ready at three o’clock, and we will take Rory -in the carriage for a drive.” - -Effie obeyed her stepmother with alacrity. She had not taken any part in -the argument, but her imagination had found a great deal to say. She -had seen the young Diroms out riding. She had seen them at church. There -were two girls about her own age, and there was a brother. The brother -was of quite secondary importance, she said to herself; nevertheless, -there are always peradventures in the air, and when one thinks that at -any moment one’s predestined companion--he whom heaven intends, whatever -men may think or say--may walk round the corner! - -The image of Ronald, which had never been very deeply imprinted, had -faded out of Effie’s imagination. It had never reached any farther than -her imagination. And in her little excitement and the pleasurable -quickening of her pulsations, as she set out upon this drive with her -stepmother, there was that vague sense that there was no telling what -might come of it which gives zest to the proceedings of youth. It was -the nearest approach to setting out upon a career of adventure which -had ever fallen to Effie’s share. She was going to discover a world. She -was a new little Columbus, setting her sail towards the unknown. - -Mrs. Ogilvie ran on all the way with a sort of monologue, every sentence -of which began with, “I wonder.” - -“Dear me, I wish I could have found out who _she_ was. I wonder if it -will turn out to be my sister’s friend. She was a great deal older than -I am, of course, and might very well have grown-up sons and daughters. -For Mary is the eldest of us all, and if she had ever had any children, -they would have been grown up by this time. We will see whether she will -say anything about Mary. And I wonder if you will like the girls. They -will always have been accustomed to more luxury than would be at all -becoming to a country gentleman’s daughter like you. And I wonder if the -young man--the brother--will be always at Allonby. We will have to ask -them to their dinner. And I wonder----” But here Mrs. Ogilvie’s -wonderings were cut short on her lips; and so great was her astonishment -that her lips dropped apart, and she sat gaping, incapable of speech. - -“I declare!” she cried at last, and could say no more. The cause of this -consternation was that, as they entered the avenue of Allonby, another -vehicle met them coming down. And this turned out to be the carriage -from the inn, which was the only one to be had for ten miles round, -conveying Miss Dempster and Miss Beenie, in their best apparel. The -Gilston coachman stopped, as was natural, and so did the driver of the -cab. - -“Well,” cried Miss Dempster, waving her hand, “ye are going, I see, -after all. We’ve just been having our lunch with them. Since it was to -be done, it was just as well to do it in good time. And a very nice -luncheon it was, and nicely set upon the table, that I must say--but -how can you wonder, with such a number of servants! If they’re not good -for that, they’re good for nothing. There was just too much, a great -deal too much, upon the table; and a fine set-out of plate, and----” - -“Sarah, Mrs. Ogilvie is not minding about that.” - -“Mrs. Ogilvie is like other folk, and likes to hear our first -impressions. And, Effie, you will need just to trim up your beaver; for, -though they are not what you can call fine, they are in the flower of -the fashion. We’ll keep you no longer. Sandy, you may drive on. Eh! -no--stop a moment,” cried the old lady, flourishing her umbrella. - -The Gilston coachman had put his horses in motion also; so that when the -two carriages were checked again, it was obliquely and from a distance, -raising her voice, that Miss Dempster shouted this piece of -information: “Ye’ll be gratified to hear that she _was_ a Miss -Maitland,” the old lady cried. - -“Well, if ever I heard the like!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, as they went on. -“There to their lunch, after vowing they would never give their -countenance----! That shows how little you can trust even your nearest -neighbours. They are just two old cats! But I am glad she is the person -I thought. As Mary’s sister, I will have a different kind of a standing -from ordinary strangers, and you will profit by that, Effie. I would not -wonder if you found them a great acquisition; and your father and me, we -would be very well pleased. We’ve heard nothing about the gentlemen of -the house. I wonder if they’re always at home. As I was saying, I wonder -if that brother of theirs is an idle man about the place, like so many. -I’m not fond of idle men. I wonder----” - -And for twenty minutes more Mrs. Ogilvie continued wondering, until the -carriage drew up at the door of Allonby, which was open, admitting a -view of a couple of fine footmen and two large dogs, which last got up -and came forward with lazy cordiality to welcome the visitors. - -“Dear me!” Mrs. Ogilvie said aside. “I am always distressed with Glen -for lying at the door. I wonder if it can be the fashion. I wonder----” - -There was time for these remarks, for there was a long corridor to go -through before a door was softly opened, and the ladies found -themselves, much to their surprise, in what Mrs. Ogilvie afterwards -called “the dark.” It was a room carefully shaded to that twilight which -is dear at the present period to fashionable eyes. The sun is never too -overpowering at Gilston; but the Miss Diroms were young women of their -generation, and scorned to discriminate. They had sunblinds without and -curtains within, so that the light was tempered into an obscurity in -which the robust eyes of country people, coming out of that broad vulgar -daylight to which they were accustomed, could at first distinguish -nothing. - -Effie’s young and credulous imagination was in a quiver of anticipation, -admiration, and wonder. It was all new to her--the great house, the -well-regulated silence, the poetic gloom. She held her breath, expecting -what might next be revealed to her, with the awe and entranced and -wondering satisfaction of a novice about to be initiated. The noiseless -figures that rose and came forward and with a soft pressure of her hand, -two of them mistily white, the other (only the mother, who didn’t count) -dark, impressed her beyond description. - -The only thing that a little diminished the spell was the voices, more -highly pitched than those native to the district, in unaccustomed -modulations of “high English.” Effie murmured quite unconsciously an -indistinct “Very well, thank you” in answer to their greetings, and -then they all sat down, and it became gradually possible to see. - -The two Miss Diroms were tall and had what are called fine figures. They -came and sat on either side of Effie, one clasping her hands round her -knees, the other leaning back in a corner of the deep sofa with her head -against a cushion. The sofa and the cushion were covered with yellow -damask, against which the white dress made a pretty harmony, as Effie’s -eyes got accustomed to the dimness. But Effie, sitting very straight and -properly in her chair, was much bewildered by the ease with which one -young lady threw her arms over her head, and the other clasped them -round her knees. - -“How good of you to come!” said the one on the sofa, who was the eldest. -“We were wondering if you would call.” - -“We saw you at church on Sunday,” said the other, “and we thought you -looked so nice. What a funny little church! I suppose we ought to say -k’k.” - -“Miss Ogilvie will tell us what to say, and how to talk to the natives. -Do tell us. We have been half over the world, but never in Scotland -before.” - -“Oh then, you will perhaps have been in India,” said Effie; “my brother -is there.” - -“Is he in the army? Of course, all Scotch people have sons in the army. -Oh no, we’ve never been in India.” - -“India,” said the other, “is not in the world--it’s outside. We’ve been -everywhere where people go. Is he coming back soon? Is he good at tennis -and that sort of thing? Do you play a great deal here?” - -“They do at Lochlee,” said Effie, “and at Kirkconnel: but not me. For I -have nobody to play with.” - -“Poor little thing!” said the young lady on the sofa, patting her on the -arm: and then they both laughed, while Effie grew crimson with shy pride -and confusion. She did not see what she had said that was laughable; but -it was evident that they did, and this is not an agreeable sensation -even to a little girl. - -“You shall come here and play,” said the other. “We are having a new -court made. And Fred--where is Fred, Phyll?--Fred will be so pleased to -have such a pretty little thing to play with.” - -“How should I know where he is?--mooning about somewhere, sketching or -something.” - -“Oh,” said Effie, “do you sketch?” Perhaps she was secretly mollified, -though she said to herself that she was yet more offended, by being -called a pretty little thing. - -“Not I; but my brother, that is Fred: and I am Phyllis, and she is -Doris. Now tell us your name, for we can’t go on calling each other -Miss, can we? Such near neighbours as we are, and going to see so much -of each other.” - -“No, of course we can’t go on saying Miss. What should you say was her -name, Phyll? Let us guess. People are always like their names. I should -say Violet.” - -“Dear no, such a mawkish little sentimental name. She is not sentimental -at all--are you? What is an Ogilvie name? You have all family names in -Scotland, haven’t you, that go from mother to daughter?” - -Effie sat confused while they talked over her. She was not accustomed to -this sudden familiarity. To call the girls by their names, when she -scarcely had formed their acquaintance, seemed terrible to -her--alarming, yet pleasant too. She blushed, yet felt it was time to -stop the discussion. - -“They call me Effie,” she said. “That is not all my name, but it is my -name at home.” - -“They call me Effie,” repeated Miss Doris, with a faint mockery in her -tone; “what a pretty way of saying it, just like the Italians! If you -are going to be so conscientious as that, I wasn’t christened Doris, I -must tell you: but I was determined Phyll should not have all the luck. -We are quite eighteenth century here--furniture and all.” - -“But I can’t see the furniture,” said Effie, making for the first time -an original remark. “Do you like to sit in the dark?” - -At this both the sisters laughed again, and said that she was a most -amusing little thing. “But don’t say that to mamma, or it will quite -strengthen her in her rebellion. She would like to sit in the sun, I -believe. She was brought up in the barbarous ages, and doesn’t know any -better. There she is moving off into the other room with your mother. -Now the two old ladies will put their heads together----” - -“Mrs. Ogilvie is not an old lady,” said Effie hastily; “she is my -stepmother. She is almost as young as----” Here she paused, with a -glance at Miss Phyllis on the sofa, who was still lying back with her -head against the cushion. Effie felt instinctively that it would not be -wise to finish her sentence. “She is a great deal younger than you would -suppose,” she added, once more a little confused. - -“That explains why you are in such good order. Have you to do what she -tells you? Mamma is much better than that--we have her very well in -hand. Oh, you are not going yet. It is impossible. There must be tea -before you go. Mamma likes everybody to have something. And then -Fred--you must see Fred--or at least he must see you----” - -“Here he is,” said the other, with a sudden grasp of Effie’s arm. - -Effie was much startled by this call upon her attention. She turned -round hastily, following the movement of her new friends. There could -not have been a more dramatic appearance. Fred was coming in by a door -at the end of the room. He had lifted a curtain which hung over it, and -stood in the dim light outside holding back the heavy folds--looking, it -appeared, into the gloom to see if any one was there. - -Naturally, coming out of the daylight his eyes at first made out -nothing, and he stood for some time in this highly effective attitude--a -spectacle which was not unworthy a maiden’s eye. He was tall and slim -like his sisters, dark, almost olive in his complexion, with black hair -clustering closely in innumerable little curls about his head. He was -dressed in a gray morning suit, with a red tie, which was the only spot -of colour visible, and had a great effect. He peered into the gloom, -curving his eyelids as if he had been shortsighted. - -Then, when sufficient time had elapsed to fix his sight upon Effie’s -sensitive imagination like a sun picture, he spoke: “Are any of you -girls there?” This was all, and it was not much that Fred said. He was -answered by a chorus of laughter from his sisters. They were very fond -of laughing, Effie thought. - -“Oh yes, some of us girls are here--three of us. You can come in and be -presented,” Phyllis said. - -“If you think you are worthy of it,” said Doris, once more grasping -Effie’s arm. - -They had all held their breath a little when the hero thus dramatically -presented himself. Doris had kept her hand on Effie’s wrist; perhaps -because she wished to feel those little pulses jump, or else it was -because of that inevitable peradventure which presented itself to them -too, as it had done to Effie. This was the first meeting, but how it -might end, or what it might lead to, who could tell? The girls, though -they were so unlike each other, all three held their breath. And then -the sisters laughed as he approached, and the little excitement dropped. - -“I wish you wouldn’t sit in the dark,” said Fred, dropping the curtain -behind him as he entered. “I can’t see where you are sitting, and if I -am not so respectful as I ought to be, I hope I may be forgiven, for I -can see nothing. Oh, here you are!” - -“It is not the princess; you are not expected to go on your knees,” said -his sisters, while Effie once more felt herself blush furiously at being -the subject of the conversation. “You are going to be presented to Miss -Ogilvie--don’t you know the young lady in white?--oh, of course, you -remember. Effie, my brother Fred. And now you know us all, and we are -going to be the best of friends.” - -“This is very familiar,” said Fred. “Miss Ogilvie, you must not visit it -upon me if Phyll and Dor are exasperating. They always are. But when you -come to know them they are not so bad as you might think. They have it -all their own way in this house. It has always been the habit of the -family to let the girls have their own way--and we find it works well on -the whole, though in point of manners it may leave something to be -desired.” - -He had thrown himself carelessly on the sofa beside his sister as he -spoke. Effie sat very still and erect on her chair and listened with a -dismay and amazement which it would be hard to put into words. She did -not know what to say to this strange group. She was afraid of them, -brother and sisters and altogether. It was the greatest relief to her -when Mrs. Ogilvie returned into the room again, discoursing in very -audible tones with the mistress of the house. - -“I am sure I am very glad to have met with you,” Mrs. Ogilvie was -saying. “They will be so pleased to hear everything. Poor thing! she is -but lonely, with no children about her, and her husband dead this five -years and more. He was a great loss to her--the kindest man, and always -at her call. But we must just make up our mind to take the bitter with -the sweet in this life. Effie, where are you? We must really be going. -We have Rory, that is my little boy, with us in the carriage, and he -will be getting very tired of waiting. I hope it will not be long before -we see you at Gilston. Good-bye, Mrs. Dirom; Effie, I hope you have said -to the young ladies that we will be glad to see them--and you too,” -giving her hand to Fred--“you especially, for we have but few young men -in the country.” - -“I accept your invitation as a compliment to the genus young man, Mrs. -Ogilvie--not to me.” - -“Well, that is true,” she said with a laugh; “but I am sure, from what I -can see of you, it will soon be as particular as you could wish. Young -people are a great want just in this corner of the country. Effie, poor -thing, has felt it all her life: but I hope better things will be coming -for her now.” - -“She shall not be lonely if we can help it,” said the sisters. They -kissed her as they parted, as if they had known her for years, and -called her “dear Effie!” waving their hands to her as she disappeared -into the light. They did not go out to the door with the visitors, as -Effie in the circumstances would have done, but yet sent her away -dazzled by their affectionateness, their offers of regard. - -She felt another creature, a girl with friends, a member of society, as -she drove away. What a thing it is to have friends! She had been assured -often by her stepmother that she was a happy girl to have so many people -who took an interest in her, and would always be glad to give her good -advice. Effie knew where to lay her hand upon a great deal of good -advice at any moment; but that is not everything that is required in -life. - -Phyllis and Doris! they were like names out of a book, and it was like a -picture in her memory, the slim figure in white sunk deep in the yellow -damask of the sofa, with her dark hair relieved against the big soft -puffy cushion. Exactly like a picture; whereas Effie herself had sat -straight up like a little country girl. Mrs. Ogilvie ran on like a -purling stream as they drove home, expressing her satisfaction that it -was Mary’s friend who was the mistress of the house, and describing all -the varieties of feeling in her own mind on the subject--her conviction -that this was almost too good to be true, and just more fortunate than -could be hoped. - -But Effie listened, and paid no attention. She had a world of her own -now to escape into. Would she ever be bold enough to call them Phyllis -and Doris?--and then Fred--but nobody surely would expect her to call -him Fred. - -Effie was disturbed in these delightful thoughts, and Mrs. Ogilvie’s -monologue was suddenly broken in upon by a sound of horses’ hoofs, and a -dust and commotion upon the road, followed by the apparition of Dr. -Jardine’s mare, with her head almost into the carriage window on Effie’s -side. The doctor’s head above the mare’s was pale. There was foam on his -lips, and he carried his riding whip short and savagely, as if he meant -to strike some one. - -“Tell me just one thing,” he said, without any preliminary greetings; -“have these women been there?” - -“Dear me, doctor, what a fright you have given me. Is anything wrong -with Robert; has anything happened? Bless me, the women! what women? You -have just taken my breath away.” - -“These confounded women that spoil everything--will ye let me know if -they were there?” - -“Oh, the Miss ---- Well, yes--I was as much surprised as you, doctor. -With their best bonnets on, and all in state in Mr. Ewing’s carriage; -they were there to their lunch.” - -The doctor swore a solemn oath--by----! something which he did not say, -which is always a safe proceeding. - -“You’ll excuse me for stopping you, but I could not believe it. The old -cats! And to their lunch!” At this he gave a loud laugh. “They’re just -inconceivable!” And rode away. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -The acquaintance thus formed between the houses of Allonby and Gilston -was followed by much and close intercourse. In the natural order of -things, there came two dinner parties, the first of which was given by -Mrs. Ogilvie, and was a very elaborate business. The lady of Gilston -began her preparations as soon as she returned from that first momentous -call. She spent a long time going over the list of possible guests, -making marks upon the sheet of paper on which Effie had written out the -names. - -“Johnstones--three--no, but that will never do. Him and her we must -have, of course: but Mary must just stay at home, or come after dinner; -where am I to get a gentleman for her? There will have to be two extra -gentlemen anyway for Effie, and one of the Miss Diroms. Do ye think I’m -just made of men? No, no, Mary Johnstone will have to stay at home. The -Duncans?--well, he’s cousin to the Marquis, and that is always -something; but he’s a foolish creature, and his wife is not much better. -Mrs. Heron and Sir John--Oh, yes; she is just a credit to see at your -table, with her diamonds; and though he is rather doited, poor man, he -is a great person in the county. Well, and what do you say to the -Smiths? They’re nobody in particular, so far as birth goes; but the -country is getting so dreadfully democratic that what does that matter? -And they’re monied people like the Diroms themselves, and Lady Smith has -a great deal to say for herself. We will put down the Smiths. But, -Effie, there is one thing that just drives me to despair----” - -“Yes?” said Effie, looking up from the list; “and what is that?” - -“The Miss Dempsters!” cried her stepmother in a tone which might have -touched the hardest heart. That was a question indeed. The Miss -Dempsters would have to be asked for the loan of their forks and spoons, -and their large lamp, and _both_ the silver candlesticks. How after that -would it be possible to leave them out? And how put them in? And how -provide two other men to balance the old ladies? Such questions as these -are enough to turn any woman’s hair gray, as Mrs. Ogilvie said. - -Then when that was settled there came the bill of fare. The entire -village knew days before what there was to be for dinner, and about the -fish that was sent for from Dumfries, and did not turn out all that -could have been wished, so that at the last moment a mere common salmon -from Solway, a thing made no account of, had to be put in the pot. - -Mrs. Moffatt at the shop had a sight of the pastry, which was “just -remarkable” she said. And a dozen little groups were admitted on the -afternoon of the great day to see the table set out, all covered with -flowers, with the napkins like snowy turrets round the edge, and the -silver and crystal shining. The Ogilvies possessed an epergne won at -some racing meeting long before, which was a great work of art, all in -frosted silver,--a huntsman standing between a leash of dogs; and this, -with the Dempster candlesticks on each side, made a brilliant centre. -And the schoolmaster recorded afterwards amid his notes of the rainfall -and other interesting pieces of information, that the fine smell of the -cooking came as far as the school, and distracted the bairns at their -lessons, causing that melting sensation in the jaws which is described -by the country folk as watering of the mouth. - -Effie was busy all the morning with the flowers, with writing out little -cards for the guests’ names, and other such ornamental arrangements. - -Glen, confused in his mind and full of curiosity, followed her about -everywhere, softly waving his great tail like a fan, sweeping off a -light article here and there from the crowded tables, and asking in his -superior doggish way, what all this fuss and excitement (which he rather -enjoyed on the whole) was about? till somebody sent him away with a kick -and an adjuration as being “in everybody’s gait”--which was a sad end to -his impartial and interested spectatorship. - -Little Rory toddled at his sister’s heels on the same errand, but could -not be kicked like Glen--and altogether there was a great deal of -confusion. But you never would have divined this when Mrs. Ogilvie came -sweeping down stairs in her pink silk, as if the dinner had all been -arranged by her major-domo, and she had never argued with the cook in -her life. - -It may easily be supposed that the members of the family had little -time to compare notes while their guests remained. And it was not till -the last carriage had rolled away and the lady of the house had made her -last smiling protestation that it was still just ridiculously early, -that this meritorious woman threw herself into her favourite corner of -the sofa, with a profound sigh of pleasure and relief. - -“Well!” she said, and repeated that long-drawn breath of satisfaction. -“Well!--it’s been a terrible trouble; but I cannot say but I’m -thoroughly content and pleased now that it’s past.” - -To this her husband, standing in front of the expiring fire (for even in -August a little fire in the evening is not inappropriate on the Border), -replied with a suppressed growl. - -“You’re easy pleased,” he said, “but why ye should take all this trouble -to fill people with good things, as the Scripture says, that are not -hungry and don’t want them--” - -“Oh, Robert, just you hold your peace! You’re always very well pleased -to go out to your dinner. And as for the Allonby family, it was a clear -duty. When you speak of Scripture you surely forget that we’re bidden to -entertain strangers unawares. No, that’s not just right, it’s angels we -entertain unawares.” - -“There’s no angels in that house, or I am mistaken,” said Mr. Ogilvie. - -“Well, there’s two very well-dressed girls, which is the nearest to it: -and there’s another person, that may turn out even more important.” - -“And who may that be?” - -“Whist,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, holding up a finger of admonition as the -others approached. “Well, Uncle John! And Effie, come you here and rest. -Poor thing, you’re done out. Now I would like to have your frank -opinion. Mine is that though it took a great deal of trouble, it’s been -a great success.” - -“The salmon was excellent,” said Mr. Moubray. - -“And the table looked very pretty.” - -“And yon grouse were not bad at all.” - -“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, throwing up her hands, “ye tiresome people! Am -I thinking of the salmon or the grouse; was there any chance they would -be bad in _my_ house? I am meaning the party: and my opinion is that -everybody was just very well pleased, and that everything went off to a -wish.” - -“That woman Lady Smith has a tongue that would deave a miller,” said the -master of the house. “I request you will put her at a distance from me, -Janet, if she ever dines here again.” - -“And what will you do when she asks us?” cried his wife. “If she gives -you anything but her right hand--my word! but you will be ill pleased.” - -To this argument her husband had no reply handy, and after a moment she -resumed-- - -“I am very glad to see you are going to be such friends with the Diroms, -Effie; they’re fine girls. Miss Doris, as they call her, might have had -her dress a little higher, but no doubt that’s the fault of those grand -dressmakers that will have their own way. But the one I like is Mr. -Fred. He is a very fine lad; he takes nothing upon him.” - -“What should he take upon him? He’s nothing or nobody, but only a rich -man’s son.” - -“Robert, you are just the most bigoted, inconsiderate person! Well, I -think it’s very difficult when you are just a rich person to be modest -and young like yon. If you are a young duke that’s different; but to -have nothing but money to stand upon--and not to stand upon that--” - -“It is very well said,” said Uncle John, making her a bow. “There’s both -charity and observation in what Mrs. Ogilvie says.” - -“Is there not?” cried the lady in a flush of pleasure. “Oh no, I’m not -meaning it is clever of me; but when a young man has nothing else, and -is just pleasant, and never seems to mind, but singles out a bit little -thing of a girl in a white frock--” - -This made them all look at Effie, who as yet said nothing. She was -leaning back in the other corner, tired yet flushed with the pleasure -and novelty of finding herself so important a person. Her white frock -was very simple, but yet it was the best she had ever had; and never -before had Effie been “singled out,” as her stepmother said. The dinner -party was a great event to her. Nothing so important had occurred -before, nothing in which she herself had been so prominent. A pretty -flush of colour came over her face. - -There had been a great deal in Fred Dirom’s eyes which was quite new, -mysterious, and even, in its novelty, delightful to Effie. She could -scarcely help laughing at the recollection, and yet it made a warmth -about her heart. To be flattered in that silent way--not by any mere -compliment, but by the homage of a pair of eloquent eyes--is startling, -strange, never unsweet to a girl. It is a more subtle coming of age than -any birthday can bring. It shows that she has passed out of the band of -little girls into that of those young princesses whom all the poets have -combined to praise. This first sensation of the awakening consciousness -has something exquisite in it not to be put into words. - -Her blush grew deeper as she saw the group round all looking at her--her -stepmother with a laugh of satisfaction, her father with a glance in -which the usual drawing together of his shaggy eyebrows was a very poor -simulation of a frown, and Uncle John with a liquid look of tender -sympathy not unmingled with tender ridicule and full of love withal. - -“Why do you all look at me like that?” Effie cried, to throw off the -growing embarrassment. “I am not the only one that had a white frock.” - -“Well, I would not call yon a white frock that was drooping off Doris -Dirom’s shoulders,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we’ll say no more about -that. So far as I could see, everybody was pleased: and they stayed a -most unconscionable time. Bless me! it’s past eleven o’clock. A little -license may always be given on a great occasion; but though it’s a -pleasure to talk it all over, and everything has been just a great -success, I think, Effie, you should go to your bed. It’s later than your -ordinary, and you have been about the most of the day. Good-night, my -dear. You looked very nice, and your flowers were just beautiful: -everybody was speaking of them, and I gave the credit where it was due.” - -“It is time for me to go too,” said Uncle John. - -“Oh, wait a moment.” Mrs. Ogilvie waited till Effie had gone out of the -room with her candle, very tired, very happy, and glad to get away from -so much embarrassing observation. The stepmother waited a little until -all was safe, and then she gave vent to the suppressed triumph. - -“You will just mark my words, you two gentlemen,” she cried. “They have -met but three times--once when we called, once when they were playing -their tennis, or whatever they call it--and to-night; but if Effie is -not Mrs. Fred Dirom before six months are out it will be her own fault.” - -“Fred Fiddlestick!” cried Mr. Ogilvie. “You’re just a silly woman, -thinking of nothing but love and marriages. I’ll have no more of that.” - -“If I’m a silly woman, there’s not far off from here a sillier man,” -said Mrs. Ogilvie. “You’ll have to hear a great deal more of it. And if -you do not see all the advantages, and the grand thing it would be for -Effie to have such a settlement so young--” - -“There was one at your hand if you had wanted to get rid of her, much -younger.” - -“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, clasping her hands together, “that men, who -are always said to be the cleverest and the wisest, should be so slow at -the uptake! Any woman would understand--but you, that are her father! -The one that was at my hand, as you say, what was it? A long-leggit lad -in a marching regiment! with not enough to keep him a horse, let alone a -wife. That would have been a bonnie business!--that would have been -taking a mother’s care of Effie! I am thankful her mother cannot hear -ye. But Fred Dirom is very different--the only son of a very rich man. -And no doubt the father, who perhaps is not exactly made for society, -would give them Allonby, and set them up. That is what my heart is set -on for Effie, I have always said, I will never perhaps have a grown-up -daughter of my own.” - -“I am sure,” said Mr. Moubray, “you have nothing but kindness in your -heart.” - -“You mean I am nothing but a well-intentioned haverel,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, with a laugh. “But you’ll see that I’m more than that. Effie! -bless me, what a start you gave me! I thought by this time that you were -in your bed.” - -Effie had come back to the drawing-room upon some trifling errand. She -stood there for a moment, her candle in her hand, her fair head still -decked with the rose which had been its only ornament. The light threw a -little flickering illumination upon her face, for her stepmother, always -thrifty, had already extinguished one of the lamps. Mr. Moubray looked -with eyes full of tender pity upon the young figure in the doorway, -standing, hesitating, upon the verge of a world unknown. He had no mind -for any further discussion. He followed her out when she had carried off -the gloves and little ornaments which she had left behind, and stood -with her a moment in the hall to say good-night. - -“My little Effie,” he said, “an evening like this is little to us, but -there is no saying what it may be to you. I think it has brought new -thoughts already, to judge by your face.” - -She looked up at him startled, with her colour rising. “No, Uncle John,” -she answered, with the natural self-defence of youth: then paused to -inquire after her denial. “What kind of new thoughts?” - -He stooped over her to kiss her, with his hand upon her shoulder. - -“We’ll not inquire too far,” he said. “Nothing but novelty, my dear, and -the rising of the tide.” - -Effie opened the door for him, letting in the fresh sweep of the -night-wind, which came so clear and keen over the moors, and the twinkle -of the stars looking down from the great vault of dark blue sky. The -world seemed to widen out round them, with the opening of that door, -which let in all the silence and hush of the deep-breathing night. She -put her candle upon the table and came out with him, her delicate being -thrilling to the influence of the sweet full air which embraced her -round and round. - -“Oh, Uncle John, what a night! to think we should shut ourselves up in -little dull rooms with all this shining outside the door!” - -“We are but frail human creatures, Effie, though we have big souls; the -dull rooms are best for us at this hour of the night.” - -“I would like to walk with you down among the trees. I would like to go -down the Dene and hear the water rushing, but not to Allonby -churchyard.” - -“No, nor to Allonby at all, Effie. Take time, my bonnie dear, let no one -hasten your thoughts. Come, I cannot have you out here in the night in -your white frock. You look like a little ghost; and what would Mrs. -Ogilvie say to me if you caught cold just at this crisis of affairs?” - -He stopped to laugh softly, but put his arm round her, and led her back -within the door. - -“The night is bonnie and the air is fresh, but home and shelter are the -best. Good-night, and God bless my little Effie,” he said. - -The people in the village, whose minds were now relieved from the strain -of counting all the carriages, and were going to sleep calmly in the -certainty that everybody was gone, heard his firm slow step going past, -and knew it was the minister, who would naturally be the last to go -home. They took a pleasure in hearing him pass, and the children, who -were still awake, felt a protection in the fact that he was there, -going leisurely along the road, sure to keep away any ghost or robber -that might be lurking in the stillness of the night. His very step was -full of thought. - -It was pleasant to him, without any sad work in hand, to walk through -the little street between the sleeping houses, saying a blessing upon -the sleepers as he passed. Usually when he was out so late, it was on -his way to some sickbed to minister to the troubled or the dying. He -enjoyed to-night the exemption and the leisure, and with a smile in his -eyes looked from the light in Dr. Jardine’s window, within which the Dr. -was no doubt smoking a comfortable pipe before he went to bed, to the -little inquisitive glimmer higher up in Rosebank, where the old ladies -were laying aside their old finery and talking over the party. He passed -between them with a humorous consciousness of their antagonism which did -not disturb the general peace. - -The stars shone with a little frost in their brightness, though it was -but August; the night-air blew fresh in his face; the village, with all -its windows and eyelids closed, slept deep in the silence of the night. -“God bless them all--but above all Effie,” he repeated, smiling to -himself. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -The Diroms belonged to a class now very common in England, the class of -very rich people without any antecedents or responsibilities, which it -is so difficult to classify or lay hold of, and which neither the -authorities of society nor the moralist have yet fully comprehended. -They had a great deal of money, which is popularly recognized to be -power, and they owed it to nobody but themselves. - -They owed nothing to anybody. They had no estates to keep up; no poor -people depended upon them; the clerks and porters at the office were not -to call dependents, though probably--out of good nature, when they were -ill or trouble arose in their families, if it happened to come under the -notice of the head of the firm, he would fling them a little money, -perhaps with an admonition, perhaps with a joke. But this was pure -liberality, generosity as his friends called it. He had nothing to “keep -up.” - -Even the sick gamekeeper who had been hurt by a fall, though he was in -the new tenant’s service, was Lady Allonby’s servant, and it was she who -had to support his family while he was ill. The rich people were -responsible for nobody. If they were kind--and they were not unkind--it -was all to their credit, for they had no duty to any one. - -This was how the head of the house considered his position. “I don’t -know anything about your land burdens, your feudal burdens,” he would -say; “money is what has made me. I pay taxes enough, I hope; but I’ve -got no sentimental taxes to pay, and I won’t have anything to say to -such rubbish. I am a working man myself, just like the rest. If these -fellows will take care of their own business as I did, they will get on -themselves as I have done, and want nothing from anybody. I’ve no call -even to ‘keep up’ my family; they ought to be working for themselves, as -I was at their age. If I do, it’s because the girls and their mother are -too many for me, and I have to yield to their prejudices.” - -These were Mr. Dirom’s principles: but he threw about his money very -liberally all the same, giving large subscriptions, with a determination -to stand at the head of the list when he was on it at all, and an -inclination to twit the others who did not give so liberally with their -stinginess; “What is the use of making bones of it?” he said, with a -flourish to Sir John, who was well known to be in straightened -circumstances; “I just draw a cheque for five hundred and the thing’s -done.” - -Sir John could no more have drawn a cheque for five hundred than he -could have flown, and Mr. Dirom knew it; and the knowledge gave an edge -to his pleasure. Sir John’s twenty-five pounds was in reality a much -larger contribution than Mr. Dirom’s five hundred, but the public did -not think of this. The public said that Sir John gave the twenty-five -because he could not help it, because his position demanded it; but Mr. -Dirom’s five hundred took away the breath of the spectators. It was more -than liberal; it was magnificent. - -Mr. Dirom was a man who wore white waistcoats and large well-blown roses -in his coat. He swaggered, without knowing it, in his walk, and in his -speech, wherever he was visible. The young people were better bred, and -were very conscious of those imperfections. They preferred, indeed, that -he should not “trouble,” as they said, to come home, especially to come -to the country when business prevented. There was no occasion for papa -to “trouble.” Fred could take his place if he was detained in town. - -In this way they showed a great deal of tender consideration for their -father’s engagements. Perhaps he was deceived by it, perhaps not; no one -could tell. He took his own way absolutely, appearing when it suited -him, and when it did not suit him leaving them to their own devices. -Allonby was too far off for him, too distant from town: though he was -quite willing to be known as the occupier of so handsome a “place.” He -came down for the first of the shooting, which is the right thing in the -city, but afterwards did not trouble his family much with his presence, -which was satisfactory to everybody concerned. It was not known exactly -what Mr. Dirom had risen from, but it was low enough to make his -present elevation wonderful, and to give that double zest to wealth -which makes the self-made man happy. - -Mrs. Dirom was of a different order. She was two generations at least -from the beginning of her family, and she too, though in a less degree -than her children, felt that her husband’s manners left something to be -desired. He had helped himself up by her means, she having been, as in -the primitive legend, of the class of the master’s daughters: at least -her father was the head of the firm under which Dirom had begun to “make -his way.” But neither was she quite up to the mark. - -“Mamma is dreadfully middle-class,” the girls said. In some respects -that is worse than the lower class. It made her a little timid and -doubtful of her position, which her husband never was. None of these -things affected the young people; they had received “every advantage.” - -Their father’s wealth was supposed to be immense; and when wealth is -immense it penetrates everywhere. A moderate fortune is worth very -little in a social point of view, but a great fortune opens every door. - -The elder brother, who never came to Allonby, who never went near the -business, who had been portioned off contemptuously by his father, as if -he had been a girl (and scorn could not go farther), had married an -earl’s daughter, and, more than that, had got her off the very steps of -the throne, for she had been a Maid of Honour. He was the most refined -and cultivated individual in the world, with one of the most lovely -houses in London, and everything about him artistic to the last degree. -It was with difficulty that he put up with his father at all. Still, for -the sake of his little boy, he acknowledged the relationship from time -to time. - -As for Fred and his sisters, they have already been made known to the -reader. Fred was by way of being “in the business,” and went down to the -office three or four times in the week when he was in town. But what he -wished to be was an artist. He painted more or less, he modelled, he had -a studio of his own in the midst of one of the special artistic -quarters, and retired there to work, as he said, whenever the light was -good. - -For his part Fred aspired to be a Bohemian, and did everything he could -in a virtuous way to carry out his intention. He scorned money, or -thought he did while enjoying every luxury it could procure. If he could -have found a beautiful milkmaid or farm girl with anything like the -Rossetti type of countenance he would have married her off-hand; but -then beauties of that description are rare. The country lasses on the -Border were all of too cheerful a type. But he had fully made up his -mind that when the right woman appeared no question of money or -ambition should be allowed to interfere between him and his -inclinations. - -“You may say what you will,” he said to his sisters, “and I allow my -principles would not answer with girls. You have nothing else to look -to, to get on in the world. But a man can take that sort of thing in his -own hands, and if one gets beauty that’s enough. It is more distinction -than anything else. I shall insist upon beauty, but nothing more.” - -“It all depends on what you call beauty,” said Miss Phyllis. “You can -make anything beauty if you stand by it and swear to it. Marrying a -painter isn’t at all a bad way. He paints you over and over again till -you get recognized as a Type, and then it doesn’t matter what other -people say.” - -“You can’t call Effie a Type,” said the young lady who called herself -Doris--her name in fact was a more humble one: but then not even the -Herald’s College has anything to do with Christian names. - -“She may not be a Type--but if you had seen her as I did in the half -light, coming out gradually as one’s eyes got used to it like something -developing in a camera--Jove! She was like a Burne-Jones--not strong -enough for the blessed Damozel or that sort of thing, but sad and sweet -like--like--” Fred paused for a simile, “like a hopeless maiden in a -procession winding down endless stairs, or--standing about in the wet, -or--If she had not been dressed in nineteenth-century costume.” - -“He calls that nineteenth-century costume!” said Phyllis with a mixture -of sympathy and scorn. - -“Poor Effie is not dressed at all,” said the other sister. “She has -clothes on, that is all: but I could make her look very nice if she -were in my hands. She has a pretty little figure, not spoiled at -all--not too solid like most country girls but just enough to drape a -pretty flowing stuff or soft muslin upon. I should turn her out that you -would not know her if she trusted herself to me.” - -“For goodness’ sake let her alone,” cried Fred; “don’t make a trollop of -my little maiden. Her little stiffness suits her. I like her just so, in -her white frock.” - -“You should have been born a milliner, Dor.” - -“Perhaps I was--and papa’s money has thwarted nature. If he should ever -lose it all, which I suppose is on the cards----” - -“Oh, very much on the cards,” said Fred. - -“There is always a smash some time or other in a great commercial -concern.” - -“What fun!” said Miss Phyllis. - -“Then I should set up directly. The sisters Dirom, milliners and -dressmakers. It would be exceedingly amusing, and we should make a great -fortune--all _good_ dressmakers do.” - -“It would be very amiable of you, Dor, to call your firm the sisters -Dirom--for I should be of no use. I shall spend the fortune if you -please, but I couldn’t help in any other way.” - -“Oh, yes, you could. You will marry, and have all your things from me. I -should dress you beautifully, and you would be the most delightful -advertisement. Of course you would not have any false pride. You would -say to your duchesses, I got this from my sister. She is the only -possible dressmaker nowadays.” - -“False pride--oh, I hope not! It would be quite a distinction--everybody -would go. You could set up afternoon teas, and let them try on all your -things. It would be delightful. But papa will not come to grief, he is -too well backed up,” said Phyllis with a sigh. - -“If I do not marry next season, I shall not wait for the catastrophe,” -said Doris. “Perhaps if the Opposition comes in we might coax Lord -Pantry to get me appointed milliner to the Queen. If Her Majesty had -once a dress from me, she would never look at Worth more.” - -“Worth!” said Phyllis, throwing up her hands in mild but indignant -amazement. - -“Well, then, Waley, or whatever you call him. Worth is a mere symbol,” -said Doris with philosophical calm. “How I should like it! but if one -marries, one’s husband’s family and all kinds of impossible people -interfere.” - -“You had better marry, you girls,” said Fred; “it is much your best -chance. Wipe out the governor with a title. That’s what I should do if I -could. But unfortunately I can’t--the finest of heiresses does not -communicate her family honours, more’s the pity. I shall always be Fred -Dirom, if I were to marry a duchess. But an artist’s antecedents don’t -matter. Fortunately he makes his own way.” - -“Fred,” said his mother, coming in, “I wish you would not talk of -yourself as an artist, dear. Papa does not like it. He indulges you all -a great deal, but there are some things that don’t please him at all.” - -“Quite unreasonably, mother dear,” said Fred, who was a good son, and -very kind to her on the whole. “Most of the fellows I know in that line -are much better born than I am. Gentlemen’s sons, most of them.” - -“Oh, Fred!” said Mrs. Dirom, with eyes of deep reproach. She added in a -tremulous voice, “My grandfather had a great deal of property in the -country. He had indeed, I assure you, although you think we have nothing -but money. And if that does not make a gentleman, what does?” - -“What indeed?” said her son: but he made no further reply. And the -sisters interposed. - -“We were talking of what we shall all do in case the firm should come to -grief, and all the money be lost.” - -“Oh, girls!” Mrs. Dirom started violently and put her hand to her heart. -“Fred! you don’t mean to say that there are rumours in the city, or a -word whispered--” - -“Not when I heard last--but then I have not been in the city for a -month. That reminds me,” said Fred, “that really I ought to put in an -appearance--just once in a way.” - -“You mean you want to have a run to town?” - -“Yes, dear,” said his mother, “go if you think you could be of any use. -Oh, you don’t know what it is you are talking of so lightly. I could -tell you things--Oh, Fred, if you think there is anything going on, any -danger--” - -“Nothing of the sort,” he said, with a laugh. “We were only wondering -what we should be good for mother--not much, I believe. I might perhaps -draw for the _Graphic_ fancy pictures of battles and that sort of thing; -or, if the worst came to the worst, there is the _Police News_.” - -“You have both got Vocations,” said Phyllis. “It is fine for you. You -know what to do, you two. But I can do nothing; I should have to Marry.” -She spoke with a languid emphasis as of capitals, in her speech. - -“Oh, children!” cried Mrs. Dirom, “what are you thinking of? You think -all that is clever, but it does not seem clever to me. It is just the -dreadful thing in business that one day you may be up at the top of the -tree, and next morning--” - -“Nowhere!” said Fred, with a burlesque groan. And then they all -laughed. The anxious middle-class mother looked at them as the hen of -the proverb looks at her ducklings. Silly children! what did they know -about it? She could have cried in vexation and distress. - -“You laugh,” she said, “but you would not laugh if you knew as much as I -do. The very name of such a thing is unlucky. I wouldn’t let myself -think of it lest it should bring harm. Things may be quite right, and I -hope and believe they are quite right: but if there was so much as a -whisper on the Exchange that his children--his own children--had been -joking on the subject. Oh, a whisper, that’s enough!” - -The young people were not in the least impressed by what she said--they -had not been brought up in her sphere. That alarm for exposure, that -dread of a catastrophe which was strong in her bosom, had no response in -theirs. They had no more understanding of poverty than of Paradise--and -to the girls in particular, the idea of a great event, a matter of much -noise and commotion, to be followed by new enchanting freedom and the -possibilities of adventure, was really “fun!” as they said. They were -not afraid of being dropped by their friends. - -Society has undergone a change in this respect. A young lady turned into -a fashionable dressmaker would be the most delightful of lions; all her -acquaintances would crowd round her. She would be celebrated as “a noble -girl” by the serious, and as _chic_ by the fast. - -Doris looked forward to the possibility with a delightful perception of -all the advantages that were in it. It was more exciting than the other -expedient of marrying, which was all that, in the poverty of her -invention, occurred to Phyllis. They made very merry, while their mother -trembled with an alarm for which there was no apparent foundation. She -was nervous, which is always a ready explanation of a woman’s troubles -and fears. - -There was, in fact, no foundation whatever for any alarm. Never had the -credit of Dirom, Dirom and Company stood higher. There was no cloud, -even so big as a finger, upon the sky. - -Mr. Dirom himself, though his children were ashamed of him, was not -without acceptance in society. In his faithfulness to business, staying -in town in September, he had a choice of fine houses in which to make -those little visits from Saturday to Monday which are so pleasant; and -great ladies who had daughters inquired tenderly about Fred, and learned -with the profoundest interest that it was he who was the Prince of -Wales, the heir-apparent of the house, he, and not Jack the married son, -who would have nothing to say to the business. - -When Fred paid a flying visit to town to “look up the governor,” as he -said, and see what was going on, he too was overwhelmed with invitations -from Saturday to Monday. And though he was modest enough he was very -well aware that he would not be refused, as a son-in-law, by some of the -finest people in England. - -That he was not a little dazzled by the perception it would be wrong to -say--and the young Lady Marys in English country houses are very fair -and sweet. But now there would glide before him wherever he went the -apparition of Effie in her white frock. - -Why should he have thought of Effie, a mere country girl, yet still a -country gentlewoman without the piquancy of a milkmaid or a nursery -governess? But who can fathom these mysteries? No blooming beauty of the -fields had come in Fred’s way, though he had piously invoked all the -gods to send him such a one: but Effie, who was scarcely a type at -all--Effie, who was only a humble representative of fair maidenhood, -not so perfect, perhaps, not so well dressed, not so beautiful as many -of her kind. - -Effie had come across his path, and henceforward went with him in spirit -wherever he went. Curious accident of human fate! To think that Mr. -Dirom’s money, and Fred’s accomplishments, and their position in society -and in the city, all things which might have made happy a duke’s -daughter, were to be laid at the careless feet of little Effie Ogilvie! - -If she had been a milkmaid the wonder would have been less great. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -And for all these things Effie cared nothing. This forms always a tragic -element in the most ordinary love-making, where one gives what the other -does not appreciate, or will not accept, yet the giver cannot be -persuaded to withdraw the gift, or to follow the impulse of that natural -resentment which comes from kindness disdained. - -There was nothing tragical, however, in the present circumstances, which -were largely composed of lawn tennis at Allonby, afternoon tea in the -dimness of an unnecessarily shaded room, or walks along the side of the -little stream. When Effie came for the favourite afternoon game, the -sisters and their brother would escort her home, sometimes all the way, -sometimes only as far as the little churchyard where the path struck off -and climbed the high river bank. - -Nothing could be more pleasant than this walk. The days were often gray -and dim; but the walkers were young, and not too thinly clad; the damp -in the air did not affect them, and the breezes stirred their veins. The -stream was small but lively, brown, full of golden lights. So far as the -park went the bank was low on the Allonby side, though on the other -picturesque, with rising cliffs and a screen of trees. In the lower -hollows of these cliffs the red of the rowan berries and the graceful -bunches of the barberry anticipated the autumnal tints, and waving -bracken below, and a host of tiny ferns in every crevice, gave an air of -luxuriance. The grass was doubly green with that emerald brightness -which comes from damp, and when the sun shone everything lighted up with -almost an artificial glow of excessive colour, greenness, and growth. -The little party would stroll along filling the quiet with their young -voices, putting even the birds to silence. - -But it was not Effie who talked. She was the audience, sometimes a -little shocked, sometimes bewildered, but always amused more or less; -wondering at them, at their cleverness, at their simplicity, at what the -country girl thought their ignorance, and at what she knew to be their -superior wisdom. - -Fred too was remarkable on these points, but not so remarkable as his -sisters; and he did not talk so much. He walked when he could by Effie’s -side, and made little remarks to her, which Effie accounted for by the -conviction that he was very polite, and thought it right to show her -those regards which were due to a young lady. She lent but a dull ear to -what he said, and gave her chief attention to Phyllis and Doris, whose -talk was more wonderful than anything else that Effie knew. - -“It is curious,” Miss Phyllis said, “that there never are two -picturesque banks to a river. Nature provides herself a theatre, don’t -you know. Here are we in the auditorium.” - -“Only there is nothing to hear,” said Doris, “except the birds--well, -that’s something. But music over there would have a fine effect. It -would be rather nice to try it, if it ever was warm enough here for an -open air party. You could have the orchestra hidden: the strings there, -the wind instruments here, don’t you see, violas in the foreground, and -the big ’cello booming out of that juniper.” - -“By Jove!” cried Fred from where he strolled behind with Effie, “how -astounded the blackbirds would be.” - -“It would be interesting to know what they thought. Now, what do you -suppose they would do? Stop and listen? or else be struck by the force -of the circumstances and set up an opposition?” - -“Burst their little throats against the strings.” - -“Or be deafened with your vulgar trombones. Fancy a brass band on the -side of the wan water!” - -“It would be very nice, though,” said Doris. “I said nothing about -trombones. It would be quite eighteenth century. And here on the lawn we -could sit and drink syllabubs. What are syllabubs? Probably most people -would prefer tea. Effie, what do you think? you never say a word. Shall -we have a garden party, and music over there under the cliff?” - -Effie had walked on softly, taking in everything with a mingled sense of -admiration and ridicule. She was quite apart, a spectator, listening to -the artificial talk about nothing at all, the conversation made up with -a distinct idea of being brilliant and interesting, which yet was -natural enough to these young people, themselves artificial, who made up -their talk as they made up their life, out of nothing. Effie laughed -within herself with involuntary criticism, yet was half impressed at the -same time, feeling that it was like something out of a book. - -“Oh, me?” she said in surprise at being consulted. “I have not any -opinion, indeed. I never thought of it at all.” - -“Then think now, and let us hear; for you should know best how the -people here would like it.” - -“Don’t you see, Dor, that she thinks us very silly, and would not talk -such nonsense as we are talking for the world? There is no sense in it, -and Effie is full of sense.” - -“Miss Ogilvie has both sense and sympathy,” said Fred. - -This discussion over her alarmed Effie. She grew red and pale; half -affronted, half pleased, wholly shy and uncomfortable. - -“No,” she said, “I couldn’t talk like you. I never talk except -when--except when--I have got something to say; that is, of course, I -mean something that is--something--not merely out of my head, like you. -I am not clever enough for that.” - -“Is she making fun of us, Phyll?” - -“I think so, Dor. She is fact, and we are--well, what are we?--not -fiction altogether, because we’re real enough in flesh and blood.” - -Effie was moved to defend herself. - -“You are like two young ladies in a book,” she said, “and I am just a -girl like anybody else. I say How-do-you-do? and Do you think it will be -a fine day? or I can tell you if anything has happened in the village, -and that Dr. Jardine was called away this morning to Fairyknowe, so that -somebody there must be ill. But you make up what is very nice to listen -to, and yet it makes one laugh, because it is about nothing at all.” - -“That is quite true,” said Doris; “that is our way. We don’t go in for -fact. We belong to the speculative side. We have nothing real to do, so -we have to imagine things to talk about.” - -“And I hope you think we do it well,” said Phyllis with a laugh. - -Effie was encouraged to laugh too; but her feelings were very -complicated; she was respectful and yet she was a little contemptuous. -It was all new to her, and out of her experience; yet the great house, -the darkened rooms, the luxury and ease, the way in which life went on, -apparently without any effort on the part of this cluster of people, who -had everything they wanted without even the trouble of asking for it, as -in a fairy tale, harmonized with the artificial talk, the speculations, -the studies which were entirely voluntary, without any use as Effie -thought, without any call for them. - -She herself was not indeed compelled to work as poor girls were, as -governesses were, even as the daughters of people within her own range, -who made their own dresses, and taught their little brothers and -sisters, had to do. But still there were certain needs which she -supplied, and cases in which she had a necessary office to fulfil. There -were the flowers for instance. Old Pirie always brought her in a -basketful whenever she wanted them; but if Pirie had to be trusted to -arrange the flowers! - -In Allonby, however, even that was done; the vases refilled themselves -somehow, as if by help of the fairies; the table was always magnificent, -but nobody knew when it was done or who did it--nobody, that is, of the -family. Phyllis and Doris decided, it was to be supposed, what they -should wear, but that was all the trouble they took even about their -dress. Numbers of men and women worked in the background to provide for -all their wants, but they themselves had nothing to do with it. And -they talked as they lived. - -Effie did not put all this into words, but she perceived it, by means of -a little humorous perception which was in her eyes though she did not -know it. And though they were so much finer than she was, knew so much -more, and possessed so much more, yet these young ladies were as the -comedians of life to little Effie, performing their drawing-room drama -for her amusement. They talked over the little churchyard which lay at -the opening of the glen in the same way. - -“The Americans have not found out Allonby yet,” they said to each other. -“We must ask Miss Greenwood up here--or, oh! let us have Henry Holland. -But no, he will not go into any raptures. He has gone through everything -in that way. He is more _blasé_ than the most _blasé_ of Englishmen; let -us have some one fresh. How they will hang over the _Hic jacet_! And we -must have some one who knows the ballad. Do you know the ballad, Effie? -but perhaps you never heard of it, as you were born here.” - -“Do you mean about Helen?” said Effie. And in her shyness she grew red, -up to her hair. - - “Oh Helen fair beyond compare, - I’ll make a garland of thy hair, - Shall bind my heart for ever mair.” - -“How delightful! the rural muse, the very genius of the country. Effie, -you shall recite it to us standing by the stone with a shepherd’s maud -thrown over you, and that sweet Scotch accent which is simply -delicious.” - -“And the blush, dear, just as it is,” said Phyllis, clapping her hands -softly; “you will have the most enormous success.” - -“Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Effie, her soft colour of -shyness and resentment turning into the hot red of shame. “I wish you -would not try to make a fool of me, as well as of the place.” - -“To make a fool of you! Don’t be angry, Effie, the phrase is enchanting. -Make a fool of--that is Scotch too. You know I am beginning to make a -collection of Scoticisms; they are one nicer than another. I only wish I -had the accent and the voice.” - -“And the blush, Dor; it would not be half so effective without that. -Could you pick up those little particulars which Effie doesn’t -appreciate, with your dramatic instinct into the bargain----” - -“Should I be able to recite Fair Helen as well as Effie? Oh no,” said -Doris, and she began, “Oh Helen fair beyond compare,” with an imitation -of that accent which Effie fondly hoped she was free of, which entirely -overcame the girl’s self-control. Her blush grew hotter and hotter till -she felt herself fiery red with anger, and unable to bear any more. - -“If I spoke like that,” she cried, “I should be ashamed ever to open my -mouth!” then she added with a wave of her hand, “Goodbye, I am going -home,” for she could not trust herself further. - -“Oh, Effie, Effie! Why goodness, the child’s offended,” cried Phyllis. - -“And I had just caught her tone!” said the other. - -Then they both turned upon Fred. “Why don’t you go after her? Why don’t -you catch her up? Why do you stand there staring?” - -“Why are you both so--disagreeable?” cried Fred, who had hurried on -while they spoke, and turned back to fling at them this very innocent -missile as he ran; nothing stronger occurred to him to say. He had not -the vocabulary of his sisters. They watched him while he rushed along -and saw him overtake the little fugitive. It was a sight which -interested these two young ladies. They became contemplative spectators -once more. - -“I wonder if he will know what to say?” Doris inquired of herself. “It -should be a capital opportunity for Fred if he knows how to take -advantage of it. He ought to throw us both overboard at once, and say we -were a couple of idiots, who did not know what we were talking about. I -should, in Fred’s place.” - -“Yes, I suppose that would be the right way; but a man does naturally -throw over his sisters,” said Phyllis. “You need not be afraid. It was -fine to see her blaze up. Fury is not pretty generally--in papa, for -instance.” - -“Ah, that’s beyond a sentiment. But in Effie it will only be a flare and -all over. She will be penitent. After a little while she will be awfully -sweet to Fred.” - -“And do you really want him to--propose to her, Dor?” - -“That is a strong step,” said the young lady, “because if he did he -would have to stick to it. I don’t see that I am called upon to consider -contingencies. In the meantime it’s very amusing to see Fred in love.” - -“In the absence,” said Phyllis, “of more exciting preoccupations.” - -“Ah! that’s true; you’re a marrying woman yourself,” was the remark her -sister made. - -Meanwhile Fred had overtaken Effie, who was already beginning to feel -ashamed and remorseful, and to say in her own ear that it was she who -was making a fool of herself. How could she have been so silly? People -always make themselves ridiculous when they take offence, and, of -course, they would only laugh at her for being so touchy, so absurd. But -nobody likes to be mocked, or to be mimicked, which comes to the same -thing, Effie said to herself. - -A hot tear had gathered into each eye, but the flush was softening down, -and compunction was more and more getting possession of her bosom, when -Fred, anxious, devoted, panting, came up to her. It was a moment or two -before he could get breath to speak. - -“I don’t know what to say to you, Miss Ogilvie. That is just my -difficulty with the girls,” said Fred, promptly throwing his sisters -over as they had divined. “They have so little perception. Not a bad -sort in themselves, and devoted to you: but without tact--without your -delicacy of feeling--without----” - -“Oh,” cried Effie, “you must not compare them with me; they are far, far -cleverer--far more instructed--far---- It was so silly of me to be -vexed----” - -“Not silly at all; just what you would naturally be with your refined -taste. I can’t tell you how I felt it,” said Fred, giving himself credit -for the perception that was wanting in his sisters. “But you will -forgive them, Miss Ogilvie? they will be so unhappy.” - -“Oh no,” cried Effie, with once more a sense of the ludicrous in this -assertion. But Fred was as grave as an owl, and meant every word he -said. - -“Yes, indeed, and they deserve to be so; but if I may tell them that you -forgive them----” - -“It is not worth speaking about, Mr. Dirom; I was foolish too. And are -you really going to have Americans here? I never saw any Americans. What -interest would they take in our old churchyard, and Adam Fleming’s -broken old gravestone?” - -“They take more interest in that sort of thing than we do whom it -belongs to; that is to say, it doesn’t belong to us. I am as much a new -man as any Yankee, and have as little right. We are mere interlopers, -you know.” - -Fred said this with a charming smile he had, a smile full of frank -candour and openness, which forestalled criticism. Effie had heard the -same sentiment expressed by others with a very different effect. When -Fred said it, it seemed a delightful absurdity. He laughed a little, and -so, carried away by sympathetic feeling, did she, shame-faced and -feeling guilty in her heart at the remembrance of the many times in -which, without any sense of absurdity, she had heard the same words -said. - -“We are a queer family,” he continued in his pleasant explanatory way. -“My father is the money-maker, and he thinks a great deal of it; but we -make no money, and I think we are really as indifferent about it as if -we had been born in the backwoods. If anything happened at the office I -should take to my studio, and I hope I should not enjoy myself too much, -but there would be the danger. ‘Ah, freedom is a noble thing,’ as old -Barbour says.” - -Effie did not know who old Barbour was, and she was uncertain how to -reply. She said at last timidly, “But you could not do without a great -deal of money, Mr. Dirom. You have everything you want, and you don’t -know how it comes. It is like a fairy tale.” - -Fred smiled again with an acquiescence which had pleasure in it. Though -he made so little of his advantages, he liked to hear them recognized. - -“You are right,” he said, “as you always are, Miss Ogilvie. You seem to -know things by instinct. But all the same we don’t stand on these -things; we are a little Bohemian, all of us young ones. I suppose you -would think it something dreadful if you had to turn out of Gilston. But -we should rather like any such twist of the whirligig of fortune. The -girls would think it fun.” - -To this Effie did not make any reply. To be turned out of Gilston was an -impossibility, for the family at least, whatever it might be for -individuals. And she did not understand about Bohemians. She made no -answer at all. When one is in doubt it is the safest way. But Fred -walked with her all the way home, and his conversation was certainly -more amusing than that with which she was generally entertained. There -ran through it a little vein of flattery. There was in his eyes a light -of admiration, a gleam from time to time of something which dazzled her, -which she could not meet, yet furtively caught under her drooping -eyelashes, and which roused a curious pleasure mixed with amusement, and -a comical sense of guilt and wickedness on her own part. - -She was flattered and dazzled, and yet something of the same laughter -with which she listened to Phyllis and Doris was in her eyes. Did he -mean it all? or what did he mean? Was he making conversation like his -sisters, saying things that he meant to be pretty? Effie, though she was -so simple, so inexperienced, in comparison with those clever young -people, wondered, yet kept her balance, steadied by that native instinct -of humour, and not carried away by any of these fine things. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -“We were seeing young Mr. Dirom a little bit on his way. He is so kind -walking home with Effie that it was the least we could do. I never met -with a more civil young man.” - -“It appears to me that young Dirom is never out of your house. You’ll -have to be thinking what will come of it.” - -“What should come of it,” said Mrs. Ogilvie with a laugh, and a look of -too conscious innocence, “but civility, as I say? though they are new -people, they have kind, neighbour-like ways.” - -“I’ve no confidence,” said Miss Dempster, “in that kind of neighbours. -If he were to walk home with Beenie or me, that are about the oldest -friends they have in the district--Oh yes, their oldest friends: for I -sent my card and a request to know if a call would be agreeable as soon -as they came: it may be old-fashioned, but it’s my way; and I find it to -answer. And as I’m saying, if he had made an offer to walk home with me -or my sister, that would have been neighbour-like; but Effie is just -quite a different question. I hope if you let it go on, that you’re -facing the position, and not letting yourself be taken unawares.” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that’s a thing that seldom happens, though I -say it myself. I can generally see as far as most folk. But whatever you -do, say nothing of this to Effie. We must just respect her innocence. -Experienced people see a great deal that should never be spoken of -before the young. I will leave her in your charge and Miss Beenie’s, for -I am going to Summerlaw, and she has had a long walk.” - -“Your stepmother is a very grand general, Effie,” said Miss Dempster, -as they watched Mrs. Ogilvie’s figure disappearing between the high -laurel hedges. - -It was a warm afternoon, though September had begun. Miss Beenie was -seated on the garden seat in front of the drawing-room window, which -afforded so commanding a prospect of the doctor’s sitting-room, with her -work-basket beside her, and her spectacles upon her nose. But Miss -Dempster, who thought it was never safe, except perhaps for a day or two -in July, to sit out, kept walking about, now nipping off a withered -leaf, now gathering a sprig of heliotrope, or the scented verbena, -promenading up and down with a shawl upon her shoulders. She had taken -Effie’s arm with an instant perception of the advantages of an animated -walking-staff. - -The little platform of fine gravel before the door was edged by the -green of the sloping lawn in front, but on either side ended in deep -borders filled with every kind of old-fashioned and sweet-smelling -flower. The sloping drive had well-clipped hedges of shining laurel -which surrounded the entrance; but nothing interrupted the view from -this little height, which commanded not only the doctor’s mansion but -all the village. No scene could have been more peaceful in the sunny -afternoon. There were few people stirring below, there was nobody to be -seen at the doctor’s windows. - -The manse, which was visible at a distance, stood in the broad sunshine -with all its doors and windows open, taking in the warmth to its very -bosom. Mrs. Ogilvie disappeared for a short time between the hedges, and -then came out again, moving along the white road till she was lost in -the distance, Glen slowly following, divided in his mind between the -advantages of a walk which was good for his health, and the pleasure of -lying in the sun and waiting for Effie, which he preferred as a matter -of taste. But the large mat at the door, which Glen was aware was the -comfortable spot at Rosebank, was already occupied by the nasty little -terrier to which the Miss Dempsters, much to Glen’s contempt, were -devoted, and the gravel was unpleasant. So he walked, but rather by way -of deference to the necessities of the situation than from any lively -personal impulse, and went along meditatively with only an occasional -slow switch of his tail, keeping well behind the trim and active figure -of his mistress. In the absence of other incidents these two moving -specks upon the road kept the attention of the small party of spectators -on the soft heights of Rosebank. - -“Your stepmother’s a grand general,” said Miss Dempster again; “but she -must not think that she deceives everybody, Effie. It’s a very -legitimate effort; but perhaps if she let things take their own course -she would just do as well at the end.” - -“What is she trying to do?” said Effie with indifference. “It is a pity -Mrs. Ogilvie has only Rory; for she is so active and so busy, she could -manage a dozen, Uncle John always says.” - -“She has you, my dear--and a great deal more interesting than Rory: who -is a nice enough bairn, if he were not spoilt, just beyond -conception--as, poor thing, some day, she’ll find out.” - -Effie did not pay any attention to the latter part of this speech. She -cried “Me!” in the midst of it, with little regard to Miss Dempster, and -less (had she been an English girl) to propriety in her pronouns. But -she was Scotch, and above reproof. - -“No,” she cried, “she has not me, Miss Dempster; you are making a -mistake. She says I am old enough to guide myself.” - -“A bonnie guide you would be for yourself. But, no doubt, ye think that -too; there is no end to the confidence of young folk in this generation. -And you are nineteen, which is a wise age.” - -“No,” said Effie, “don’t think it is a wise age. And then I have Uncle -John; and then, what is perhaps the best of all, I have nothing to do -that calls for any guiding, so I am quite safe.” - -“Oh, yes, that’s a grand thing,” said the old lady; “to be just -peaceable and quiet, like Beenie and me, and no cross roads to perplex -ye, nor the need of choosing one way or another. But that’s a blessing -that generally comes on later in life: and we’re seldom thankful for it -when it does come.” - -“No,” said Effie, “I have nothing to choose. What should I have to -choose? unless it was whether I would have a tweed or a velveteen for my -winter frock; or, perhaps----” here she stopped, with a soft little -smile dimpling about her mouth. - -“Ay,” said the old lady; “or perhaps----? The perhaps is just what I -would like to know.” - -“Sarah,” said Miss Beenie from behind, “what are you doing putting -things in the girlie’s head?” - -“Just darn your stockings and hold your tongue,” said the elder sister. -She leaned her weight more heavily on Effie’s arm by way of securing her -attention. - -“Now and then,” she said, “the road takes a crook before it divides. -There’s that marshy bit where the Laggan burn runs before you come to -Windyha’. If you are not thinking, it just depends on which side of the -road you take whether you go straight on the good highway to Dumfries, -or down the lane that’s always deep in dust, or else a very slough of -despond. You’re there before you know.” - -“But what has that to do with me?” said Effie; “and then,” she added, -with a little elevation of her head, “if I’m in any difficulty, there is -Uncle John.” - -“Oh, ay: he’s often very fine in the pulpit. I would not ask for a -better guide in the Gospel, which is his vocation. But in the ways of -this world, Effie Ogilvie, your Uncle John is just an innocent like -yourself.” - -“That is all you know!” said Effie, indignantly. “Me an innocent!” She -was accustomed to hear the word applied to the idiot of the parish, the -piteous figure which scarcely any parish is without. Then she laughed, -and added, with a sudden change of tone, “They think me very sensible at -Allonby. They think I am the one that is always serious. They say I am -fact: and they are poetry, I suppose,” she said, after a second pause, -with another laugh. - -“Poetry!” said Miss Dempster, “you’re meaning silly nonsense. They are -just two haverels these two daft-like girls with their dark rooms, and -all their affected ways; and as for the brother----” - -“What about the brother?” said Effie, with an almost imperceptible -change of tone. - -“Aha!” said the old lady, “now we see where the interest lies.” - -“It is nothing of the kind,” cried the girl, “it is just your -imagination. You take a pleasure in twisting every word, and making me -think shame. It is just to hear what you have got to say.” - -“I have not very much to say,” said Miss Dempster; “we’re great students -of human nature, both Beenie and me; but I cannot just give my opinion -off-hand. There’s one thing I will tell you, and that is just that he is -not our Ronald, which makes all the difference to me.” - -“Ronald!” cried the girl, wondering. “Well, no! but did anybody ever say -he was like Ronald?” - -She paused a little, and a soft suffusion of colour once more came over -her face. “What has Ronald to do with it? He is no more like Ronald than -he is like--me.” - -“And I don’t think him like you at all,” cried Miss Dempster quickly, -“which is just the whole question. He is not of your kind, Effie. We’re -all human creatures, no doubt, but there’s different species. Beenie, -what do you think? Would you say that young Fred Dirom--that is the son -of a merchant prince, and so grand and so rich--would you say he was of -our own kind? would you say he was like Effie, or like Ronald? Ronald’s -a young man about the same age; would you say he was of Ronald’s kind.” - -“Bless me, what a very strange question!” Miss Beenie looked up with -every evidence of alarm. Her spectacles fell from her nose; the stocking -in which her hand and arm were enveloped fell limp upon her lap. - -“I’ve no time to answer conundrums; they’re just things for winter -evenings, not for daylight. And when you know how I’ve been against it -from the very first,” she added, after a pause, with some warmth. “It -might be a grand thing from a worldly point of view; but what do we know -about him or his connections? And as for business, it is just a -delusion; it’s up to-day and down to-morrow. I’ve lived in Glasgow, and -I know what it means. Ye may be very grand, and who but you for a while; -and then the next moment nothing. No; if there was not another man in -the world, not the like of that man,” cried Miss Beenie, warming more -and more, gesticulating unconsciously with the muffled hand which was -all wrapped up in stocking; “and to compare him with our poor -Ronald----” She dropped suddenly from her excitement, as if this name -had brought her to herself. “You are making me say what I ought not to -say--and before Effie! I will never be able to look one of them in the -face again.” - -Effie stood upon the gravel opposite to the speaker, notwithstanding the -impulse of Miss Dempster’s arm to lead her away. “I wish you would tell -me what you mean. I wish I knew what Ronald had to do with me,” she -said. - -“He’s just an old friend, poor laddie--just an old friend. Never you -mind what Beenie says. She’s a little touched in that direction, we all -know. Never you mind. It’s my own conviction that young Dirom, having no -connections, would be but a very precarious---- But no doubt your -parents know best. Ronald is just the contrary--plenty of connections, -but no money. The one is perhaps as bad as the other. And it’s not for -us to interfere. Your own people must know best.” - -“What is there to interfere about? and what has Ronald to do with it? -and, oh, what are you all talking about?” cried Effie, bewildered. What -with the conversation which meant nothing, and that which meant too -much, her little brain was all in a ferment. She withdrew herself -suddenly from Miss Dempster’s arm. - -“I will get you your stick out of the hall which will do just as well as -me: for I’m going away.” - -“Why should you go away? Your father is in Dumfries, your mother will be -getting her tea at Summerlaw. There is nobody wanting you at home; and -Beenie has ordered our honey scones that you are so fond of.” - -“I want no honey scones!” cried Effie. “You mean something, and you will -not tell me what you mean. I am going to Uncle John.” - -“She is a hot-headed little thing. She must just take her own gait and -guide herself. Poor innocent! as if it were not all settled and planned -beforehand what she was to do.” - -“Oh, Sarah, stop woman, for goodness’ sake! You are putting things in -the girlie’s head, and that is just what we promised not to do.” - -“What things are you putting in my head? You are just driving me wild!” -cried Effie, stamping her foot on the gravel. - -It was not the first time by a great many that she had departed from -Rosebank in this way. The criticisms of old ladies are sadly apt to -irritate young ones, and this pretence of knowing so much more about her -than she knew about herself, has always the most exasperating effect. - -She turned her back upon them, and went away between the laurel hedges -with a conviction that they were saying, “What a little fury!” and “What -an ill brought-up girl!”--which did not mend matters. These were the -sort of things the Miss Dempsters said--not without a cackle of -laughter--of the rage and impatience of the young creature they had been -baiting. Her mind was in high commotion, instinctive rebellion flaming -up amid the curiosity and anxiety with which she asked herself what was -it that was settled and planned? - -Whatever it was, Effie would not do it, that was one thing of which she -felt sure. If it had been her own mother, indeed! but who was Mrs. -Ogilvie, to settle for her what she ought to do? She would be her own -guide, whatever any one might settle. If she took counsel with any one, -it should be Uncle John, who was her nearest friend--when there was -anything to take counsel about. - -But at present there was nothing, not a question of any sort that she -knew, except whether the new tennis court that was making at Gilston -could possibly be ready for this season, which, of course, it could -not;--no question whatever; and what had Ronald to do with it? Ronald -had been gone for three years. There had been no news of him lately. If -there were a hundred questions, what could Ronald have to do with them? - -She went down very quickly between the laurel hedges and paused at the -gate, where she could not be seen from the terrace, to smooth down her -ruffled plumes a little and take breath. But as she turned into the road -her heart began to thump again, with no more reason for it than the -sudden appearance of Uncle John coming quietly along at his usual -leisurely pace. She had said she was going to him; but she did not -really wish to meet Uncle John, whose kind eyes had a way of seeing -through and through you, at this present excited moment, for she knew -that he would find her out. - -Whether he did so or not, he came up in his sober way, smiling that -smile which he kept for Effie. He was prone to smile at the world in -general, being very friendly and kind, and generally thinking well of -his neighbours. But he had a smile which was for Effie alone. He caught -in a moment the gleam in her eyes, the moisture, and the blaze of angry -feeling. - -“What, Effie,” he said, “you have been in the wars. What have the old -ladies been saying now?” - -“Oh, Uncle John,” she began eagerly; but then stopped all at once: for -the vague talk in which a young man’s name is involved, which does not -tell for very much among women, becomes uncomfortable and suspect when a -man is admitted within hearing. She changed her mind and her tone, but -could not change her colour, which rose high under her troubled eyes. - -“Oh, I suppose it was nothing,” she said, “it was not about me; it was -about Ronald--something about Ronald and Mr. Fred Dirom: though they -could not even know each other--could they know each other?” - -“I can’t tell you, Effie: most likely not; they certainly have not been -together here; but they may have met as young men meet--somewhere else.” - -“Perhaps that was what it was. But yet I don’t see what Ronald could -have to do with it.” - -Here Effie stopped again, and grew redder than ever, expecting that Mr. -Moubray would ask her, “To do with--what?” and bring back all the -confusion again. - -But the minister was more wise. He began to perceive vaguely what the -character of the suggestion, which had made Effie angry, must have been. -It was much clearer to him indeed than it was to her, through these two -names, which as yet to Effie suggested no connection. - -“Unless it is that Fred Dirom is here and Ronald away,” he said, “I know -no link. And what sort of a fellow is Fred Dirom, Effie? for I scarcely -know him at all.” - -“What sort of a fellow?” Mr. Moubray was so easy, and banished so -carefully all meaning from his looks, that Effie was relieved. She began -to laugh. - -“I don’t know what to say. He is like the girls, but not quite like the -girls.” - -“That does not give me much information, my dear.” - -“Oh, Uncle John, they are all so funny! What can I say? They talk and -they talk, and it is all made up. It is about nothing, about fancies -they take in their heads, about what they think--but not real thinking, -only fancies, thinking what to say.” - -“That’s the art of conversation, Effie,” the minister said. - -“Conversation? Oh no, oh, surely not!--conversation would mean -something. At Allonby it is all very pretty, but it means nothing at -all. They just make stories out of nothing, and talk for the sake of -talking. I laugh--I cannot help it, though I could not quite tell you -why.” - -“And the brother, does he do the same?” - -“Oh, the brother! No, he is not so funny, he does not talk so much. He -says little, really, on the whole, except”--here Effie stopped and -coloured and laughed softly, but in a different tone. - -“Except?” repeated Uncle John. - -“Well, when he is walking home with me. Then he is obliged to speak, -because there is no one else to say anything. When we are all together -it is they who speak. But how can he help it? He has to talk when there -is only me.” - -“And is his talk about fancies too? or does he say things that are more -to the purpose, Effie?” - -Effie paused a little before she replied, “I have to think,” she said; -“I don’t remember anything he said--except--Oh yes!--but--it was not to -the purpose. It was only--nothing in particular,” she continued with a -little wavering colour, and a small sudden laugh in which there was some -confusing recollection. - -“Ah!” said Uncle John, nodding his head. “I think I see what you mean.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -The young ladies at Allonby, though Effie thought they meant nothing -except to make conversation, had really more purpose in their -extravagances than that severe little critic thought. To young ladies -who have nothing to do a new idea in the way of entertainment is a fine -thing. - -And though a garden party, or any kind of a party, is not an affair of -much importance, yet it holds really a large place in unoccupied lives. -Even going to it may mean much to the unconcerned and uninterested: the -most philosophical of men, the most passive of women, may thus find -their fate. They may drift up against a partner at tennis, or hand a -cup of tea to the predestined individual who is to make or mar their -happiness for life. - -So that no human assembly is without its importance to some one, -notwithstanding that to the majority they may be collectively and -separately “a bore.” But to those who get them up they are still more -important, and furnish a much needed occupation and excitement, with the -most beneficial effect both upon health and temper. - -The Miss Diroms were beginning to feel a little low; the country was -more humdrum than they had expected. They had not been quite sure when -they came to Scotland that there were not deer-forests on the Border. -They had a lingering belief that the peasants wore the tartan. They had -hoped for something feudal, some remnant of the Middle Ages. - -But they found nothing of this sort they found a population which was -not at all feudal, people who were friendly but not over respectful, -unaccustomed to curtsy and disinclined to be patronized. They were -thrown back upon themselves. As for the aspect of the great people, the -Diroms were acquainted with much greater people, and thought little of -the county magnates. - -It was a providential suggestion which put that idea about the music -under the cliff into the head of Doris. And as a garden party in -September, in Scotland, even in the south, is a ticklish performance, -and wants every kind of organization, the sisters were immediately -plunged into business. There was this in its favour, that they had the -power of tempering the calm of the Dumfriesshire aristocracy by visitors -from the greater world at that time scattered over all Scotland, and -open to variety wherever they could find it. Even of the Americans, for -whom the young ladies had sighed, there were three or four easily -attainable. And what with the story of Fair Helen and the little -churchyard and the ballad, these visitors would be fully entertained. - -Everything was in train, the invitations sent out and accepted, the -house in full bustle of preparation, every one occupied and amused, -when, to the astonishment of his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit. - -“I thought I’d come and look you up,” he said. He was, as he himself -described it, “in great force,” his white waistcoat ampler, his -watch-chain heavier, himself more beaming than ever. - -His arrival always made a difference in the house, and it was not -perhaps an enjoyable difference. It introduced a certain anxiety--a new -element. The kind and docile mother who on ordinary occasions was at -everybody’s command, and with little resistance did what was told her, -became all at once, in the shadow of her husband, a sort of silent -authority. She was housekeeper no longer; she had to be consulted, and -to give, or pretend to give, orders, which was a trouble to her, as well -as to the usual rulers of the house. Nobody disliked it more than Mrs. -Dirom herself, who had to pretend that the party was her own idea, and -that she had superintended the invitations, in a way which was very -painful to the poor lady’s rectitude and love of truth. - -“You should have confined yourself to giving dinners,” her husband -said--“as many dinners as you like. You’ve got a good cellar, or I’m -mistaken, and plenty of handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. The -dinners are the thing; men like ’em, and take my word for it, it’s the -men’s opinions that tell. Females may think they have it their own way -in society, but it’s the men’s opinion that tells.” - -“You mean the males, I suppose,” said Doris. “Keep to one kind of word, -papa.” - -“Yes, Miss D., I mean the males--your superiors,” said Mr. Dirom, with -first a stare at his critic and then a laugh. “I thought you might -consider the word offensive; but if you don’t mind, neither do I.” - -“Oh, what is the use of quarrelling about a word?” said the mother -hastily. “We have had dinners. We have returned all that have been given -us. That is all any one can expect us to do, George. Then the girls -thought--for a little variety, to fill the house and amuse -everybody----” - -“With tea and toast--and hot-water bottles, I hope to put under their -feet. I’ll tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. Get out all the -keepers and gardeners with warm towels to wipe off the rain off the -trees; and have the laundresses out to iron the grass--by Jove, that’s -the thing to do; reduce rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and save as many -bad colds as possible. I shall say you did it when I get back to my -club.” - -Phyllis and Doris looked at each other. - -“It might be really a good thing to do. And it would be Fun. Don’t you -think the electric light put on night and day for forty-eight hours -would do some good? What an excellent thing it is to have papa here! He -is so practical. He sees in a moment the right thing.” - -This applause had the effect rarely attained, of confusing for a moment -the man of money. - -“It appears I am having a success,” he said. “Or perhaps instead of -taking all this trouble you would like me to send a consignment of fur -cloaks from town for the use of your guests. The Scotch ladies would -like that best, for it would be something,” he said with his big laugh, -“to carry away.” - -“And I believe,” said Mrs. Dirom, very anxious to be conciliatory, “you -could afford it, George.” - -“Oh, afford it!” he said with again that laugh, in which there was such -a sound of money, of plenty, of a confidence inexhaustible, that nobody -could have heard it, and remained unimpressed. But all the same it was -an offensive laugh, which the more finely strung nerves of his children -could scarcely bear. - -“After all,” said Fred, “we don’t want to insult our neighbours with our -money. If they are willing to run the risk, we may let them; and there -will always be the house to retire into, if it should be wet.” - -“Oh, of course there would always be the house. It is a very fine thing -to have a good house to retire into, whatever happens. I should like you -to realize that, all of you, and make your hay while the sun shines.” - -The room in which the family were sitting was not dark, as when they -were alone. The blinds were all drawn up, the sunshades, so often drawn -when there was no sun, elevated, though a ruddy westerly sky, in all the -force of approaching sunset, blazed down upon the front of the house. -The young people exchanged looks, in which there was a question. - -What did he mean? He meant nothing, it appeared, since he followed up -his remarks by opening a parcel which he had brought down stairs in his -hand, and from which he took several little morocco boxes, of shape and -appearance calculated to make the hearts of women--or at least such -hearts of women as Mr. Dirom understood--beat high. They were some -“little presents” which he had brought to his family. He had a way of -doing it--and “for choice,” as he said, he preferred diamonds. - -“They always fetch their price, and they are very portable. Even in a -woman’s useless pocket, or in her bag or reticule, or whatever you call -it, she might carry a little fortune, and no one ever be the wiser,” Mr. -Dirom said. - -“When one has diamonds,” said Phyllis, “one wishes everybody to be the -wiser, papa; we don’t get them to conceal them, do we, Dor? Do you think -it will be too much to wear that pendant to-morrow--in daylight? Well, -it is a little ostentatious.” - -“And you are rather too young for diamonds, Phyll--if your papa was not -so good to you,” said Mrs. Dirom in her uncertain voice. - -“She’s jealous, girls,” said her husband, “though hers are the best. -Young! nobody is ever too young; take the good of everything while you -have it, and as long as you have it, that’s my philosophy. And look -here, there’s the sun shining--I shouldn’t be surprised if, after all, -to-morrow you were to have a fine day.” - -They had a fine day, and the party was very successful. Doris had -carried out her idea about the music on the opposite bank, and it was -very effective. The guests took up this phrase from the sisters, who -asked, “Was it not very effective?” with ingenuous delight in their own -success. - -It was no common band from the neighbourhood, nor even a party of -wandering Germans, but a carefully selected company of minstrels brought -from London at an enormous cost: and while half the county walked about -upon the tolerably dry lawn, or inspected the house and all the new and -elegant articles of art-furniture which the Diroms had brought, the -trembling melody of the violins quivered through the air, and the wind -instruments sighed and shouted through all the echoes of the Dene. The -whole scene was highly effective, and all the actors in it looking and -smiling their best. - -The Marquis kindly paid Mr. Dirom a compliment on his “splendid -hospitality,” and the eloquent Americans who made pilgrimages to Adam -Fleming’s grave, and repeated tenderly his adjuration to “Helen fair, -beyond compare,” regarded everything, except Mr. Dirom in his white -waistcoat, with that mixture of veneration and condescension which -inspires the transatlantic bosom amid the immemorial scenery of old -England. - -“Don’t you feel the spell coming over you, don’t you feel the mosses -growing?” they cried. “See, this is English dust and damp--the ethereal -mould which comes over your very hands, as dear John Burroughs says. -Presently, if you don’t wash ’em, little plants will begin to grow all -along your line of life. Wonderful English country--mother of the ages!” - -This was what the American guests said to each other. It was the Miss -Dempsters, to whom Americans were as the South Sea Islanders, and who -were anxious to observe the customs and manners of the unknown race, -before whom these poetical exclamations were made. - -“The English country may be wonderful, though I know very little about -it; but you are forgetting it is not here,” Miss Dempster said. “This is -Scotland; maybe you may never have heard the name before.” - -It is needless to say that the ladies and gentlemen from across the -Atlantic smiled at the old native woman’s mistake. - -“Oh yes, we know Scotland very well,--almost best of all,--for has not -everybody read the Waverleys?--at least all our fathers and mothers read -them, though they may be a little out of date in our day.” - -“You must be clever indeed if Walter Scott is not clever enough for -you,” said the old lady grimly. “But here’s just one thing that a -foolish person like me, it seems, can correct you in, and that’s that -this countryside is not England. No, nor ever was; and Adam Fleeming in -his grave yonder could have told you that.” - -“Was he a Border chief? was he one of the knights in Branksome Hall? We -know all about that. And to think you should be of the same race, and -have lived here always, and known the story, and sung the song all your -life!” - -“I never was much addicted to singing songs, for my part. He must have -been a feckless kind of creature to let her get between him and the man -that wanted his blood. But he was very natural after that I will say. ‘I -hackit him in pieces sma’.’” said Miss Dempster; “that is the real -Border spirit: and I make little doubt he was English--the man with the -gun.” - -The pretty young ladies in their pretty toilettes gathered about the old -lady. - -“It is most interesting,” they said; “just what one wished to find in -the old country--the real accent--the true hereditary feeling.” - -“You are just behaving like an old haverel,” said Miss Beenie to her -sister in an undertone. It seldom occurred to her to take the command -of affairs, but she saw her opportunity and seized it. - -“For our part,” she said, “it is just as interesting to us to see real -people from America. I have heard a great deal about them, but I never -saw them before. It will be a great change to find yourselves in the -midst of ceevilization? And what was that about mosses growing on your -poor bit little hands? Bless me! I have heard of hair and fur, but never -of green growth. Will that be common on your side of the water?” - -She spoke with the air of one who was seeking information. Mr. John -Burroughs himself, that charming naturalist, might have been -disconcerted by so serious a question. And the two old ladies remained -in possession of the field. - -“I just answered a fool according to his folly,” Miss Beenie remarked, -with modest enjoyment of a triumph that seldom fell to her share, “for -you were carried away, Sarah, and let them go on with their impidence. A -set of young idiots out of a sauvage country that were too grand for -Walter Scott!” - -It was on the whole a great day for the Miss Dempsters. They saw -everybody, they explored the whole house, and identified every piece of -furniture that was not Lady Allonby’s. They made a private inspection of -the dining-room, where there was a buffet--erected not only for light -refreshments, but covered with luxuries and delicacies of a more serious -description. - -“Bless me, I knew there was tea and ices,” they said; “it’s like a ball -supper, and a grand one. Oh, those millionaires! they just cannot spend -money enough. But I like our own candlesticks,” said Miss Dempster, “far -better than these branchy things, like the dulse on the shore, the -candelawbra, or whatever they call it, on yon table.” - -“They’re bigger,” said Miss Beenie; “but my opinion is that the branches -are all hollow, not solid like ours.” - -“There’s not many like ours,” said Miss Dempster; “indeed I am disposed -to think they are just unique. Lord bless us, is that the doctor at the -side-table? He is eating up everything. The capacity that man has is -just extraordinary--both for dribblets of drink and for solid food.” - -“Is that you, ladies?” said the doctor. “I looked for you among the -first, and now you’re here, let me offer you some of this raised pie. -It’s just particularly good, with truffles as big as my thumb. I take -credit for suggesting a game pie. I said they would send the whole -parish into my hands with their cauld ices that are not adapted to our -climate.” - -“We were just saying ices are but a wersh provision, and make you -shiver to think of them at this time of the year; but many thanks to -you, doctor. We are not in the habit either of eating or drinking -between meals. Perhaps a gentleman may want it, and you have science to -help you down with it. But two women like us, we are just very well -content with a cup of tea.” - -“Which is a far greater debauch,” said the doctor hotly, “for you are -always at it.” But he put down his plate. “The auld cats,” he said to -himself; “there’s not a drop passes my lips but they see it, and it will -be over all the parish that I was standing guzzlin’ here at this hour of -the day.” - -But there were others beside the doctor who took advantage of the raised -pie and appreciated the truffles. People who have been whetted by music -and vague conversation and nothing to do or think of for a weary -afternoon, eat with enthusiasm when the chance occurs; they eat even -cake and bread and butter, how much more the luxurious _mayonnaise_ and -lobsters and _foie gras_. After the shiver of an ice it was grateful to -turn to better fare. And Mr. Dirom was in his glory in the dining-room, -which was soon filled by a crowd more animated and genial than that -which had strolled about the lawn. - -“You will spoil your dinner,” the ladies said to their husbands, but -with small effect. - -“Never mind the dinner,” said the master of the house. “Have a little of -this Château Yquem. It is not a wine you can get every day. I call it -melted gold; but I never ask the price of a wine so long as it’s good; -and there’s plenty more where that came from.” - -His wealth was rampant, and sounded in his voice and in his laugh, till -you seemed to hear the money tinkle. Phyllis and Doris and Fred cast -piteous glances at each other when they met. - -“Oh, will nobody take him away!” they cried under their breath. “Fred, -can’t you pretend there is a telegram and dreadful news? Can’t you say -the Bank of England is broke, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer has -run away?” - -He wounded his children’s nerves and their delicacy beyond description, -but still it had to be allowed that he was the master of the house. And -so the party came to an end, and the guests, many of them with -indigestions, but with the most cordial smiles and applause and -hand-shakings, were gradually cleared away. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Mr. Ogilvie was one of those who carried away an incipient indigestion. -He was not accustomed to truffles nor to Château Yquem. But he did not -spoil his dinner--for as they were in the habit of dining rather early, -and it was now nearly seven o’clock, his wife promptly decided that a -cup of tea when he got home would be much the best thing for him, and -that no dinner need be served in Gilston House that day. She said, “You -must just look a little lively, Robert, till we get away. Don’t let -strangers think that you’ve been taking more than is good for you, -either of meat or drink.” - -“Drink!” said the good man. “Yon’s nectar: but I might have done without -the salad. Salad is a cold thing upon the stomach. I’m lively enough if -you would let me alone. And he’s a grand fellow the father of them. He -grudges nothing. I have not seen such a supper since my dancing days.” - -“It was no supper; it was just a tea party. I wish you would wake up, -and understand. Here is Mr. Dirom with Effie coming to put me into the -carriage. Rouse up, man, and say a civil word.” - -“I’ll do that,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “We’ve had a most enjoyable evening, -Mr. Dirom, a good supper and a capital band, and---- But I cannot get it -out of my head that it’s been a ball--which is impossible now I see all -these young ladies with hats and bonnets upon their heads.” - -“I wish it had been a ball,” said the overwhelming host. “We ought to -have kept it up half through the night, and enjoyed another supper, eh? -at midnight, and a little more of that Clicquot. I hope there’s enough -for half-a-dozen balls. Why hadn’t you the sense to keep the young -people for the evening, Fred? Perhaps you thought the provisions -wouldn’t last, or that I would object to pay the band for a few hours -longer. My children make me look stingy, Mrs. Ogilvie. They have got a -number of small economical ways.” - -“And that’s an excellent thing,” said the lady, “for perhaps they may -not have husbands that will be so liberal as their father--or so well -able to afford it--and then what would they do?” - -“I hope to put them beyond the risk of all that,” said the man of money, -jingling his coins. He did not offer to put Mrs. Ogilvie into the -carriage as she had supposed, but looked on with his hands in his -pockets, and saw her get in. The Ogilvies were almost the last to leave, -and the last object that impressed itself upon them as they turned round -the corner of the house was Mr. Dirom’s white waistcoat, which looked -half as big as Allonby itself. When every one had disappeared, he took -Fred, who was not very willing, by the arm, and led him along the river -bank. - -“Is that the family,” he said, “my fine fellow, that they tell me you -want to marry into, Fred?” - -“I have never thought of the family. Since you bring it in so -suddenly--though I was scarcely prepared to speak on the subject--yes: -that’s the young lady whom in all the world, sir, I should choose for my -wife.” - -“Much you know about the world,” said Mr. Dirom. “I can’t imagine what -you are thinking of; a bit of a bread-and-butter girl, red and white, -not a fortune, no style about her, or anything out of the common. Why, -at your age, without a tithe of your advantages, I shouldn’t have looked -at her, Mr. Fred.” - -If there was in Fred’s mind the involuntary instinctive flash of a -comparison between his good homely mother and pretty Effie, may it be -forgiven him! He could do nothing more than mutter a half sulky word -upon difference of taste. - -“That’s true,” said his father; “one man’s meat is another man’s poison. -My Lady Alicia’s not much to look at, but she is Lady Alicia; that’s -always a point in her favour. But this little girl has nothing to show. -Bread and butter, that’s all that can be said.” - -To this Fred, with gathering curves upon his forehead, made no reply at -all. - -“And her people are barely presentable,” said the father. “I say this -with no personal feeling, only for your good; very Scotch, but nothing -else about them to remember them by. A sodden stagnant old Scotch -squire, and a flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a few pounds -of her own that will make her think herself somebody. My dear fellow, -there you have everything that is most objectionable. A milkmaid would -not be half so bad, for she would ask no questions and understand that -she got everything from you----” - -“There is no question of any milkmaid,” said Fred in high offence. - -“Middle class is social destruction,” said Mr. Dirom. “Annihilation, -that’s what it is. High or low has some chance, but there’s no good in -your _milieu_. Whatever happens, you’ll never be able to make anything -out of her. They have no go in that position; they’re too respectable to -go out of the beaten way. That little thing, sir, will think it’s -unbecoming to do this or that. She’ll never put out a step beyond what -she knows. She’ll be no help to you if anything happens. She’ll set up -her principles; she’ll preach your duty to you. A pretty kind of wife -for the son of a man who has made his way to the top of the tree, by -Jove! and that may tumble down again some fine day.” - -“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Fred. “You might add she will -most likely neither look nor listen to me, and all this sermon of yours -will go for nought.” - -“I didn’t mean it for a sermon. I give it you in friendship to warn you -what’s before you. You think perhaps after this I’m going to forbid the -banns: though there’s no banns wanted in this free country, I believe. -No, Fred, that’s not it; I’m not going to interfere. If you like -insipidity, it’s your own concern: if you choose a wife in order to -carry her on your shoulders--and be well kicked while you do it: mind -that.” - -“I think, sir,” said Fred, who had grown very red, “that we had better -drop the subject. If you mean to oppose, why, of course, you can -oppose--but if not, this sort of thing does little good. It can never -alter my mind, and I don’t see even how it can relieve yours.” - -“Oh yes, it relieves mine,” said his father. “It shows you my opinion. -After that, if you choose to take your own way, why, you must do it. I -should have advised you to look out for a nice little fortune which -might have been a stand-by in case of anything happening. No, nothing’s -going to happen. Still you know---- Or I’d have married rank (you might -if you had liked), and secured a little family interest. Things might -change in a day, at any moment. Jack might tire of his blue china and -come and offer himself for the office. If he did, you have married -against my advice, and Jack being the eldest son---- Well, I don’t need -to say any more.” - -“I quite understand, sir,” Fred said. - -“Well, that’s a good thing; but you need not go too far on the other -side, and think I’m going to disinherit you, or any of that rubbish. -Did I disinherit Jack? I bring you up in the best way, spend no end of -money on you, teach you to think yourselves twice the man I am, and then -you take your own way.” - -“Indeed, sir,” cried Fred anxiously, “you are mistaken. I----” But -though he did not think he was twice the man his father was, yet he did -think he was a very different man from his father, and this -consciousness made him stammer and fall into confusion, not knowing what -to say. - -“Don’t trouble yourself to contradict me,” said Mr. Dirom. “_I_ don’t -think so. I think your father’s twice the man you are. Let each of us -keep his opinion. We shan’t convince each other. And if you insist on -marrying your insipidity, do. Tell the stupid old father to communicate -with my lawyers about the settlements, and get it over as soon as you -please.” - -“You are going a great deal too fast, sir,” said Fred. He was pale with -the hurry and rapid discussion. “I can’t calculate like this upon what -is going to happen. Nothing has happened as yet.” - -“You mean she mayn’t have you? Never fear; young fellows with a father -behind them ain’t so common. Most men in my position would put a stop to -it altogether. I don’t; what does it matter to me? Dirom and Co. don’t -depend upon daughters-in-law. A woman’s fortune is as nothing to what’s -going through my hands every day. I say, let every man please himself. -And you’ve got quiet tastes and all that sort of thing, Fred. Thinking -of coming up to town to look after business a little? Well, don’t; -there’s no need of you just now. I’ve got some ticklish operations on, -but they’re things I keep in my own hands.” - -“I don’t pretend to be the business man you are,” said Fred with a -fervour which was a little forced, “but if I could be of use----” - -“No, I don’t think you could be of use. Go on with your love-making. By -the way, I’m going back to-night. When is the train? I’ll just go in and -mention it to your mother. I wanted to see what sort of a set you had -about. Poor lot!” said Mr. Dirom, shaking his heavy chain as he looked -at his watch. “Not a shilling to spare among ’em--and thinking all the -world of themselves. So do I? Yes: but then I’ve got something to stand -upon. Money, my boy, that’s the only real power.” - -Phyllis and Doris met their brother anxiously on his way back. “What is -he going to do?” they both said; “what has he been talking to you about? -Have you got to give her up, you poor old Fred?” - -“I shouldn’t have given her up for a dozen governors; but he’s very good -about it. Really to hear him you would think---- He’s perhaps better -about it than I deserve. He’s going back to town by the fast train -to-night.” - -“To-night!” There was both relief and grievance in the tone of the -girls. - -“He might just as well have gone this morning, and much more comfortable -for him,” said Phyllis. - -“For us too,” said her sister, and the three stood together and indulged -in a little guilty laugh which expressed the relief of their souls. “It -is horrid of us, when he’s always so kind: but papa does not really -enjoy the country, nor perhaps our society. He is always much happier -when he’s in town and within reach of the club.” - -“And in the meantime we have got our diamonds.” - -“And I my freedom,” said Fred; then he added with a look of compunction, -“I say, though, look here. He’s as good to us as he knows how, and -we’re not just what you would call----” - -“Grateful,” said both the sisters in a breath. Then they began to make -excuses, each in her own way. - -“We did not bring up ourselves. We ought to have got the sort of -education that would have kept us in papa’s sphere. He should have seen -to that; but he didn’t, Fred, as you know, and how can we help it? I am -always as civil to him as it’s possible to be. If he were ill, or -anything happened--By-the-bye, we are always saying now, ‘If anything -happened:’ as if there was some trouble in the air.” - -“It’s all right; you needn’t be superstitious. He is in the best of -spirits, and says I am not wanted, and that he’s got some tremendous -operation in hand.” - -“I do not suppose you would make much difference, dear Fred, even if you -were wanted,” said Miss Phyllis sweetly. “Of course if he were ill we -should go to him wherever he was. If he should have an accident now, I -could bind up his arteries, or foment his foot if he strained it. I have -not got my ambulance certificate for nothing. But keeping very well and -quite rampant, and richer than anybody, what could we do for him?” - -“It’s the sentiment of the thing,” said Fred. - -“As if he ever thought of the sentiment; or minded anything about us.” - -They returned to the house in the course of this conversation--where -already the servants had cleared the dining-room and replaced it in its -ordinary condition. Here Doris paused to tell the butler that dinner -must be served early on account of her father’s departure: but her -interference was received by that functionary with a bland smile, which -rebuked the intrusion. - -“We have known it, miss, since master came,” a little speech which -brought back the young people to their original state of exasperated -satisfaction. - -“You see!” the girls said, while even Fred while he laughed felt a prick -of irritation. Williams the butler had a great respect for his master, a -respect by no means general in such cases. He had served a duke in his -day, but he had never met with any one who was so indifferent to every -one else, so masterful and easy in his egotism, as his present -gentleman. And that he himself should have known what Mr. Dirom’s -arrangements were, while the children did not know, was a thing that -pleased this regent of the household. It was putting things in their -proper place. - -All the arrangements were made in the same unalterable imperious way. -There was no hurry with Mr. Dirom. He dined and indulged in a great many -remarks upon county people, whom he thought very small beer, he who was -used to the best society. He would not in London have condescended to -notice such people. - -But in the country, if the girls liked, and as there was nothing better -to be had--“From time to time give them a good spread,” he said; “don’t -mind what’s the occasion--a good spread, all the delicacies of the -season; that’s the sort of thing to do. Hang economy, that’s the virtue -of the poor-proud. You’re not poor, thanks to me, and you have no call -to be humble, chicks. Give it ’em grand, regardless of expense. As long -as I’m there to pay, I like you to cut a figure. I like to feed ’em up -and laugh in their faces. They’ll call me vulgar, you bet. Never mind; -what I like is to let them say it, and then make them knuckle under. Let -’em see you’re rich,--that’s what the beggars feel,--and you’ll have -every one of them, the best of them, on their knees. Pity is,” he added -after a while, “that there’s nobody here that is any good. Nothing -marriageable, eh, Phyll? Ah, well, for that fellow there, who might -have picked up something better any day of his life; but nothing for you -girls. Not so much as a bit of a young baronet, or even a Scotch squire. -Nothing but the doctor; the doctor won’t do. I’m very indulgent, but -there I draw the line. Do you hear, mother? No doctor. I’ll not stand -the doctor--not till they’re forty at the least, and have got no other -hope.” - -The girls sat pale, and made no reply. Their mother gave a feeble laugh, -as in duty bound, and said, “That’s your fun, George.” Thus the -propriety of Doris’s statement that they ought to have been brought up -in papa’s sphere was made apparent: for in that case they would have -laughed too: whereas now they sat silent and pale, and looked at each -other, with sentiments unutterable: fortunately the servants had gone -away, but he was quite capable of having spoken before the servants. - -After dinner they waited with ill-restrained impatience the hour of the -train. _He_ had rarely made himself so offensive; he went on about the -doctor, who would probably be their fate as they got near forty, with -inexhaustible enjoyment, and elicited from their mother that little -remonstrating laugh, which they forgave her for pity, saying to each -other, “Poor mamma!” Decidedly it is much better when daughters, and -sons too, for that matter, are brought up in their father’s sphere. He -went away in great good humour, refusing Fred’s offer to drive him to -the station. - -“None of your dog-carts for me,” he said: “I’ve ordered the brougham. -Good-bye girls; take care of yourselves, and try to rummage out -something superior to that doctor. And, Fred, you’d better think better -of it, my fine fellow, or, if you won’t be warned, do as you like, and -be hanged to you. Good-bye, old lady; I expect to hear you’ve got -screwed up with rheumatism in this damp old den here.” - -“And when will you come back, George? They say the weather is fine up to -November. I hope you’ll soon come back.” - -“Not for some time--unless I should have worse luck,” said the rich man. -He was at the door when he said this, his wife accompanying him, while -Fred stood outside with his hair blown about his eyes, at the door of -the brougham. The girls, standing behind, saw it all like a picture. -Their father, still with his white waistcoat showing under his overcoat, -his heavy chain glittering, and the beam and the roll of triumphant -money in his eye and his gait--“Not soon, unless I have worse luck,” and -he paused a moment and gave a comprehensive look around him with sudden -gravity, as he spoke. - -Then there was a laugh, a good-bye--and the carriage rolled away, and -they all stood for a moment looking out into the blackness of the -night. - -“What does he mean by worse luck?” they said to their mother as she came -in from the door. - -“He means nothing; it is just his fun. He’s got the grandest operations -in hand he has ever had. What a father you have got, girls! and to think -he lets you do whatever you please, and keeps you rolling in wealth all -the same!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -The day of the party at Allonby had been a day of pleasure to Effie, but -of pleasure she was half afraid of and only half understood. The -atmosphere about her had been touched by something beyond her -experience,--softened, brightened, glorified, she could not tell how. -She did not understand it, and yet she did understand it, and this soft -conflict between knowing and not knowing increased its magical effect. -She was surrounded by that atmosphere of admiration, of adoration, which -is the first romantic aspect of a love-making. Everything in her and -about her was so beautiful and lovely in the eyes of her young and -undeclared lover, that somehow in spite of herself this atmosphere got -into her own eyes and affected her conception of herself. It was all an -effect of fancy, unreal, not meaning, even to Fred Dirom, what it had -seemed to mean. - -When love came to its perfection, when he had told it, and made sure of -a return (if he was to have a return), then Fred too, or any, the most -romantic of lovers, would so far return to common earth as to become -aware that it was a woman and not a poetical angel whom he was about to -marry. - -But at present fancy was supreme, and Effie was as no real creature ever -had been, lit up with the effulgence of a tender imagination, even in -her own consciousness. She was not vain, nor apt to take much upon -herself; neither was she by any means prepared to respond to the -sentiment with which Fred regarded her. She did not look at him through -that glorifying medium. But she became aware of herself through it in a -bewildering, dazzling, incomprehensible way. Her feet trod the air, a -suffusion of light seemed to be about her. It was a merely sympathetic -effect, although she was the glorified object; but for the moment it was -very remarkable and even sweet. - -“Well! it appears you were the queen of the entertainment, Effie, for -all so simple as you sit there,” said her stepmother. “I hope you were -content.” - -“Me!” said Effie, in those half bewildered tones, conscious of it, yet -incapable of acknowledging it, not knowing how it could be. She added in -a subdued voice: “They were all very kind,” blushing so deeply that her -countenance and throat rose red out of her white frock. - -“Her!” cried Mr. Ogilvie, still a little confused with the truffles; -“what would she be the queen of the feast for, a little thing like that? -I have nothing to say against you, Effie; but there were many finer -women there.” - -“Hold your tongue, Robert,” said his wife. “There may be some things on -which you’re qualified to speak: but the looks of his own daughter, and -her just turning out of a girl into a woman, is what no man can judge. -You just can’t realize Effie as anything more than Effie. But I’ve seen -it for a long time. That’s not the point of view from which she is -regarded there.” - -“I know no other point of view,” he said in his sleepy voice. “You are -putting rank nonsense into her head.” - -“Just you lean back in your corner and take a rest,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, -“you’ve been exposed to the sun, and you’ve had heating viands and -drinks instead of your good cup of tea; and leave Effie’s head to me. -I’ll put nothing into it that should not be there.” - -“I think Effie’s head can take care of itself,” said the subject of the -discussion, though indeed if she had said the truth she would have -acknowledged that the little head in question was in the condition -which is popularly described as “turned,” and not in a very fit -condition to judge of itself. - -“It is easy to see that Mr. Dirom is a most liberal person,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, “and spares nothing. I would not wonder if we were to see him -at Gilston to-morrow. What for? Oh, just for civility, and to see your -father. There might be business questions arising between them; who can -tell? And, Effie, I hope you’ll be reasonable, and not set yourself -against anything that would be for your good.” - -“I hope not,” said Effie, “but I don’t know what it is that you think -would be for my good.” - -“That is just what I am afraid of,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “that’s what -young folk are always doing. I can remember myself in my young days the -chances I threw away. Instead of seeing what’s in it as a real serious -matter, you will just consider it as a joke, as a thing to amuse -yourself with. That is not what a reasonable person would do. You’re -young, to be sure, but you will not be always young; and it is just -silly to treat in that light way what might be such a grand settlement -for life.” - -“I wish,” cried Effie, reddening now with sudden anger,--“oh, I wish you -would----” - -“Mind my own business? But it is my own business. When I married your -father it was one of the first of my duties to look after you, and -consider your best interests. I hope I’ve always done my duty by you, -Effie. From seeing that your hair was cut regularly, which was just in a -heart-breaking tangle about your shoulders when I came home to Gilston, -to seeing you well settled, there is nothing I have had so much in my -mind. Now don’t you make me any answer, for you will just say something -you will regret. I shall never have grown-up daughters of my own, and if -I were not to think of you I would be a most reprehensible person. All -I have to ask of you is that you will not be a fool and throw away your -advantages. You need not stir a finger. Just take things pleasantly and -make a nice answer to them that ask, and everything else will come to -your hand. Lucky girl that you are! Yes, my dear, you are just a very -lucky girl. Scarcely nineteen, and everything you can desire ready to -drop into your lap. There is not one in a hundred that has a lot like -that. There are many that might do not amiss but for some circumstances -that’s against them; but there is no circumstance against you, and -nothing that can harm you, unless just some nonsense fancy that you may -take up at your own hand.” - -Thus Mrs. Ogilvie ran on during the drive home. After one or two murmurs -of protest Effie fell into silence, preferring, as she often did, the -soft current of her own thoughts to the weary words of her stepmother, -who indeed was by no means unaccustomed to carry on a monologue of this -description, in which she gave forth a great many sentiments that were a -credit to her, and gave full intimation, had any attention been paid to -her, of various plans which were hotly but ineffectually objected to -when she carried them out. - -Mr. Ogilvie in his corner, what with his truffles and the unusual -fatigue of an afternoon spent in the midst of a crowd, and the familiar -lullaby of his wife’s voice, and the swift motion of the horses glad to -get home, had got happily and composedly to sleep. And if Effie did not -sleep, she did what was better. She allowed herself to float away on a -dreamy tide of feeling, which indeed was partly caused by Fred Dirom’s -devotion, yet was not responsive to it, nor implied any enchantment of -her own in which he held a leading place. She mused, but not of Fred. -The pleasure of life, of youth, of the love shown to her, of perhaps, -though it is a less admirable sentiment, gratified vanity, buoyed her -up and carried her along. - -No doubt it was gratified vanity; yet it was something more. The feeling -that we are admired and beloved has a subtle delight in it, breathing -soft and warm into the heart, which is more than a vain gratification. -It brings a conviction that the world, so good to us, is good and kind -to its core--that there is a delightful communication with all lovely -things possible to humanity to which we now have got the key, that we -are entering into our heritage, and that the beautiful days are dawning -for us that dawn upon all in their time, in their hour and place. - -This, perhaps, has much to do with the elevation and ecstasy even of -true love. Without love at all on her own part, but only the reflected -glow of that which shone from her young lover, who had not as yet -breathed a word to her of hopes or of wishes, this soft uprising tide, -this consciousness of a new existence, caught Effie now. She ceased to -pay any attention to her stepmother, whose wise words floated away upon -the breezes, and perhaps got diffused into nature, and helped to -replenish that stock of wisdom which the quiet and silence garner up to -transmit to fit listeners in their time. Some other country girl, -perhaps, going out into the fields to ask herself what she should do in -similar circumstances, got the benefit of those counsels, adjuring her -to abandon fancy and follow the paths of prudence, though they floated -over Effie’s head and made no impression on her dreaming soul. - -This vague and delightful period lasted without being broken by anything -definite for some time longer. The Dirom family in general had been -checked and startled, they could scarcely tell how, by the visit of the -father. Not that its abruptness surprised them, or its brevity, to both -of which things they were accustomed. No one indeed could define what -was the cause, or indeed what was exactly the effect. It did not reach -the length of anxiety or alarm, and it was not produced by any special -thing which he had done or said; but yet they were checked, made -uncomfortable, they could not tell why. - -Mrs. Dirom herself retired to her room and cried, though she would not -or could not give any reason for it; and the young people, though none -of their pursuits had been blamed by their father, tacitly by one -impulse paused in them, renouncing their most cherished habits, though -with no cause they knew. - -The same indefinite check weighed upon Fred. He had received, to his own -surprise, full license from his father to do as he pleased, and make his -own choice, a permission indeed which he had fully calculated upon--for -Mr. Dirom’s sentiment of wealth was such that he had always -persistently scoffed at the idea of a wife’s fortune being any special -object on the part of his sons--but which he had not expected to receive -without asking for it, without putting forth his reasons, in this -prodigal way. - -But Fred did not at once take advantage of this permission to please -himself. Perhaps the mere fact that his father took it so entirely for -granted, gave the subject greater gravity and difficulty in the eyes of -the son, and he became doubtful in proportion as the difficulties seemed -smoothed away. He did not even see Effie for some days after. The first -touch of winter came with the beginning of October, and tennis became a -thing of the past. Neither was there much pleasure to be had either in -walks or rides. The outside world grew dark, and to the discouraged and -disturbed family it was almost an advantage to shut themselves up for a -day or two, to gather round the fire, and either mutely or by -implication consult with each other, and question that Sphinx of the -future which gives no reply. - -When this impression began to wear off, and the natural course of life -was resumed, Fred found another obstacle to the promotion of his suit. -Effie gave him no rebuff, showed no signs of dislike or displeasure, but -smiled to meet him, with a soft colour rising over her face, which many -a lover would have interpreted to mean the most flattering things. But -with all this, Fred felt a certain atmosphere of abstraction about her -which affected him, though his feelings were far from abstract. He had a -glimmering of the truth in respect to her, such as only a fairly -sympathetic nature and the perfect sincerity of his mind could have -conveyed to him. - -The girl was moved, he felt, by love, by something in the air, by an -ethereal sentiment--but not by him. She felt his love, thrilling somehow -sympathetically the delicate strings of her being, but did not share -the passion. This stopped him in the strangest way, re-acting upon him, -taking the words from his lips. It was too delicate for words. It seemed -to him that even a definite breath of purpose, much more the vulgar -question, Will you marry me? would have broken the spell. And thus a -little interval passed which was not without its sweetness. The nature -of their intercourse changed a little. It became less easy, yet almost -more familiar; instead of the lawns, the tennis, the walk through the -glen, the talk of Doris and Phyllis for a background, it was now in -Gilston chiefly that he met Effie. He came upon all possible and -impossible errands, to bring books or to borrow them, to bring flowers -from the conservatories, or grapes and peaches, or grouse; to consult -Mr. Ogilvie about the little farm, of which he knew nothing; or any -other pretext that occurred to him. And then he would sit in the homely -drawing-room at Gilston the whole afternoon through, while Effie did -her needlework, or arranged the flowers, or brought out the dessert -dishes for the fruit, or carried him, a pretty handmaiden, his cup of -tea. - -“Now just sit still,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and let Effie serve you. A -woman should always hand the tea. You’re fine for heavier things, but -tea is a girl’s business.” - -And Fred sat in bliss, and took that domestic nectar from the hand of -Effie, standing sweetly with a smile before him, and felt himself grow -nearer and nearer, and yet still farther and farther away. - -This state of affairs did not satisfy Mrs. Ogilvie at all. She asked -herself sometimes whether Fred after all was trifling with Effie? -whether it was possible that he might be amusing himself? whether her -father should interfere? This excellent woman was well aware that to get -Effie’s father to interfere was about as likely as that good Glen, -sweeping his mighty tail, should stop Fred upon the threshold, and ask -him what were his intentions. But then “her father” meant, of course, -her father’s wife, and the lady herself felt no reluctance, if Effie’s -interest required it, to take this step. - -Her objects were various. In the first place, as a matter of principle, -she had a rooted objection to shilly-shally in a question of this kind. -She had the feeling that her own prospects had suffered from it, as many -women have; and though Mrs. Ogilvie had not suffered much, and was very -well satisfied on the whole with her life, still she might, she felt, -have married earlier and married better but for the senseless delays of -the man in more cases than one. - -From a less abstract point of view she desired the question to be -settled in Effie’s interests, feeling sure both that Fred was an -excellent _parti_, and that he was that highly desirable thing--a good -young man. Perhaps a sense that to have the house to herself, without -the perpetual presence of a grown-up stepdaughter, might be an -advantage, had a certain weight with her; but a motive which had much -greater weight, was the thought of the triumph of thus marrying -Effie--who was not even her own, and for whom her exertions would be -recognized as disinterested--in this brilliant manner at nineteen--a -triumph greater than any which had been achieved by any mother in the -county since the time when May Caerlaverock married an English duke. -None of these, it will be perceived, were sordid reasons, and Mrs. -Ogilvie had no need to be ashamed of any of them. The advantage of her -husband’s daughter was foremost in her thoughts. - -But with all this in her, it may well be believed that Mrs. Ogilvie was -very impatient of the young people’s delays, of the hours that Fred -wasted in the Gilston drawing-room without ever coming to the point, -and of the total want of any anxiety or desire that he should come to -the point, on the part of Effie. - -“He will just let the moment pass,” this excellent woman said to herself -as she sat and frowned, feeling that she gave them a hundred -opportunities of which they took no heed, which they did not even seem -to be conscious of. - -It was all she could do, she said afterwards, to keep her hands off -them! the two silly things! just playing with their fate. She was moved -almost beyond her power of self-control, and would sit quivering with -the desire to hasten matters, ready every time she opened her lips to -address them on the subject, while Fred took his tea with every -appearance of calm, and Effie served him as if in a dream. - -“Oh ye two silly things!”--this was what was on her lips twenty times in -an afternoon; and she would get up and go out of the room, partly lest -she should betray herself, partly that he might have an opportunity. But -it was not till about the end of October, on a dusky afternoon after a -day of storm and rain, that Fred found his opportunity, not when Mrs. -Ogilvie, but when Effie happened to be absent, for it was, after all, to -the elder lady, not to the younger, that he at length found courage to -speak. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -“Mrs. Ogilvie, may I say a word to you?” he asked. - -“Dear me, Mr. Fred, a hundred if you like. I am just always most ready -to listen to what my friends have to say.” - -Which was true enough but with limitations, and implied the possibility -of finding an opening, a somewhat difficult process. She made a very -brief pause, looking at him, and then continued, “It will be something -of importance? I am sure I am flattered that you should make a confidant -of me.” - -“It is something of a great deal of importance--to me. I am going to ask -you as a kind friend, which you have always shown yourself----” - -“Hoots,” said the lady, “I’ve had nothing in my power. But what will it -be? for though I have the best will in the world, and would do anything -to serve you, I cannot think what power I have to be of any use, or what -I can do.” - -“Oh, of the greatest use. Tell me first,” cried the young man, who had -risen up and was standing before her with an evident tremor about him. -“Shall I have time to tell you everything? is Miss Effie coming back -directly? will she soon be here?” - -Mrs. Ogilvie felt as if her senses were abandoning her. It was evident -he wanted Effie to stay away in order that he might reveal something to -_her_. Dear, what could it be? Was it possible that she had been -mistaken all through? was it possible--? Mrs. Ogilvie was not a vain -woman, but the circumstances were such as to confuse the clearest head. - -“She has gone up to the manse to her Uncle John’s. Well, I would not -wonder if she was half-an-hour away. But, Mr. Dirom, you will excuse me, -I would sooner have believed you wanted me out of the way than Effie. I -could have imagined you had something to say to her: but me!” - -“Ah, that is just it,” said Fred, “I feel as if I dared not. I want you -to tell me, dear Mrs. Ogilvie, if it is any good. She is--well, not -cold--she is always sweetness itself. But I feel as if I were kept at a -distance, as if nothing of that sort had ever approached her--no -idea---- Other girls laugh about marriage and lovers and so forth, but -she never. I feel as if I should shock her, as if----” - -“Then it _is_ about Effie that you want to speak?” - -He was so full of emotion that it was only by a nod of his head that he -could reply. - -“You know this is just an extraordinary kind of proceeding, Mr. Fred. -It’s a thing nobody thinks of doing. She will perhaps not like it, for -she has a great deal of spirit--that you should first have spoken to -me.” - -“It is in many parts of the world the right thing to do. I--didn’t -know----” - -“Oh, it is just a very right thing, no doubt, in principle; but a girl -would perhaps think--Well, you must just say your mind, and I will help -you if I can. It may be something different from what I expect.” - -“What could it be, Mrs. Ogilvie? I have loved her since the first moment -I saw her. When I lifted the curtain and my eyes fell upon that fair -creature, so innocent, so gentle! I have never thought of any one in the -same way. My fate was decided in that moment. Do you think there is any -hope for me?” - -“Hope!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “well, I must say I think you are a very -humble-minded young man.” - -He came up to her and took her hand and kissed it. He was full of -agitation. - -“I am in no way worthy of such happiness. Humble-minded--oh no, I am not -humble-minded. But Effie--tell me! has she ever spoken of me, has she -said anything to make you think--has she----” - -“My dear Mr. Fred, of course we have spoken of you many a time; not that -I would say she ever said anything--oh no, she would not say anything. -She is shy by nature, and shyer than I could wish with me. But, dear me, -how is it likely she would be insensible? You’ve been so devoted that -everybody has seen it. Oh, yes, I expected.--And how could she help but -see? She has never met with anybody else, she is just fresh from the -nursery and the schoolroom, and has never had such a notion presented to -her mind. It would be very strange to me, just out of all possibility, -that she should refuse such an offer.” - -The pang of pleasure which had penetrated Fred’s being was here modified -by a pang of pain. He shrank a little from these words. This was not how -he regarded his love. He cried anxiously, “Don’t say that. If you think -it is possible that she may learn to--love me----” - -“And why not?” said this representative of all that was straightforward -and commonplace. “There is nobody before you, that is one thing I can -tell you. There was a young man--a boy I might say--but I would never -allow her to hear a word about it. No, no, there is nobody--you may feel -quite free to speak.” - -“You make me--very happy,” he said, but in a tone by no means so assured -as his words. Then he added, hesitating, “Perhaps I should not ask -more; but if she had ever shown--oh, I am sure you must know what I -mean--any interest--any----” - -“Toots!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “am I going to betray a bit girlie’s -secrets, even if I knew them. One thing, she will not perhaps be pleased -that you have spoken to me. I am but her stepmother when all is said. -Her father is in the library, and he is the right person. Just you step -across the passage and have a word with him. That will be far more to -the purpose than trying to get poor Effie’s little secrets out of me.” - -“But, Mrs. Ogilvie,” cried Fred-- - -“I will just show you the way. It would be awkward if she found you here -with me with that disturbed look; but her father is another matter -altogether. Now, don’t be blate, as we say here. Don’t be too modest. -Just go straight in and tell him--Robert, here is Mr. Fred Dirom that -is wishful to have a word with you.” - -Fred followed, altogether taken by surprise. He was not in the least -“wishful” to have a word with Mr. Ogilvie. He wanted to find out from a -sympathetic spectator whether Effie’s virginal thoughts had ever turned -towards him, whether he might tell his tale without alarming her, -without perhaps compromising his own interests; but his ideas had not -taken the practical form of definite proposals, or an interview with the -father. Not that Fred had the slightest intention of declaring his love -without offering himself fully for Effie’s acceptance; but to speak of -his proposal, and to commit him to a meeting of this sort before he knew -anything of Effie’s sentiments, threw a business air, which was half -ludicrous and half horrible, over the little tender romance. But what -can a young man do in such absurd circumstances? Mrs. Ogilvie did not -ask his opinion. She led the way, talking in her usual full round -voice, which filled the house. - -“Just come away,” she said. “To go to headquarters is always the best, -and then your mind will be at ease. As for objections on her part, I -will not give them a thought. You may be sure a young creature of that -age, that has never had a word said to her, is very little likely to -object. And ye can just settle with her father. Robert, I am saying this -is Mr. Dirom come to say a word to you. Just leave Rory to himself; he -can amuse himself very well if you take no notice. And he is as safe as -the kirk steeple, and will take no notice of you.” - -“I’m sure I’m very glad to see Mr. Dirom--at any time,” said Mr. -Ogilvie; but it was not a propitious moment. The room in which he sat, -and which was called the library, was a dreary dark gray room with a few -bookcases, and furniture of a dingy kind. The old armchairs, when they -were discarded from other regions, found their way there, and stood -about harshly, like so many old gentlemen, with an air of twirling their -thumbs and frowning at intruders. But to-day these old fogeys in -mahogany were put to a use to which indeed they were not unaccustomed, -but which deranged all the previous habitudes of a lifetime. They were -collected in the middle of the room to form an imaginary stage-coach -with its steeds, four in hand, driven with much cracking of his whip and -pulling of the cords attached to the unyielding old backs, by Master -Rory, seated on high in his white pinafore, and gee-wo-ing and -chirruping like an experienced coachman. Mr. Ogilvie himself, with much -appropriate gesture, was at the moment of Fred’s entry riding as -postilion the leader, which had got disorderly. The little drama -required that he should manifest all the alarm of a rider about to be -thrown off, and this he was doing with much demonstration when the door -opened. - -Fred thought that if anything could have added to the absurdity of his -own position it was this. Mr. Ogilvie was on ordinary occasions very -undemonstrative, a grave leathern-jawed senior, who spoke little and -looked somewhat frowningly upon the levities of existence. He got off -his horse, so to speak, with much confusion as the stranger came in. - -“You see,” he said, apologetically--but for the moment said no more. - -“Oh yes, we see. Rory, ye’ll tumble off that high seat; how have ye got -so high a seat? Bless me, ye’ll have a fall if ye don’t take care.” - -“You see,” continued Mr. Ogilvie, “the weather has been wet and the -little fellow has not got his usual exercise. At that age they must have -exercise. You’ll think it’s not very becoming for a man of my age----” - -“Hoots,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “what does it matter about your age? You are -just a father whatever age you are, and Mr. Dirom will think no worse of -you for playing with your own little child. Come, Rory, come, my wee -man, and leave papa to his business.” - -“No, I’ll no go,” shouted the child. “We’re thust coming in to the inn, -and all the passengers will get out o’ the coach. Pappa, pappa, the off -leader, she’s runned away. Get hold o’ her, get hold o’ her; she’ll -upset the coach.” - -Fred looked on with unsympathetic eyes while the elderly -pseudo-postilion, very shamefaced, made pretence of arresting the -runaway steed, which bore the sedate form of a mahogany arm-chair. - -“You will just excuse me,” he said, “till the play’s played out. There, -now, Rory, fling your reins to the hostler, and go in and get your -dram--which means a chocolate sweetie,” he added, to forestall any -reproof. - -If Rory’s father had been a great personage, or even if being only Mr. -Ogilvie of Gilston he had been Rory’s grandfather, the situation would -have been charming; but as he was neither, and very commonplace and -elderly, the tableau was spoiled. (“Old idiot,” the Miss Dempsters would -have said, “making a fool of a bairn that should have been his son’s -bairn, and neglecting his own lawful children, at his age!” The -sentiment was absurd, but Fred shared it.) Perhaps it was the unrelaxing -countenance of the young man, as Mrs. Ogilvie seized and carried off the -charioteer which made the poor papa so ill at ease. He pulled the chairs -apart with an uneasy smile and gave one to his visitor. - -“No, I am not ashamed of it,” he said, “but I daresay I would look -ridiculous enough to a stranger:” and with this he sat down before his -table, on which, amid the writing things, were a child’s trumpet and -other articles belonging to a person of very tender years. “And in what -can I be of use to you?” he asked. - -It was Fred’s turn to grow red. He had been led into this snare against -his will. He felt rather disgusted, rather angry. - -“I don’t know,” he said, “that it was anything calling for your -attention to-day. It was a matter--still undecided. I should not have -disturbed you--at a moment of relaxation.” - -“Oh, if that is all,” said Mr. Ogilvie with a smile, “I have Rory -always, you know. The little pickle is for ever on my hands. He likes me -better than the weemen, because I spoil him more, my wife says.” - -Having said this with effusion, the good man awoke once more to the fact -that his audience was not with him, and grew dully red. - -“I am entirely at your service now,” he said; “would it be anything -about the wheat? Your grieve is, no doubt, a very trustworthy man, but -I would not leave your fields longer uncut if I was you. There is no sun -now to do them any good.” - -“Thanks, very much,” said Fred, “it was not about the wheat----” - -“Or perhaps the state of the woods? There will be a good deal of pruning -required, but it will be safest to have the factor over, and do nothing -but what he approves.” - -“It was not about the woods. It was an entirely personal question. -Perhaps another day would be more appropriate. I--have lost the thread -of what I was going to say.” - -“Dear me,” said the good man, “that’s a pity. Is there nothing that I -can suggest, I wonder, to bring it back to your mind?” - -He looked so honestly solicitous to know what the difficulty was, that -Fred’s irritation was stayed. An embarrassment of another kind took -possession of him. - -“Mr. Ogilvie,” he said, “I don’t know why I should have come to you, for -indeed I have no authority. I have come to ask you for--what I am sure -you will not give, unless I have another consent first. It is -about--your daughter that I want to speak.” - -Mr. Ogilvie opened his eyes a little and raised himself in his seat. - -“Ay!” he said, “and what will it be about Effie?” - -He had observed nothing, seeing his mind was but little occupied with -Effie. To be sure, his wife had worried him with talk about this young -fellow, but he had long accustomed himself to hear a great deal that his -wife said without paying any attention. He had an understanding that -there could be only one way in which Fred Dirom could have anything to -say to him about his daughter: but still, though he had heard a good -deal of talk on the subject, it was a surprise. - -“Sir,” said Fred, collecting himself, “I have loved her since the first -time I saw her. I want to know whether I have your permission to speak -to Miss Ogilvie--to tell her----” - -Poor Fred was very truly and sincerely in love. It was horrible to him -to have to discourse on the subject and speak these words which he -should have breathed into Effie’s ear to this dull old gentleman. So -strange a travesty of the scene which he had so often tenderly figured -to himself filled him with confusion, and took from him all power of -expressing himself. - -“This is very important, Mr. Dirom,” said Effie’s father, straightening -himself out. - -“It is very important to me,” cried the young man; “all my hopes are -involved in it, my happiness for life.” - -“Yes, it’s very important,” said Mr. Ogilvie, “if I’m to take this, as -I suppose, as a proposal of marriage to Effie. She is young, and you are -but young for that responsibility; and you will understand, of course, -that I would never force her inclinations.” - -“Good heavens, sir,” cried the young fellow, starting to his feet, “what -do you take me for?--do you think that I--I----” - -“No, no,” said Mr. Ogilvie, shaking his gray head. “Sit down, my young -friend. There could be no such thing as forcing her inclinations; but -otherwise if your good father and mother approve, there would not, so -far as I can see, be any objections on our part. No, so far as I can -see, there need be no objection. I should like to have an opportunity of -talking it over with my wife. And Effie herself would naturally require -to be consulted: but with these little preliminaries--I have heard -nothing but good of you, and I cannot see that there would be any -objections on our part.” - -At this point the door opened quickly, and Mrs. Ogilvie came in. - -“Well,” she said, “I hope ye have got it over and settled everything: -for, Mr. Fred, Effie is just coming down from the manse, and I thought -you would perhaps like to see her, not under my nose, as people say, but -where ye could have a little freedom. If ye hurry you will meet her -where the road strikes off into the little wood--and that’s a nice -little roundabout, where a great deal can be got through. But come away, -ye must not lose a moment; and afterwards ye can finish your talk with -papa.” - -If Fred could have disappeared through the dingy old carpet, if he could -have melted into thin air, there would have been no more seen of him in -Gilston house that day. But he could not escape his fate. He was hurried -along to a side door, where Mrs. Ogilvie pointed out to him the little -path by which Effie would certainly return home. She almost pushed him -out into the waning afternoon to go and tell his love. - -When he heard the door close behind him and felt himself free and in the -open world, Fred for a moment had the strongest impulse on his mind to -fly. The enthusiasm of his youthful love had been desecrated by all -these odious prefaces, his tender dreams had been dispelled. How could -he say to Effie in words fit for her hearing what he had been compelled -to say to those horrible people to whom she belonged, and to hear resaid -by them in their still more horrible way? He stood for a moment -uncertain whether to go on or turn and fly--feeling ashamed, outraged, -irritated. It seemed an insult to Effie to carry that soiled and -desecrated story for her hearing now. - -But just then she appeared at the opening of the road, unconscious, -coming sweetly along, in maiden meditation, a little touched with -dreams. The sight of her produced another revolution in Fred’s thoughts. -Could it be for him that soft mist that was in her eyes? He went -forward, with his heart beating, to meet her and his fate. - - -END OF VOLUME I. - -ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Effie Ogilvie; vol. 1, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE; VOL. 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 61914-0.txt or 61914-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/1/61914/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Effie Ogilvie; vol. 1 - the story of a young life - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: April 24, 2020 [EBook #61914] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE; VOL. 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="310" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:2px solid gray;padding:1em;"> -<tr><td class="c"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER: I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII.</a> -</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c">E F F I E O G I L V I E.</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="font-size:85%;margin:2em auto;"> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">PUBLISHED BY</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">—</td></tr><tr><td class="c" colspan="2">MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>London</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Hamilton, Adams and Co.</i></td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Cambridge</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Macmillan and Bowes</i>.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Edinburgh</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas and Foulis</i>.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">—</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">MDCCCLXXXVI.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<h1><span class="spc">EFFIE OGILVIE</span>:<br /> - -<i><small><small>THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE</small></small></i>.</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -MRS. OLIPHANT,<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,” ETC.</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -IN TWO VOLUMES.<br /> -<br /> -VOL. I.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -GLASGOW:<br /> -JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS,<br /> -<span class="eng">Publishers to the University</span>.<br /> -<small>LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO.</small><br /> -1 8 8 6.<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span></p> - -<h1><span class="spc">EFFIE OGILVIE</span>:<br /> -<i><small>THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE</small></i>.</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> family consisted of Effie’s father, her stepmother, her brother Eric -who was in the army, and a little personage, the most important of all, -the only child of the second Mrs. Ogilvie, the pet and plaything of the -house. You may think it would have been more respectful and becoming to -reverse this description, and present Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie first to the -notice of the reader, which we shall now proceed to do. The only excuse -we can offer for the irregularity of the beginning consists in the fact -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> it is the nature of their proceedings in respect to the young -people, and particularly to Mr. Ogilvie’s daughter Effie, which induces -us to disturb the decorous veil which hangs over the doors of every -respectable family, in the case of these worthy persons.</p> - -<p>In their own lives, had we time and space to recount all that befell -them, there would, no doubt, be many interesting particulars, as in the -lives of most other people: but when a country gentleman has attained -the age of fifty or a little more, with enough of money for his -necessities, and no more ambition than can be satisfied by the -regulation of the affairs of the parish, it is inevitably through the -fortunes of a son or daughter that he comes within reach of the -sympathies of the world. These troublesome productions, of whom we take -so little thought at first, who are nothing but playthings and -embellishments of our own estate for so many years, have a way of -pushing us out of our commanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> position as the chief actors in our -own lives, setting us aside into a secondary place, and conferring upon -us a quite fictitious interest as influences upon theirs. It is an -impertinence of fate, it is an irony of circumstance; but still it is -so. And it is, consequently, as Effie’s father, a character in which he -by no means knew himself, that Mr. Ogilvie of Gilston, a gentleman as -much respected as any in his county, the chief heritor in his parish, -and a deputy-lieutenant, has now to be presented to the world.</p> - -<p>He was a good man in his way, not perfect, as in the general he was -himself very willing to allow, though he did not, any more than the rest -of us, like that niggling sort of criticism which descends to -particulars. He was a man who would have suffered a little personal -inconvenience rather than do anything which he was convinced was wrong, -which most of us, who are old enough to be acquainted with our own ways, -will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> aware is no small thing to say. But, ordinarily, also like most -of us, his wrong acts were done without taking time to identify them as -wrong, on the spur of the moment, in the heat of a present impulse which -took from them all the sting of premeditation.</p> - -<p>Thus, when he gave good Glen, the virtuous collie, as he came forward -smiling and cheerful, with a remark upon the beauty of the morning -glistening in his bright eyes and waving majestically in his tail, that -sudden kick which sent the good fellow off howling, and oppressed his -soul all day with a sense of crime, Mr. Ogilvie did not do it by -intention, did not come out with the purpose of doing it, but only did -it because he had just got a letter which annoyed him. Glen, who had a -tender conscience, lived half the day under a weight of unnecessary -remorse, convinced that he must himself have done something very wicked, -though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> a confused moral sense and the absence of a recognized code made -him sadly incapable of discovering what it was; but his master had not -the slightest intention of inflicting any such mental torture.</p> - -<p>He treated his human surroundings in something of the same way, -convincing Effie sometimes, by a few well-chosen words, of her own -complete mental and physical incompetency; as, for example, when she ran -into his library to call his attention to something quite unimportant at -the very moment when he was adding up his “sundries,” and had nearly -arrived at a result.</p> - -<p>“If you had any sense of propriety in you, and were not a born idiot -that never can be taught there’s a time for everything, you would know -better than to dart in like a whirlwind in your high heels, and all that -nonsense in your mouth, to drive a man frantic!”</p> - -<p>Effie would withdraw in tears. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> Mr. Ogilvie had not really meant any -harm.</p> - -<p>He had succeeded to his father’s little estate when he was still in his -twenties, and had many aspirations. He had not intended to withdraw from -the bar, although he had few clients to speak of. He had indeed fully -intended to follow up his profession, and it had not seemed impossible -that he might attain to the glorious position of Lord Advocate, or, if -not, to that of Sheriff-Substitute, which was perhaps more probable. But -by degrees, and especially after his marriage, he had found out that -professional work was a great “tie,” and that there were many things to -be done at home.</p> - -<p>His first wife had been the only daughter of the minister, which -concentrated his affections still more and more in his own locality. -When she died, leaving him with two children, who had never been -troublesome to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> him before, the neighbourhood was moved with the deepest -sympathy for poor Ogilvie. Some people even thought he would not survive -it, they had been so united a couple, and lived so entirely for each -other: or, at least, that he would go away, abandoning the scene of his -past happiness.</p> - -<p>But, on the contrary, he stayed at home, paying the tribute of the -profoundest dulness for one year to the lost partner of his life, -cheering up a little decorously afterwards, and at the end of the second -year marrying again. All this was done, it will be seen, in the most -respectable and well-regulated way, as indeed was everything that Mr. -Ogilvie did when he took time to think of it, being actuated by a -conscientious desire to do his duty, and set an example to all honest -and virtuous men.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie was not too young to be the second wife of a gentleman of -fifty. She was “quite suitable,” everybody said—which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> seeing that he -might have married a chit of twenty, as mature widowers have been known -to do, was considered by everybody a virtuous abstinence and concession -to the duties of the position. She was thirty-five, good-looking, even -handsome, and very conscientious. If it was her husband’s virtuous -principle to submit to personal inconvenience rather than do anything -that he knew to be wrong, she went many steps farther in the way of -excellence, and seldom did anything unless she was convinced that it was -right.</p> - -<p>With this high meaning she had come to Gilston, and during the four -years of her reign there had, not sternly—for she was not stern: but -steadily, and she was a woman of great steadiness of mind and -purpose—adhered to it.</p> - -<p>These years had been very important years, as may be supposed, in the -life of the two young people whom Mrs. Ogilvie described as “the first -family.” The boy had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> seventeen and the girl fifteen when she came -home a bride. And their mother had been dead only two years: an age at -which criticism is more uncompromising, or circumstances under which it -would be more difficult to begin married life, could scarcely be. They -gazed at her with two pairs of large eyes, and countenances which did -not seem able to smile, noting everything she did, putting a mute -criticism upon the silent record, objecting dumbly to everything, to her -entrance there at all, to her assumption of their mother’s chair, their -mother’s name, all that was now legally and honourably hers.</p> - -<p>Can any one imagine a more terrible ordeal for a woman to go through? -She confided to her sister afterwards that if she had acted upon -impulse, as Robert, poor dear, so often did, the house would have become -a hell on earth.</p> - -<p>“I would have liked to have put that boy to the door a hundred times a -day: and as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> for Effie!—I never can tell till this day how it was that -I kept my hands off her,” she said, reddening with the recollection of -many exasperations past. Women who have filled the office of stepmother, -aunt, or any other such domestic anomaly, will understand and -sympathize. And yet, of course, there was a great deal to be said on the -other side too.</p> - -<p>The children had heard with an indignation beyond words of their -father’s intention. It had been said to them, with that natural -hypocrisy which is so transparent and almost pardonable, that he took -this step very much for their sakes, to give them a new mother.</p> - -<p>A new mother! Seven and five might have taken this in with wondering -ears and made no remark; but seventeen and fifteen! The boy glowed with -fierce wrath; the girl shed torrents of hot tears. They formed plans of -leaving Gilston at once, going away to seek their fortunes—to America, -to Australia, who could tell where? Effie was certain that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> would -mind no hardship, that she could cook and wash, and do everything in the -hut, while Eric (boys are always so much luckier than girls!) spent the -day in the saddle after the cattle in the ranche.</p> - -<p>Or they would go orange-farming, ostrich-farming—what did it matter -which?—anything, in fact, but stay at home. Money was the great -difficulty in this as in almost all other cases, besides the dreadful -fact that Effie was a girl, a thing which had always been hard upon her -in all their previous adventures, but now more than ever.</p> - -<p>“We might have gone to sea and worked our passages before the mast, if -you had only been a laddie and not a lassie,” Eric said with a sigh and -a profound sense of the general contrariety of events. This unalterable -misfortune, which somehow seemed (though it was she who suffered from it -most) her fault, stopped Effie’s tears, and brought instead a look of -despair into her round face. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> flashed through her mind an idea of -the possibility of neutralizing this disability by means of costume. -Rosalind did so in Shakespeare, and Viola, and so had other heroines in -less distant regions.</p> - -<p>But at the idea of <i>trousers</i> Effie’s countenance flamed, and she -rejected the thought. It was quite possible to endure being unhappy, -even in her small experience she was well aware of that—but unwomanly! -Oh, what would mamma say? That utterance of habit, the words that rose -to her lips without thinking, even now when mamma was about to have a -successor—a new mother! brought back the tears in torrents. She flung -herself upon Eric’s shoulder, and he, poor fellow, gave her with -quivering lips a little furtive kiss, the only consolation he could -think of, though they were not at all used to caressing each other. Poor -children! and yet Mr. Ogilvie had done nothing cruel, and Mrs. Ogilvie -was the best-intentioned woman in the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was lucky that they were found at this critical moment by an -individual who is of great importance in this little record of events, -as he was in the parish and the neighbourhood generally,—that is Uncle -John. He was the minister of Gilston; he was their mother’s brother; and -he was one of the men selected by Providence for the consolation of -their fellow-creatures.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he was not always very wise. He was too much under the sway of -his heart to be infallible in the way of advice, although that heart was -so tender and full of sympathy that it often penetrated secrets which -were undiscoverable to common men. But in his powers of comfort-giving -he was perfect. The very sight of him soothed the angry and softened the -obdurate, and he dried the tears of the young by some inspiration given -to him alone.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” he said in his large soft voice, which was deep -bass and very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> masculine, yet had something in it too of the -wood-pigeon’s brooding tones. They were seated at the foot of a tree in -the little wood that protected Gilston House from the east, on the roots -of the big ash which were like gray curves of rock among the green moss -and the fallen leaves. He came between them, sitting down too, raising -Effie with his arm.</p> - -<p>“But I think I can guess. You are just raging at Providence and your -father, you two ungrateful bairns.”</p> - -<p>“Ungrateful!” cried Effie. She was the most speechless of the two, the -most prostrate, the most impassioned, and therefore was most ready to -reply.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what have we to be grateful for?—our own mamma gone away and we’ll -never see her more; and another woman—another—a Mistress Ogilvie——” -In her rage and despair she pronounced every syllable, with what -bitterness and burning scorn and fury! Uncle John drew her little hands -down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> her face and held them in his own, which were not small, but -very firm, though they were soft.</p> - -<p>“Your own mother was a very good woman, Effie,” said Uncle John.</p> - -<p>The girl paused and looked at him with those fiery eyes which were not -softened, but made more angry, by her tears, not seeing how this bore -upon the present crisis of affairs.</p> - -<p>“Have you any reason to suppose that being herself, as we know she is, -with the Lord whom she loved”—and here Uncle John took off his hat as -if he were saluting the dearest and most revered of friends—“that she -would like you and the rest to be miserable all your lives because she -was away?”</p> - -<p>“Miserable!” cried Effie. “We were not miserable; we were quite happy; -we wanted nothing. Papa may care for new people, but we were happy and -wanted nothing, Eric and me.”</p> - -<p>“Then, my little Effie,” said Uncle John,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> “it is not because of your -own mother that you are looking like a little fury—for you see you have -learned to let her go, and do without her, and be quite contented in a -new way—but only because your father has done the same after his -fashion, and it is not the same way as yours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John, I am not contented,” cried Effie, conscience-stricken; -“I think of mamma every day.”</p> - -<p>“And are quite happy,” he said with a smile, “as you ought to be. God -bless her up yonder, behind the veil. She is not jealous nor angry, but -happy too. And we will be very good friends with Mistress Ogilvie, you -and me. Come and see that everything is ready for her, for she will not -have an easy handful with you two watching her night and day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Though</span> Mr. Moubray said this, it is not to be supposed that he liked his -brother-in-law’s second marriage. It was not in flesh and blood to do -that.</p> - -<p>Gilston House must always be the most important house in that parish to -the minister; for it is at once nearest to the manse, and the house in -which he is most likely to find people who have at least the outside -gloss of education. And he had been used to go there familiarly for -nearly twenty years. He had been a favourite with the old people, Mr. -Ogilvie’s father and mother, and when their son succeeded them he was -already engaged to the minister’s young sister. There was therefore<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> a -daily habit of meeting for nearly a lifetime. The two men had not always -agreed. Indeed it was not in human nature that they should not have -sometimes disagreed strenuously, one being the chief heritor, -restraining every expenditure, and the other the minister, who was -always, by right of his position, wanting to have something done.</p> - -<p>But after all their quarrels they “just ’greed again,” which is the best -and indeed the only policy in such circumstances. And though the laird -would thunder against that “pig-headed fellow, your brother John,” Mrs. -Ogilvie had always been able to smile, knowing that on the other hand -she would hear nothing worse from the minister than a recommendation to -“remind Robert that schoolhouse roofs and manse windows are not -eternal.”</p> - -<p>And then the children had woven another link between the two houses. -Eric had been Uncle John’s pupil since the boy had been old enough to -trot unattended through the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> wood and across the two fields which -separated the manse from the House; and Effie had trotted by his side -when the days were fine, and when she pleased—a still more important -stipulation. They had been the children of the manse almost as much as -of the House.</p> - -<p>The death of the mother had for a time drawn the tie still closer, -Ogilvie in his first desolation throwing himself entirely upon the -succour and help of his brother-in-law; and the young ones clinging with -redoubled tenderness to the kind Uncle John, whom for the first time -they found out to be “so like mamma!” There never was a day in which he -did not appear on his way to his visiting, or to a session meeting, or -some catechising or christening among the hills. They were dependent -upon him, and he upon them. But now this constant association had come -to an end. No, not to an end—that it could never do; but, in all -likelihood, it must now change its conditions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span></p> - -<p>John Moubray was an old bachelor without chick or child: so most people -thought. In reality, he was not a bachelor at all; but his married life -had lasted only a year, and that was nearly thirty years ago! The little -world about might be excused for forgetting—or himself even—for what -is one year out of fifty-four? Perhaps that one year had given him more -insight into the life of men; perhaps it had made him softer, tenderer -to the weak. That mild celibacy, which the Church of Rome has found so -powerful an instrument, was touched perhaps to a more benignant outcome -still in this Scotch minister, by the fact that he had loved like his -fellows, and been as other men in his time, a triumphant bridegroom, a -woman’s husband. But the experience itself was long past, and had left -no trace behind; it was to him as a dream. Often he felt uncertain -whether there had been any reality in it at all—whether it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> was not a -golden vision such as is permitted to youth.</p> - -<p>In these circumstances, it may be supposed that the closing upon him in -any degree of the house which had been his sister’s, which belonged to -the most intimate friend of everyday life, and which was the home of -children who were almost his own children, was very serious to Uncle -John.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie, to do her justice, was anxious to obviate any feeling of -this kind. The very first time he dined there after her marriage, she -took him aside into a corner of the drawing-room, and talked to him -privately.</p> - -<p>“I hope there will be no difference, Mr. Moubray,” she said; “I hope you -will not let it make any difference that I am here.”</p> - -<p>“Difference?” said John, startled a little. He had already felt the -difference, but had made up his mind to it as a thing that must be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know,” said the lady, “that I’m not clever enough to take your -sister’s place; but so far as a good meaning goes, and a real desire to -be a mother to the children, and a friend to you, if you will let me, -nobody could be better disposed than I am, if you will just take me at -my word.”</p> - -<p>The minister was so unprepared for any such speech that he stammered a -little over his reply.</p> - -<p>“My sister,” he said, “had no pretensions to be clever. That was never -the ground my poor Jeanie took up. She was a good woman, and very dear -to——very dear to those she belonged to,” he said, with a huskiness in -his voice.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I say. I come here in a way that is hard upon a woman, -with one before me that I will always be compared to. But this one thing -I must say, that I hope you will come about the house just as often as -you used to do, and in the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> way, coming in whenever it enters your -head to do so, and believing that you are always welcome. Always -welcome. I don’t say I will always be here, for I think it only right to -keep up with society (if it were but for Effie’s sake) more than the -last Mrs. Ogilvie did. But I will never be happy if you don’t come out -and in just in your ordinary, Mr. Moubray, just as you’ve always been -accustomed to do.”</p> - -<p>John Moubray went home after this address with a mingled sense of humour -and vexation and approval. It made him half angry to be invited to his -brother-in-law’s house in this way, as if he required invitation. But, -at the same time, he did not deny that she meant well.</p> - -<p>And she did mean well. She meant to make Effie one of the most complete -of young ladies, and Gilston the model country-seat of a Scots -gentleman. She meant to do her duty to the most minute particular.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> She -meant her husband to be happy, and her children to be clothed in scarlet -and prosperity, and comfort to be diffused around.</p> - -<p>All these preliminaries were long past at the point at which this -narrative begins. Effie had grown up, and Eric was away in India with -his regiment. He had not been intended for a soldier, but whether it was -that Mrs. Ogilvie’s opinion, expressed very frankly, that the army was -the right thing for him, influenced the mind of the family in general, -or whether the lad found the new rule too unlike the old to take much -pleasure in his home, the fact was that he went into the army and -disappeared, to the great grief of Effie and Uncle John, but, so far as -appeared, of no one else, for little Roderick had just been born, and -Mr. Ogilvie was ridiculously delighted with the baby, which seemed to -throw his grown-up son altogether into the shade.</p> - -<p>It need scarcely be said that both before<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> and after this event there -was great trouble and many struggles with Effie, who had been so used to -her own way, Mrs. Ogilvie said, that to train her was a task almost -beyond mortal powers. Yet it had been done. So long as Eric remained at -home, the difficulties had been great.</p> - -<p>And then there was all but the additional drawback of a premature love -story to make matters worse. But that had been happily, silently, -expeditiously smothered in the bud, a triumph of which Mrs. Ogilvie was -so proud that it was with difficulty she kept it from Effie herself; and -she did not attempt to keep it from Mr. Moubray, to whom, after the lads -were safely gone, she confided the fact that young Ronald Sutherland, -who had been constantly about the house before her marriage, and who -since that had spent as much of his time with the brother and sister -out-of-doors as had been possible, had come to Mr. Ogilvie a few days -before his departure<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span>—“What for, can you imagine?” the lady said.</p> - -<p>Now Ronald was a neighbour’s son, the companion by nature of the two -children of Gilston. He had got his commission in the same regiment, and -joined it at the same time as Eric. He was twenty when Eric was -eighteen, so much in advance and no more. The minister could have -divined, perhaps, had he set his wits to the task, but he had no desire -to forestall the explanation, and he shook his head in reply.</p> - -<p>“With a proposal for Effie, if you please!” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and she -only sixteen, not half-educated, nor anything like what I want her to -be. And, if you will believe me, Robert was half-disposed—well, not to -accept it; but to let the boy speak to her, and bring another bonny -business on my hands.”</p> - -<p>“They are too young,” said Uncle John.</p> - -<p>“Too young! They are too—everything that can be thought of—too -ridiculous I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> say. Fortunately Robert spoke to me, and I got him -to make the lad promise not to say a word to Effie or to any one till he -comes back. It will be a long time before he can come back, and who -knows what may happen in the meantime? Too young! There is a great deal -more than being merely too young. I mean Effie to make a much better -match than that.”</p> - -<p>“He is a good boy,” said Mr. Moubray; “if he were older, and perhaps a -little richer, I would not wish a better, for my part.”</p> - -<p>“If all ministers were as unworldly as you!—it is what is sorely wanted -in the Church, as Robert always says. But parents may be pardoned if -they look a little more to interest in the case of their children. I -will very likely never have grown-up daughters of my own. And Effie must -make a good match; I have set my heart on that. She is growing up a -pretty creature, and she will be far more quiet and manageable for her -education now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> that, heaven be praised, those boys are away.”</p> - -<p>“As one of the boys carries a large piece of my heart with him, you will -not expect me to be so pious and so thankful,” the minister said.</p> - -<p>“O Uncle John! I am sure you would like Effie to get the best of -educations. She never would have settled down to it, never! if that lad -had got his way.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Moubray could not say a word against this, for it was all true; but -he could not meet Effie’s wistful eyes when she crept to his side, in -his study or out-of-doors whenever they met, and hung upon his arm, and -asked him where he thought they would be by now? It was Eric chiefly -they were both thinking of, yet Effie unawares said “they.” How far -would they be on their journey? It was not then the quick way such as we -are happily used to now, but a long, long journey round the stormy Cape, -three lingering months<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> of sea, and so long, so long before any news -could come.</p> - -<p>The uncle and niece, who were now more close companions than ever, were -found in the minister’s study one day with a map stretched out before -them, their heads closely bent over it, his all clad with vigorous curls -of gray, hers shining in soft locks of brown, their eyes so intent that -they did not hear the opening door and the rustle of Mrs. Ogilvie’s silk -gown.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing with your heads so close together?” that lady said. -And the two started like guilty things. But Uncle John explained calmly -that Effie was feeble in her geography, and no more was said.</p> - -<p>And so everything settled down. Effie, it was true, was much more -manageable after her brother was away. She had to confine herself to -shorter walks, to give up much of that freedom of movement which a girl -can only be indulged in when she has a brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> by her side. She was -very dull for a time, and rather rebellious; but that too wore out, as -everything will wear out if we but wait long enough.</p> - -<p>And now she was nineteen, on the threshold of her life—a pretty -creature, as her stepmother had said, not a great beauty like those that -bewitch the world when they are seen, which is but rarely. Effie was -pretty as the girls are by dozens, like the flowers, overflowing over -all the face of the country, making it sweet. Her hair and her eyes were -brown, like most other people’s. She was no wonder or prodigy, but fair -and honest and true, a pleasure to behold. And after all those youthful -tribulations she was still a happy girl enough at home.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie, when all was said, was a well-meaning woman. There was no -tyranny nor unkindness in the house.</p> - -<p>So this young soul expanded in the hands of the people who had the care -of it, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> who had cared for it so far well, though not with much -understanding; how it sped in the times of action, and in the crisis -that was approaching, and how far they did their duty by it, we have now -to see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> parish of Gilston is not a wealthy one. It lies not far from the -Borders, where there is much moorland and pasture-land, and not much -high farming. The farmhouses are distant and scattered, the population -small. The greatest house in the district, indeed, stands within its -boundaries, but that was shut up at this moment, and of use to nobody. -There were two or three country houses of the smaller sort scattered -about, at four and five miles’ distance from each other, and a cluster -of dwellings near the church, in which amid a few cottages rose the -solid square house of the doctor, which he called Gowanbrae, and the -cottage of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> the Miss Dempsters, which they called Rosebank.</p> - -<p>The doctor, whose name was Jardine, had a great deal to do, and rode -about the country early and late. The Miss Dempsters had nothing to do -except to keep up a general supervision of the proceedings of the -neighbours and of all that happened in the country side. It was a -supervision not unkind.</p> - -<p>They were good neighbours, always handy and ready in any case of family -affliction or rejoicing. They were ready to lend anything and everything -that might be required—pepper, or a lemon, or cloves, or soap, or any -of the little things that so generally give out before the storeroom is -replenished, when you are out of reach of co-operative stores or -grocers’ shops; or their glass and china, or knives, or lamps—or even a -fine pair of silver candlesticks which they were very proud of—when -their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> neighbours had company: or good advice to any extent, which -sometimes was not wanted.</p> - -<p>It was perhaps because everybody ran to them in case of need that they -were so well acquainted with everybody’s affairs. And then people were -so unreasonable as to find fault and call the Miss Dempsters gossips. It -was undeserved: they spoke ill of nobody unless there was good cause; -they made no mischief: but they did know everything, and they did more -or less superintend the life of the parish, having leisure and unbounded -interest in life.</p> - -<p>The neighbours grumbled and sometimes called them names—old maids, old -cats, and many other pretty titles: which did not prevent them from -borrowing the spoons or the candlesticks, or sending for Miss Robina -when anything happened. Had these excellent ladies died the parish would -have mourned sincerely, and they would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> been universally missed: -but as they were alive and well they were called the old cats. Human -nature is subject to such perversities.</p> - -<p>The rural world in general had thus an affectionate hostility to the -all-seeing, all-knowing, all-aiding ladies of Rosebank; but between them -and Dr. Jardine the feeling was a great deal stronger. Hatred, it was -understood, was not too strong a word. Rosebank stood a little higher -than Gowanbrae: it was raised, indeed, upon a knoll, so that the house, -though in front only one storey, was two storeys behind, and in reality -a much larger house than it looked. The doctor’s house was on the level -of the village, and the Miss Dempsters from their point of vantage -commanded him completely.</p> - -<p>He was of opinion that they watched all his proceedings from the windows -of their drawing-room, which in summer were always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> open, with white -curtains fluttering, and baskets of flowers so arranged that it was -hopeless to attempt to return the inspection. There was a garden bench -on the path that ran in front of the windows, and on fine days Miss -Robina, who was not at all rheumatic, would sit there in order to see -the doctor’s doings more distinctly. So at least the doctor thought.</p> - -<p>“You may say it’s as good as a lady at the head of my table,” said the -doctor. “That old cat counts every bite I put into my mouth. She knows -what Merran has got for my dinner, and watches me eat. I cannot take a -glass of wine, when I’m tired, but they make a note of it.”</p> - -<p>“Then, doctor, you should draw down your blind,” said the minister, who -was always a peacemaker.</p> - -<p>“Me!” cried Dr. Jardine, with a fine Scotch contempt for the other -pronoun. “Me give the old hag that satisfaction. Not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> for the half of -Scotland! I am doing nothing that I am ashamed of, I hope.”</p> - -<p>Miss Robina on her side expressed other views. She had a soft, -slightly-indistinct voice, as if that proverbial butter that “would not -melt in her mouth” was held there when she spoke.</p> - -<p>“It’s a great vexation,” she said, in her placid way, “that we cannot -look out at our own windows without being affronted with the sight of -that hideous house. It’s just an offence: and a man’s house that is -shameless—that will come to the window and take off his dram, and nod -his head as if he were saying, Here’s to ye. It is just an offence,” -Miss Robina said.</p> - -<p>Miss Robina was the youngest. She was a large woman, soft and -imperfectly laced, like a cushion badly stuffed and bulging here and -there. Her hair was still yellow as it had been in her youth, but her -complexion had not worn so well. Her features<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> were large like her -person. Miss Dempster was smaller and gray, which she considered much -more distinguished than the yellow braids of her sister.</p> - -<p>“It’s common to suppose Beenie dyes her hair; but I’m thankful to say -nobody can doubt me,” she would say. “It was very bonny hair when we -were young; but when the face gets old there’s something softening in -the white. I would have everybody gray at our age; not that Beenie -dyes—oh no. She never had that much thought.”</p> - -<p>Miss Beenie was always in the foreground, taking up much more room than -her sister, and able to be out in all weathers. But Miss Dempster, -though rheumatic, and often confined to the house, was the real head of -everything. It was she who took upon her chiefly the care of the manners -of the young people, and especially of Effie Ogilvie, who was the -foremost object<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> of regard, inspection, and criticism to these ladies. -They knew everything about her from her birth. She could not have a -headache without their knowledge (though indeed she gave them little -trouble in this respect, her headaches being few); and as for her -wardrobe, even her new chemises (if the reader will not be shocked) had -to be exhibited to the sisters, who had an exasperating way of -investigating a hem, and inspecting the stitching, which, as they were -partly made by Effie herself, made that young lady’s brow burn.</p> - -<p>“But I approve of your trimmings,” Miss Dempster said; “none of your -common cotton stuff. Take my word for it, a real lace is ten times -thriftier. It will wear and wear—while that rubbish has to be thrown -into the fire.”</p> - -<p>“It was some we had in the house,” Mrs. Ogilvie said; “I could not let -her buy thread lace for her underclothes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh ay, it would be some of her mother’s,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span>” and Miss Robina, with a nod -and a tone which as good as said, “That accounts for it.” And this made -Mrs. Ogilvie indignant too.</p> - -<p>The Miss Dempsters had taken a great interest in Ronald Sutherland. They -knew (of course) how it was that Mrs. Ogilvie so skilfully had baulked -that young hero in his intentions, and they did not approve. The lady -defended herself stoutly.</p> - -<p>“An engagement at sixteen!” she cried, “and with a long-legged lad in a -marching regiment, with not enough money to buy himself shoes.”</p> - -<p>“And how can ye tell,” said Miss Robina, “that she will ever get another -offer? He was a nice lad—and nice lads are not so plentiful as they -were in our days.”</p> - -<p>“For all so plentiful as they were, neither you nor me, Mrs. Ogilvie is -thinking, ever came to that advancement,” said Miss Dempster. “And -that’s true. But I’m not against young engagements, for my part. It is a -great<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> divert to them both, and a very good thing for the young man; -where there’s land and sea between them that they cannot fash their -neighbours I can see no harm in it; and Ronald was a good lad.”</p> - -<p>“Without a penny!”</p> - -<p>“The pennies will come where there’s good conduct and a good heart. And -I would have let her choose for herself. It’s a great divert——”</p> - -<p>“I must do my own business my own way, Miss Dempster, and I think I am -the best judge of what is good for Effie. I and her father.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no doubt—you, and her father; her mother might have been of a -different opinion. But that’s neither here nor there, for the poor thing -is dead and gone.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Sarah,” said Miss Robina, “it’s to be hoped so, or the laird, -honest man, would be in a sad position, and our friend here no better. -It’s unbecoming to discourse in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> loose way. No, no; we are meaning -no interference. We’ve no right. We are not even cousins or kinswomen, -only old friends. But Ronald, ye see—Ronald is a kind of connection. We -are wae for Ronald, poor lad. But he’s young, and there’s plenty of -time, and there’s no saying what may happen.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing shall happen if I can help it; and I hope there will not be a -word said to put anything in Effie’s head,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. And ever -since this discussion she had been more severe than ever against the two -old ladies.</p> - -<p>“Take care that ye put no confidence in them,” she said to her -stepdaughter. “They can be very sweet when it suits their purpose. But I -put no faith in them. They will set you against your duties—they will -set you against me. No doubt I’m not your mother: but I have always -tried to do my duty by you.”</p> - -<p>Effie had replied with a few words of ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span>knowledgment. Mrs. Ogilvie was -always very kind. It was Uncle John’s conviction, which had a great deal -of weight with the girl, that she meant sincerely to do her duty, as she -said. But, nevertheless, the doors of Effie’s heart would not open; they -yielded a little, just enough to warrant her in feeling that she had not -closed them, but that was all.</p> - -<p>She was much more at ease with the Miss Dempsters than with her -stepmother. Her relations with them were quite simple. They had scolded -her and questioned her all her life, and she did not mind what they said -to her. Sometimes she would blaze into sudden resentment and cry, or -else avenge herself with a few hot words. But as there was no bond of -duty in respect to her old friends, there was perfect freedom in their -intercourse. If they hurt her she cried out. But when Mrs. Ogilvie hurt -her she was silent and thought the more.</p> - -<p>Effie was just nineteen when it began to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> rumoured over the country -that the mansion-house of Allonby was let. There was no place like it -within twenty miles. It was an old house, with the remains of a house -still older by its side—a proof that the Allonbies had been in the -countryside since the old days when life so near the Border was full of -disturbance.</p> - -<p>The house lay low on the side of a stream, which, after it had passed -decorously by the green lawns and park, ran into a dell which was famed -far and near. It was in itself a beautiful little ravine, richly wooded, -in the midst of a country not very rich in wood; and at the opening of -the dell or dene, as they called it, was one of those little lonely -churchyards which are so pathetic in Scotland, burying-places of the -past, which are to be found in the strangest unexpected places, -sometimes without any trace of the protecting chapel which in the old -times must have consecrated their loneliness and kept the dead like a -faithful watcher.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></p> - -<p>In the midst of this little cluster of graves there were, however, the -ruins of a humble little church very primitive and old, which, but for -one corner of masonry with a small lancet window still standing, would -have looked like a mound somewhat larger than the rest; and in the -shadow of the ruin was a tombstone, with an inscription which recorded -an old tragedy of love and death; and this it was which brought pilgrims -to visit the little shrine.</p> - -<p>The proprietor of the house was an old Lady Allonby, widowed and -childless, who had long lived in Italy, and was very unlikely ever to -return; consequently it made a great excitement in Gilston when it -became known that at last she had been persuaded to let her house, and -that a very rich family, a very gay family, people with plenty of money, -and the most liberal inclinations in the way of spending, were coming to -Allonby.</p> - -<p>They were people who had been in busi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span>ness, rich people, people from -London. There were at least one son and some daughters. The inhabitants -of the smaller houses, the Ogilvies, the Johnstons, the Hopes, and even -the Miss Dempsters—all the families who considered themselves county -people,—had great talks and consultations as to whether they should -call. There were some who thought it was their duty to Lady Allonby, as -an old friend and neighbour; and there were some who thought it a duty -to themselves.</p> - -<p>The Diroms, which was the name of the strangers, were not in any case -people to be ignored. They gave, it was said, everything that could be -given in the way of entertainment; the sons and the daughters at least, -if not the father and mother, were well educated.</p> - -<p>But there were a few people who were not convinced by these arguments. -The Miss Dempsters stood in the front of this resisting party. They did -not care for entertainments,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> and they did not like <i>parvenoos</i>. The -doctor on the other hand, who had not much family to brag of, went to -Allonby at once. He said, in his rough way, that it was a providence -there was so much influenza fleeing about, which had made it necessary -to send for him so soon.</p> - -<p>“I went, you may be sure, as fast as Bess’s four legs could carry me. -I’m of opinion there are many guineas for me lying about there, and it -would be disgraceful not to take them,” the doctor said with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“There’s no guineas in the question for Beenie and me,” said Miss -Dempster. “I’m thinking we’ll keep our view of the question. I’m not -fond of new people, and I think Lady Allonby, after staying so long -away, might just have stayed to the end, and let the heirs do what they -liked. She cannot want the money; and it’s just an abomination to put -strange folk in the house of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> fathers; and folk that would have -been sent down to the servants’ hall in other days.”</p> - -<p>“Not so bad as that,” said the minister, “unless perhaps you are going -back to feudal times. Money has always had its acknowledgment in modern -society—and has paid for it sweetly.”</p> - -<p>“We will give it no acknowledgment,” said the old lady. “We’re but -little likely to be the better for their money.”</p> - -<p>This conversation took place at a little dinner in Gilston House, -convened, in fact, for the settlement of the question.</p> - -<p>“That accounts for the difference of opinion,” said the doctor. “I’ll be -a great deal the better for their money; and I’m not minding about the -blood—so long as they’ll keep it cool with my prescriptions,” he added, -with a laugh. He was a coarse man, as the Rosebank ladies knew, and what -could you expect?</p> - -<p>“There is one thing,” said Mrs. Ogilvie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> “that has a great effect upon -me, and that is, that there are young people in the house. There are not -many young people in the neighbourhood, which is a great disadvantage -for Effie. It would be a fine thing for her to have some companions of -her own age. But I would like to hear something more about the family. -Can anybody tell me who <i>she</i> was? The man may be a <i>parvenoo</i>, but -these sort of persons sometimes get very nice wives. There was a friend -of my sister’s that married a person of the name of Dirom. And she was a -Maitland: so there is no telling.”</p> - -<p>“There are Maitlands and Maitlands,” said Miss Robina. “It’s a very good -name: but our niece that is married in the north had a butler that was -John Maitland. I said she should just call him John. But he did not like -that. And then there was a joke that they would call him Lauderdale. But -the man was just very much offended, and said the name was his own name, -as much<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> as if was a duke: in which, no doubt, he was right.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way with all Scots names,” said her sister. “There are -Dempsters that I would not hire to wait at my table. We are not setting -up to be better than our neighbours. I’m not standing on a name. But I -would not encourage these mere monied folk to come into a quiet -neighbourhood, and flaunt their big purses in our faces. They’ll spoil -the servants, they’ll learn the common folk ill ways. That’s always what -happens. Ye’ll see the very chickens will be dearer, and Nancy Miller at -the shop will set up her saucy face, and tell ye they’re all ordered for -Allonby; so they shall have no countenance from me.”</p> - -<p>“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we have plenty of -chickens of our own: I seldom need to buy. And then there is Effie to -take into consideration. They will be giving balls and parties. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> have -Effie to think of. I am thinking I will have to go.”</p> - -<p>“I hope Effie will keep them at a distance,” said Miss Robina. Effie -heard this discussion without taking any part in it. She had no -objection to balls and parties, and there was in her mind the vague -excitement with which a girl always hears of possible companions of her -own age.</p> - -<p>What might be coming with them? new adventures, new experiences, eternal -friendship perhaps—perhaps—who can tell what? Whether the mother was a -Maitland or the father a <i>parvenoo</i>, as the ladies said, it mattered -little to Effie. She had few companions, and her heart was all on the -side of the new people with a thoughtlessness in respect to their -antecedents which perhaps was culpable.</p> - -<p>But then Effie was but nineteen, which made a difference, Miss Robina -herself was the first to allow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">We</span> will just go without waiting any longer,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “We are -their nearest neighbours—and they will take it kind if we lose no time. -As for these old cats, it will be little matter to the Diroms what they -do—but your papa, that is a different affair. It can do no harm, for -everybody knows who <i>we</i> are, Effie, and it may do good. So we will be -on the safe side, whatever happens. And there is nothing much doing for -the horses to-day. Be you ready at three o’clock, and we will take Rory -in the carriage for a drive.”</p> - -<p>Effie obeyed her stepmother with alacrity. She had not taken any part in -the argument, but her imagination had found a great deal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> to say. She -had seen the young Diroms out riding. She had seen them at church. There -were two girls about her own age, and there was a brother. The brother -was of quite secondary importance, she said to herself; nevertheless, -there are always peradventures in the air, and when one thinks that at -any moment one’s predestined companion—he whom heaven intends, whatever -men may think or say—may walk round the corner!</p> - -<p>The image of Ronald, which had never been very deeply imprinted, had -faded out of Effie’s imagination. It had never reached any farther than -her imagination. And in her little excitement and the pleasurable -quickening of her pulsations, as she set out upon this drive with her -stepmother, there was that vague sense that there was no telling what -might come of it which gives zest to the proceedings of youth. It was -the nearest approach to setting out upon a career of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> adventure which -had ever fallen to Effie’s share. She was going to discover a world. She -was a new little Columbus, setting her sail towards the unknown.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie ran on all the way with a sort of monologue, every sentence -of which began with, “I wonder.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, I wish I could have found out who <i>she</i> was. I wonder if it -will turn out to be my sister’s friend. She was a great deal older than -I am, of course, and might very well have grown-up sons and daughters. -For Mary is the eldest of us all, and if she had ever had any children, -they would have been grown up by this time. We will see whether she will -say anything about Mary. And I wonder if you will like the girls. They -will always have been accustomed to more luxury than would be at all -becoming to a country gentleman’s daughter like you. And I wonder if the -young man—the brother—will be always at Allonby. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> will have to ask -them to their dinner. And I wonder——” But here Mrs. Ogilvie’s -wonderings were cut short on her lips; and so great was her astonishment -that her lips dropped apart, and she sat gaping, incapable of speech.</p> - -<p>“I declare!” she cried at last, and could say no more. The cause of this -consternation was that, as they entered the avenue of Allonby, another -vehicle met them coming down. And this turned out to be the carriage -from the inn, which was the only one to be had for ten miles round, -conveying Miss Dempster and Miss Beenie, in their best apparel. The -Gilston coachman stopped, as was natural, and so did the driver of the -cab.</p> - -<p>“Well,” cried Miss Dempster, waving her hand, “ye are going, I see, -after all. We’ve just been having our lunch with them. Since it was to -be done, it was just as well to do it in good time. And a very nice -luncheon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> it was, and nicely set upon the table, that I must say—but -how can you wonder, with such a number of servants! If they’re not good -for that, they’re good for nothing. There was just too much, a great -deal too much, upon the table; and a fine set-out of plate, and——”</p> - -<p>“Sarah, Mrs. Ogilvie is not minding about that.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ogilvie is like other folk, and likes to hear our first -impressions. And, Effie, you will need just to trim up your beaver; for, -though they are not what you can call fine, they are in the flower of -the fashion. We’ll keep you no longer. Sandy, you may drive on. Eh! -no—stop a moment,” cried the old lady, flourishing her umbrella.</p> - -<p>The Gilston coachman had put his horses in motion also; so that when the -two carriages were checked again, it was obliquely and from a distance, -raising her voice, that Miss Dempster shouted this piece of -inform<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span>ation: “Ye’ll be gratified to hear that she <i>was</i> a Miss -Maitland,” the old lady cried.</p> - -<p>“Well, if ever I heard the like!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, as they went on. -“There to their lunch, after vowing they would never give their -countenance——! That shows how little you can trust even your nearest -neighbours. They are just two old cats! But I am glad she is the person -I thought. As Mary’s sister, I will have a different kind of a standing -from ordinary strangers, and you will profit by that, Effie. I would not -wonder if you found them a great acquisition; and your father and me, we -would be very well pleased. We’ve heard nothing about the gentlemen of -the house. I wonder if they’re always at home. As I was saying, I wonder -if that brother of theirs is an idle man about the place, like so many. -I’m not fond of idle men. I wonder——”</p> - -<p>And for twenty minutes more Mrs. Ogilvie continued wondering, until the -carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> drew up at the door of Allonby, which was open, admitting a -view of a couple of fine footmen and two large dogs, which last got up -and came forward with lazy cordiality to welcome the visitors.</p> - -<p>“Dear me!” Mrs. Ogilvie said aside. “I am always distressed with Glen -for lying at the door. I wonder if it can be the fashion. I wonder——”</p> - -<p>There was time for these remarks, for there was a long corridor to go -through before a door was softly opened, and the ladies found -themselves, much to their surprise, in what Mrs. Ogilvie afterwards -called “the dark.” It was a room carefully shaded to that twilight which -is dear at the present period to fashionable eyes. The sun is never too -overpowering at Gilston; but the Miss Diroms were young women of their -generation, and scorned to discriminate. They had sunblinds without and -curtains within, so that the light was tem<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span>pered into an obscurity in -which the robust eyes of country people, coming out of that broad vulgar -daylight to which they were accustomed, could at first distinguish -nothing.</p> - -<p>Effie’s young and credulous imagination was in a quiver of anticipation, -admiration, and wonder. It was all new to her—the great house, the -well-regulated silence, the poetic gloom. She held her breath, expecting -what might next be revealed to her, with the awe and entranced and -wondering satisfaction of a novice about to be initiated. The noiseless -figures that rose and came forward and with a soft pressure of her hand, -two of them mistily white, the other (only the mother, who didn’t count) -dark, impressed her beyond description.</p> - -<p>The only thing that a little diminished the spell was the voices, more -highly pitched than those native to the district, in unaccustomed -modulations of “high English.” Effie murmured quite unconsciously an -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span>distinct “Very well, thank you” in answer to their greetings, and -then they all sat down, and it became gradually possible to see.</p> - -<p>The two Miss Diroms were tall and had what are called fine figures. They -came and sat on either side of Effie, one clasping her hands round her -knees, the other leaning back in a corner of the deep sofa with her head -against a cushion. The sofa and the cushion were covered with yellow -damask, against which the white dress made a pretty harmony, as Effie’s -eyes got accustomed to the dimness. But Effie, sitting very straight and -properly in her chair, was much bewildered by the ease with which one -young lady threw her arms over her head, and the other clasped them -round her knees.</p> - -<p>“How good of you to come!” said the one on the sofa, who was the eldest. -“We were wondering if you would call.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“We saw you at church on Sunday,” said the other, “and we thought you -looked so nice. What a funny little church! I suppose we ought to say -k’k.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Ogilvie will tell us what to say, and how to talk to the natives. -Do tell us. We have been half over the world, but never in Scotland -before.”</p> - -<p>“Oh then, you will perhaps have been in India,” said Effie; “my brother -is there.”</p> - -<p>“Is he in the army? Of course, all Scotch people have sons in the army. -Oh no, we’ve never been in India.”</p> - -<p>“India,” said the other, “is not in the world—it’s outside. We’ve been -everywhere where people go. Is he coming back soon? Is he good at tennis -and that sort of thing? Do you play a great deal here?”</p> - -<p>“They do at Lochlee,” said Effie, “and at Kirkconnel: but not me. For I -have nobody to play with.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Poor little thing!” said the young lady on the sofa, patting her on the -arm: and then they both laughed, while Effie grew crimson with shy pride -and confusion. She did not see what she had said that was laughable; but -it was evident that they did, and this is not an agreeable sensation -even to a little girl.</p> - -<p>“You shall come here and play,” said the other. “We are having a new -court made. And Fred—where is Fred, Phyll?—Fred will be so pleased to -have such a pretty little thing to play with.”</p> - -<p>“How should I know where he is?—mooning about somewhere, sketching or -something.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Effie, “do you sketch?” Perhaps she was secretly mollified, -though she said to herself that she was yet more offended, by being -called a pretty little thing.</p> - -<p>“Not I; but my brother, that is Fred:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> and I am Phyllis, and she is -Doris. Now tell us your name, for we can’t go on calling each other -Miss, can we? Such near neighbours as we are, and going to see so much -of each other.”</p> - -<p>“No, of course we can’t go on saying Miss. What should you say was her -name, Phyll? Let us guess. People are always like their names. I should -say Violet.”</p> - -<p>“Dear no, such a mawkish little sentimental name. She is not sentimental -at all—are you? What is an Ogilvie name? You have all family names in -Scotland, haven’t you, that go from mother to daughter?”</p> - -<p>Effie sat confused while they talked over her. She was not accustomed to -this sudden familiarity. To call the girls by their names, when she -scarcely had formed their acquaintance, seemed terrible to -her—alarming, yet pleasant too. She blushed, yet felt it was time to -stop the discussion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span></p> - -<p>“They call me Effie,” she said. “That is not all my name, but it is my -name at home.”</p> - -<p>“They call me Effie,” repeated Miss Doris, with a faint mockery in her -tone; “what a pretty way of saying it, just like the Italians! If you -are going to be so conscientious as that, I wasn’t christened Doris, I -must tell you: but I was determined Phyll should not have all the luck. -We are quite eighteenth century here—furniture and all.”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t see the furniture,” said Effie, making for the first time -an original remark. “Do you like to sit in the dark?”</p> - -<p>At this both the sisters laughed again, and said that she was a most -amusing little thing. “But don’t say that to mamma, or it will quite -strengthen her in her rebellion. She would like to sit in the sun, I -believe. She was brought up in the barbarous ages, and doesn’t know any -better. There she is moving off into the other room with your mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> -Now the two old ladies will put their heads together——”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ogilvie is not an old lady,” said Effie hastily; “she is my -stepmother. She is almost as young as——” Here she paused, with a -glance at Miss Phyllis on the sofa, who was still lying back with her -head against the cushion. Effie felt instinctively that it would not be -wise to finish her sentence. “She is a great deal younger than you would -suppose,” she added, once more a little confused.</p> - -<p>“That explains why you are in such good order. Have you to do what she -tells you? Mamma is much better than that—we have her very well in -hand. Oh, you are not going yet. It is impossible. There must be tea -before you go. Mamma likes everybody to have something. And then -Fred—you must see Fred—or at least he must see you——”</p> - -<p>“Here he is,” said the other, with a sudden grasp of Effie’s arm.</p> - -<p>Effie was much startled by this call upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> her attention. She turned -round hastily, following the movement of her new friends. There could -not have been a more dramatic appearance. Fred was coming in by a door -at the end of the room. He had lifted a curtain which hung over it, and -stood in the dim light outside holding back the heavy folds—looking, it -appeared, into the gloom to see if any one was there.</p> - -<p>Naturally, coming out of the daylight his eyes at first made out -nothing, and he stood for some time in this highly effective attitude—a -spectacle which was not unworthy a maiden’s eye. He was tall and slim -like his sisters, dark, almost olive in his complexion, with black hair -clustering closely in innumerable little curls about his head. He was -dressed in a gray morning suit, with a red tie, which was the only spot -of colour visible, and had a great effect. He peered into the gloom, -curving his eyelids as if he had been shortsighted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span></p> - -<p>Then, when sufficient time had elapsed to fix his sight upon Effie’s -sensitive imagination like a sun picture, he spoke: “Are any of you -girls there?” This was all, and it was not much that Fred said. He was -answered by a chorus of laughter from his sisters. They were very fond -of laughing, Effie thought.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, some of us girls are here—three of us. You can come in and be -presented,” Phyllis said.</p> - -<p>“If you think you are worthy of it,” said Doris, once more grasping -Effie’s arm.</p> - -<p>They had all held their breath a little when the hero thus dramatically -presented himself. Doris had kept her hand on Effie’s wrist; perhaps -because she wished to feel those little pulses jump, or else it was -because of that inevitable peradventure which presented itself to them -too, as it had done to Effie. This was the first meeting, but how it -might end, or what it might lead to, who could tell? The girls, though -they were so unlike each other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> all three held their breath. And then -the sisters laughed as he approached, and the little excitement dropped.</p> - -<p>“I wish you wouldn’t sit in the dark,” said Fred, dropping the curtain -behind him as he entered. “I can’t see where you are sitting, and if I -am not so respectful as I ought to be, I hope I may be forgiven, for I -can see nothing. Oh, here you are!”</p> - -<p>“It is not the princess; you are not expected to go on your knees,” said -his sisters, while Effie once more felt herself blush furiously at being -the subject of the conversation. “You are going to be presented to Miss -Ogilvie—don’t you know the young lady in white?—oh, of course, you -remember. Effie, my brother Fred. And now you know us all, and we are -going to be the best of friends.”</p> - -<p>“This is very familiar,” said Fred. “Miss Ogilvie, you must not visit it -upon me if Phyll and Dor are exasperating. They always are. But when you -come to know them they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> are not so bad as you might think. They have it -all their own way in this house. It has always been the habit of the -family to let the girls have their own way—and we find it works well on -the whole, though in point of manners it may leave something to be -desired.”</p> - -<p>He had thrown himself carelessly on the sofa beside his sister as he -spoke. Effie sat very still and erect on her chair and listened with a -dismay and amazement which it would be hard to put into words. She did -not know what to say to this strange group. She was afraid of them, -brother and sisters and altogether. It was the greatest relief to her -when Mrs. Ogilvie returned into the room again, discoursing in very -audible tones with the mistress of the house.</p> - -<p>“I am sure I am very glad to have met with you,” Mrs. Ogilvie was -saying. “They will be so pleased to hear everything. Poor thing! she is -but lonely, with no children<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> about her, and her husband dead this five -years and more. He was a great loss to her—the kindest man, and always -at her call. But we must just make up our mind to take the bitter with -the sweet in this life. Effie, where are you? We must really be going. -We have Rory, that is my little boy, with us in the carriage, and he -will be getting very tired of waiting. I hope it will not be long before -we see you at Gilston. Good-bye, Mrs. Dirom; Effie, I hope you have said -to the young ladies that we will be glad to see them—and you too,” -giving her hand to Fred—“you especially, for we have but few young men -in the country.”</p> - -<p>“I accept your invitation as a compliment to the genus young man, Mrs. -Ogilvie—not to me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that is true,” she said with a laugh; “but I am sure, from what I -can see of you, it will soon be as particular as you could wish. Young -people are a great want just in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> corner of the country. Effie, poor -thing, has felt it all her life: but I hope better things will be coming -for her now.”</p> - -<p>“She shall not be lonely if we can help it,” said the sisters. They -kissed her as they parted, as if they had known her for years, and -called her “dear Effie!” waving their hands to her as she disappeared -into the light. They did not go out to the door with the visitors, as -Effie in the circumstances would have done, but yet sent her away -dazzled by their affectionateness, their offers of regard.</p> - -<p>She felt another creature, a girl with friends, a member of society, as -she drove away. What a thing it is to have friends! She had been assured -often by her stepmother that she was a happy girl to have so many people -who took an interest in her, and would always be glad to give her good -advice. Effie knew where to lay her hand upon a great deal of good -advice at any moment;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> but that is not everything that is required in -life.</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris! they were like names out of a book, and it was like a -picture in her memory, the slim figure in white sunk deep in the yellow -damask of the sofa, with her dark hair relieved against the big soft -puffy cushion. Exactly like a picture; whereas Effie herself had sat -straight up like a little country girl. Mrs. Ogilvie ran on like a -purling stream as they drove home, expressing her satisfaction that it -was Mary’s friend who was the mistress of the house, and describing all -the varieties of feeling in her own mind on the subject—her conviction -that this was almost too good to be true, and just more fortunate than -could be hoped.</p> - -<p>But Effie listened, and paid no attention. She had a world of her own -now to escape into. Would she ever be bold enough to call them Phyllis -and Doris?—and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span> Fred—but nobody surely would expect her to call -him Fred.</p> - -<p>Effie was disturbed in these delightful thoughts, and Mrs. Ogilvie’s -monologue was suddenly broken in upon by a sound of horses’ hoofs, and a -dust and commotion upon the road, followed by the apparition of Dr. -Jardine’s mare, with her head almost into the carriage window on Effie’s -side. The doctor’s head above the mare’s was pale. There was foam on his -lips, and he carried his riding whip short and savagely, as if he meant -to strike some one.</p> - -<p>“Tell me just one thing,” he said, without any preliminary greetings; -“have these women been there?”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, doctor, what a fright you have given me. Is anything wrong -with Robert; has anything happened? Bless me, the women! what women? You -have just taken my breath away.”</p> - -<p>“These confounded women that spoil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> everything—will ye let me know if -they were there?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the Miss —— Well, yes—I was as much surprised as you, doctor. -With their best bonnets on, and all in state in Mr. Ewing’s carriage; -they were there to their lunch.”</p> - -<p>The doctor swore a solemn oath—by——! something which he did not say, -which is always a safe proceeding.</p> - -<p>“You’ll excuse me for stopping you, but I could not believe it. The old -cats! And to their lunch!” At this he gave a loud laugh. “They’re just -inconceivable!” And rode away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> acquaintance thus formed between the houses of Allonby and Gilston -was followed by much and close intercourse. In the natural order of -things, there came two dinner parties, the first of which was given by -Mrs. Ogilvie, and was a very elaborate business. The lady of Gilston -began her preparations as soon as she returned from that first momentous -call. She spent a long time going over the list of possible guests, -making marks upon the sheet of paper on which Effie had written out the -names.</p> - -<p>“Johnstones—three—no, but that will never do. Him and her we must -have, of course: but Mary must just stay at home,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> or come after dinner; -where am I to get a gentleman for her? There will have to be two extra -gentlemen anyway for Effie, and one of the Miss Diroms. Do ye think I’m -just made of men? No, no, Mary Johnstone will have to stay at home. The -Duncans?—well, he’s cousin to the Marquis, and that is always -something; but he’s a foolish creature, and his wife is not much better. -Mrs. Heron and Sir John—Oh, yes; she is just a credit to see at your -table, with her diamonds; and though he is rather doited, poor man, he -is a great person in the county. Well, and what do you say to the -Smiths? They’re nobody in particular, so far as birth goes; but the -country is getting so dreadfully democratic that what does that matter? -And they’re monied people like the Diroms themselves, and Lady Smith has -a great deal to say for herself. We will put down the Smiths. But, -Effie, there is one thing that just drives me to despair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Effie, looking up from the list; “and what is that?”</p> - -<p>“The Miss Dempsters!” cried her stepmother in a tone which might have -touched the hardest heart. That was a question indeed. The Miss -Dempsters would have to be asked for the loan of their forks and spoons, -and their large lamp, and <i>both</i> the silver candlesticks. How after that -would it be possible to leave them out? And how put them in? And how -provide two other men to balance the old ladies? Such questions as these -are enough to turn any woman’s hair gray, as Mrs. Ogilvie said.</p> - -<p>Then when that was settled there came the bill of fare. The entire -village knew days before what there was to be for dinner, and about the -fish that was sent for from Dumfries, and did not turn out all that -could have been wished, so that at the last moment a mere common salmon -from Solway, a thing made no account of, had to be put in the pot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Moffatt at the shop had a sight of the pastry, which was “just -remarkable” she said. And a dozen little groups were admitted on the -afternoon of the great day to see the table set out, all covered with -flowers, with the napkins like snowy turrets round the edge, and the -silver and crystal shining. The Ogilvies possessed an epergne won at -some racing meeting long before, which was a great work of art, all in -frosted silver,—a huntsman standing between a leash of dogs; and this, -with the Dempster candlesticks on each side, made a brilliant centre. -And the schoolmaster recorded afterwards amid his notes of the rainfall -and other interesting pieces of information, that the fine smell of the -cooking came as far as the school, and distracted the bairns at their -lessons, causing that melting sensation in the jaws which is described -by the country folk as watering of the mouth.</p> - -<p>Effie was busy all the morning with the flowers, with writing out little -cards for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> guests’ names, and other such ornamental arrangements.</p> - -<p>Glen, confused in his mind and full of curiosity, followed her about -everywhere, softly waving his great tail like a fan, sweeping off a -light article here and there from the crowded tables, and asking in his -superior doggish way, what all this fuss and excitement (which he rather -enjoyed on the whole) was about? till somebody sent him away with a kick -and an adjuration as being “in everybody’s gait”—which was a sad end to -his impartial and interested spectatorship.</p> - -<p>Little Rory toddled at his sister’s heels on the same errand, but could -not be kicked like Glen—and altogether there was a great deal of -confusion. But you never would have divined this when Mrs. Ogilvie came -sweeping down stairs in her pink silk, as if the dinner had all been -arranged by her major-domo, and she had never argued with the cook in -her life.</p> - -<p>It may easily be supposed that the members<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> of the family had little -time to compare notes while their guests remained. And it was not till -the last carriage had rolled away and the lady of the house had made her -last smiling protestation that it was still just ridiculously early, -that this meritorious woman threw herself into her favourite corner of -the sofa, with a profound sigh of pleasure and relief.</p> - -<p>“Well!” she said, and repeated that long-drawn breath of satisfaction. -“Well!—it’s been a terrible trouble; but I cannot say but I’m -thoroughly content and pleased now that it’s past.”</p> - -<p>To this her husband, standing in front of the expiring fire (for even in -August a little fire in the evening is not inappropriate on the Border), -replied with a suppressed growl.</p> - -<p>“You’re easy pleased,” he said, “but why ye should take all this trouble -to fill people with good things, as the Scripture says, that are not -hungry and don’t want them—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robert, just you hold your peace!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> You’re always very well pleased -to go out to your dinner. And as for the Allonby family, it was a clear -duty. When you speak of Scripture you surely forget that we’re bidden to -entertain strangers unawares. No, that’s not just right, it’s angels we -entertain unawares.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no angels in that house, or I am mistaken,” said Mr. Ogilvie.</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s two very well-dressed girls, which is the nearest to it: -and there’s another person, that may turn out even more important.”</p> - -<p>“And who may that be?”</p> - -<p>“Whist,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, holding up a finger of admonition as the -others approached. “Well, Uncle John! And Effie, come you here and rest. -Poor thing, you’re done out. Now I would like to have your frank -opinion. Mine is that though it took a great deal of trouble, it’s been -a great success.”</p> - -<p>“The salmon was excellent,” said Mr. Moubray.</p> - -<p>“And the table looked very pretty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And yon grouse were not bad at all.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, throwing up her hands, “ye tiresome people! Am -I thinking of the salmon or the grouse; was there any chance they would -be bad in <i>my</i> house? I am meaning the party: and my opinion is that -everybody was just very well pleased, and that everything went off to a -wish.”</p> - -<p>“That woman Lady Smith has a tongue that would deave a miller,” said the -master of the house. “I request you will put her at a distance from me, -Janet, if she ever dines here again.”</p> - -<p>“And what will you do when she asks us?” cried his wife. “If she gives -you anything but her right hand—my word! but you will be ill pleased.”</p> - -<p>To this argument her husband had no reply handy, and after a moment she -resumed—</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to see you are going to be such friends with the Diroms, -Effie; they’re fine girls. Miss Doris, as they call<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> her, might have had -her dress a little higher, but no doubt that’s the fault of those grand -dressmakers that will have their own way. But the one I like is Mr. -Fred. He is a very fine lad; he takes nothing upon him.”</p> - -<p>“What should he take upon him? He’s nothing or nobody, but only a rich -man’s son.”</p> - -<p>“Robert, you are just the most bigoted, inconsiderate person! Well, I -think it’s very difficult when you are just a rich person to be modest -and young like yon. If you are a young duke that’s different; but to -have nothing but money to stand upon—and not to stand upon that—”</p> - -<p>“It is very well said,” said Uncle John, making her a bow. “There’s both -charity and observation in what Mrs. Ogilvie says.”</p> - -<p>“Is there not?” cried the lady in a flush of pleasure. “Oh no, I’m not -meaning it is clever of me; but when a young man has nothing else, and -is just pleasant, and never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> seems to mind, but singles out a bit little -thing of a girl in a white frock—”</p> - -<p>This made them all look at Effie, who as yet said nothing. She was -leaning back in the other corner, tired yet flushed with the pleasure -and novelty of finding herself so important a person. Her white frock -was very simple, but yet it was the best she had ever had; and never -before had Effie been “singled out,” as her stepmother said. The dinner -party was a great event to her. Nothing so important had occurred -before, nothing in which she herself had been so prominent. A pretty -flush of colour came over her face.</p> - -<p>There had been a great deal in Fred Dirom’s eyes which was quite new, -mysterious, and even, in its novelty, delightful to Effie. She could -scarcely help laughing at the recollection, and yet it made a warmth -about her heart. To be flattered in that silent way—not by any mere -compliment, but by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> the homage of a pair of eloquent eyes—is startling, -strange, never unsweet to a girl. It is a more subtle coming of age than -any birthday can bring. It shows that she has passed out of the band of -little girls into that of those young princesses whom all the poets have -combined to praise. This first sensation of the awakening consciousness -has something exquisite in it not to be put into words.</p> - -<p>Her blush grew deeper as she saw the group round all looking at her—her -stepmother with a laugh of satisfaction, her father with a glance in -which the usual drawing together of his shaggy eyebrows was a very poor -simulation of a frown, and Uncle John with a liquid look of tender -sympathy not unmingled with tender ridicule and full of love withal.</p> - -<p>“Why do you all look at me like that?” Effie cried, to throw off the -growing embarrassment. “I am not the only one that had a white frock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, I would not call yon a white frock that was drooping off Doris -Dirom’s shoulders,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we’ll say no more about -that. So far as I could see, everybody was pleased: and they stayed a -most unconscionable time. Bless me! it’s past eleven o’clock. A little -license may always be given on a great occasion; but though it’s a -pleasure to talk it all over, and everything has been just a great -success, I think, Effie, you should go to your bed. It’s later than your -ordinary, and you have been about the most of the day. Good-night, my -dear. You looked very nice, and your flowers were just beautiful: -everybody was speaking of them, and I gave the credit where it was due.”</p> - -<p>“It is time for me to go too,” said Uncle John.</p> - -<p>“Oh, wait a moment.” Mrs. Ogilvie waited till Effie had gone out of the -room with her candle, very tired, very happy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span> and glad to get away from -so much embarrassing observation. The stepmother waited a little until -all was safe, and then she gave vent to the suppressed triumph.</p> - -<p>“You will just mark my words, you two gentlemen,” she cried. “They have -met but three times—once when we called, once when they were playing -their tennis, or whatever they call it—and to-night; but if Effie is -not Mrs. Fred Dirom before six months are out it will be her own fault.”</p> - -<p>“Fred Fiddlestick!” cried Mr. Ogilvie. “You’re just a silly woman, -thinking of nothing but love and marriages. I’ll have no more of that.”</p> - -<p>“If I’m a silly woman, there’s not far off from here a sillier man,” -said Mrs. Ogilvie. “You’ll have to hear a great deal more of it. And if -you do not see all the advantages, and the grand thing it would be for -Effie to have such a settlement so young—”</p> - -<p>“There was one at your hand if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> had wanted to get rid of her, much -younger.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, clasping her hands together, “that men, who -are always said to be the cleverest and the wisest, should be so slow at -the uptake! Any woman would understand—but you, that are her father! -The one that was at my hand, as you say, what was it? A long-leggit lad -in a marching regiment! with not enough to keep him a horse, let alone a -wife. That would have been a bonnie business!—that would have been -taking a mother’s care of Effie! I am thankful her mother cannot hear -ye. But Fred Dirom is very different—the only son of a very rich man. -And no doubt the father, who perhaps is not exactly made for society, -would give them Allonby, and set them up. That is what my heart is set -on for Effie, I have always said, I will never perhaps have a grown-up -daughter of my own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” said Mr. Moubray, “you have nothing but kindness in your -heart.”</p> - -<p>“You mean I am nothing but a well-intentioned haverel,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, with a laugh. “But you’ll see that I’m more than that. Effie! -bless me, what a start you gave me! I thought by this time that you were -in your bed.”</p> - -<p>Effie had come back to the drawing-room upon some trifling errand. She -stood there for a moment, her candle in her hand, her fair head still -decked with the rose which had been its only ornament. The light threw a -little flickering illumination upon her face, for her stepmother, always -thrifty, had already extinguished one of the lamps. Mr. Moubray looked -with eyes full of tender pity upon the young figure in the doorway, -standing, hesitating, upon the verge of a world unknown. He had no mind -for any further discussion. He followed her out when she had carried off -the gloves and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> little ornaments which she had left behind, and stood -with her a moment in the hall to say good-night.</p> - -<p>“My little Effie,” he said, “an evening like this is little to us, but -there is no saying what it may be to you. I think it has brought new -thoughts already, to judge by your face.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him startled, with her colour rising. “No, Uncle John,” -she answered, with the natural self-defence of youth: then paused to -inquire after her denial. “What kind of new thoughts?”</p> - -<p>He stooped over her to kiss her, with his hand upon her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“We’ll not inquire too far,” he said. “Nothing but novelty, my dear, and -the rising of the tide.”</p> - -<p>Effie opened the door for him, letting in the fresh sweep of the -night-wind, which came so clear and keen over the moors, and the twinkle -of the stars looking down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span> the great vault of dark blue sky. The -world seemed to widen out round them, with the opening of that door, -which let in all the silence and hush of the deep-breathing night. She -put her candle upon the table and came out with him, her delicate being -thrilling to the influence of the sweet full air which embraced her -round and round.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John, what a night! to think we should shut ourselves up in -little dull rooms with all this shining outside the door!”</p> - -<p>“We are but frail human creatures, Effie, though we have big souls; the -dull rooms are best for us at this hour of the night.”</p> - -<p>“I would like to walk with you down among the trees. I would like to go -down the Dene and hear the water rushing, but not to Allonby -churchyard.”</p> - -<p>“No, nor to Allonby at all, Effie. Take time, my bonnie dear, let no one -hasten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> your thoughts. Come, I cannot have you out here in the night in -your white frock. You look like a little ghost; and what would Mrs. -Ogilvie say to me if you caught cold just at this crisis of affairs?”</p> - -<p>He stopped to laugh softly, but put his arm round her, and led her back -within the door.</p> - -<p>“The night is bonnie and the air is fresh, but home and shelter are the -best. Good-night, and God bless my little Effie,” he said.</p> - -<p>The people in the village, whose minds were now relieved from the strain -of counting all the carriages, and were going to sleep calmly in the -certainty that everybody was gone, heard his firm slow step going past, -and knew it was the minister, who would naturally be the last to go -home. They took a pleasure in hearing him pass, and the children, who -were still awake, felt a protection in the fact that he was there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> -going leisurely along the road, sure to keep away any ghost or robber -that might be lurking in the stillness of the night. His very step was -full of thought.</p> - -<p>It was pleasant to him, without any sad work in hand, to walk through -the little street between the sleeping houses, saying a blessing upon -the sleepers as he passed. Usually when he was out so late, it was on -his way to some sickbed to minister to the troubled or the dying. He -enjoyed to-night the exemption and the leisure, and with a smile in his -eyes looked from the light in Dr. Jardine’s window, within which the Dr. -was no doubt smoking a comfortable pipe before he went to bed, to the -little inquisitive glimmer higher up in Rosebank, where the old ladies -were laying aside their old finery and talking over the party. He passed -between them with a humorous consciousness of their antagonism which did -not disturb the general peace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> - -<p>The stars shone with a little frost in their brightness, though it was -but August; the night-air blew fresh in his face; the village, with all -its windows and eyelids closed, slept deep in the silence of the night. -“God bless them all—but above all Effie,” he repeated, smiling to -himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Diroms belonged to a class now very common in England, the class of -very rich people without any antecedents or responsibilities, which it -is so difficult to classify or lay hold of, and which neither the -authorities of society nor the moralist have yet fully comprehended. -They had a great deal of money, which is popularly recognized to be -power, and they owed it to nobody but themselves.</p> - -<p>They owed nothing to anybody. They had no estates to keep up; no poor -people depended upon them; the clerks and porters at the office were not -to call dependents, though probably—out of good nature, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> they were -ill or trouble arose in their families, if it happened to come under the -notice of the head of the firm, he would fling them a little money, -perhaps with an admonition, perhaps with a joke. But this was pure -liberality, generosity as his friends called it. He had nothing to “keep -up.”</p> - -<p>Even the sick gamekeeper who had been hurt by a fall, though he was in -the new tenant’s service, was Lady Allonby’s servant, and it was she who -had to support his family while he was ill. The rich people were -responsible for nobody. If they were kind—and they were not unkind—it -was all to their credit, for they had no duty to any one.</p> - -<p>This was how the head of the house considered his position. “I don’t -know anything about your land burdens, your feudal burdens,” he would -say; “money is what has made me. I pay taxes enough, I hope; but I’ve -got no sentimental taxes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> to pay, and I won’t have anything to say to -such rubbish. I am a working man myself, just like the rest. If these -fellows will take care of their own business as I did, they will get on -themselves as I have done, and want nothing from anybody. I’ve no call -even to ‘keep up’ my family; they ought to be working for themselves, as -I was at their age. If I do, it’s because the girls and their mother are -too many for me, and I have to yield to their prejudices.”</p> - -<p>These were Mr. Dirom’s principles: but he threw about his money very -liberally all the same, giving large subscriptions, with a determination -to stand at the head of the list when he was on it at all, and an -inclination to twit the others who did not give so liberally with their -stinginess; “What is the use of making bones of it?” he said, with a -flourish to Sir John, who was well known to be in straightened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> -circumstances; “I just draw a cheque for five hundred and the thing’s -done.”</p> - -<p>Sir John could no more have drawn a cheque for five hundred than he -could have flown, and Mr. Dirom knew it; and the knowledge gave an edge -to his pleasure. Sir John’s twenty-five pounds was in reality a much -larger contribution than Mr. Dirom’s five hundred, but the public did -not think of this. The public said that Sir John gave the twenty-five -because he could not help it, because his position demanded it; but Mr. -Dirom’s five hundred took away the breath of the spectators. It was more -than liberal; it was magnificent.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dirom was a man who wore white waistcoats and large well-blown roses -in his coat. He swaggered, without knowing it, in his walk, and in his -speech, wherever he was visible. The young people were better bred, and -were very conscious of those imperfections. They preferred, indeed, that -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> should not “trouble,” as they said, to come home, especially to come -to the country when business prevented. There was no occasion for papa -to “trouble.” Fred could take his place if he was detained in town.</p> - -<p>In this way they showed a great deal of tender consideration for their -father’s engagements. Perhaps he was deceived by it, perhaps not; no one -could tell. He took his own way absolutely, appearing when it suited -him, and when it did not suit him leaving them to their own devices. -Allonby was too far off for him, too distant from town: though he was -quite willing to be known as the occupier of so handsome a “place.” He -came down for the first of the shooting, which is the right thing in the -city, but afterwards did not trouble his family much with his presence, -which was satisfactory to everybody concerned. It was not known exactly -what Mr. Dirom had risen from, but it was low enough to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> his -present elevation wonderful, and to give that double zest to wealth -which makes the self-made man happy.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dirom was of a different order. She was two generations at least -from the beginning of her family, and she too, though in a less degree -than her children, felt that her husband’s manners left something to be -desired. He had helped himself up by her means, she having been, as in -the primitive legend, of the class of the master’s daughters: at least -her father was the head of the firm under which Dirom had begun to “make -his way.” But neither was she quite up to the mark.</p> - -<p>“Mamma is dreadfully middle-class,” the girls said. In some respects -that is worse than the lower class. It made her a little timid and -doubtful of her position, which her husband never was. None of these -things affected the young people; they had received “every advantage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Their father’s wealth was supposed to be immense; and when wealth is -immense it penetrates everywhere. A moderate fortune is worth very -little in a social point of view, but a great fortune opens every door.</p> - -<p>The elder brother, who never came to Allonby, who never went near the -business, who had been portioned off contemptuously by his father, as if -he had been a girl (and scorn could not go farther), had married an -earl’s daughter, and, more than that, had got her off the very steps of -the throne, for she had been a Maid of Honour. He was the most refined -and cultivated individual in the world, with one of the most lovely -houses in London, and everything about him artistic to the last degree. -It was with difficulty that he put up with his father at all. Still, for -the sake of his little boy, he acknowledged the relationship from time -to time.</p> - -<p>As for Fred and his sisters, they have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> already been made known to the -reader. Fred was by way of being “in the business,” and went down to the -office three or four times in the week when he was in town. But what he -wished to be was an artist. He painted more or less, he modelled, he had -a studio of his own in the midst of one of the special artistic -quarters, and retired there to work, as he said, whenever the light was -good.</p> - -<p>For his part Fred aspired to be a Bohemian, and did everything he could -in a virtuous way to carry out his intention. He scorned money, or -thought he did while enjoying every luxury it could procure. If he could -have found a beautiful milkmaid or farm girl with anything like the -Rossetti type of countenance he would have married her off-hand; but -then beauties of that description are rare. The country lasses on the -Border were all of too cheerful a type. But he had fully made up his -mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> that when the right woman appeared no question of money or -ambition should be allowed to interfere between him and his -inclinations.</p> - -<p>“You may say what you will,” he said to his sisters, “and I allow my -principles would not answer with girls. You have nothing else to look -to, to get on in the world. But a man can take that sort of thing in his -own hands, and if one gets beauty that’s enough. It is more distinction -than anything else. I shall insist upon beauty, but nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“It all depends on what you call beauty,” said Miss Phyllis. “You can -make anything beauty if you stand by it and swear to it. Marrying a -painter isn’t at all a bad way. He paints you over and over again till -you get recognized as a Type, and then it doesn’t matter what other -people say.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t call Effie a Type,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> young lady who called herself -Doris—her name in fact was a more humble one: but then not even the -Herald’s College has anything to do with Christian names.</p> - -<p>“She may not be a Type—but if you had seen her as I did in the half -light, coming out gradually as one’s eyes got used to it like something -developing in a camera—Jove! She was like a Burne-Jones—not strong -enough for the blessed Damozel or that sort of thing, but sad and sweet -like—like—” Fred paused for a simile, “like a hopeless maiden in a -procession winding down endless stairs, or—standing about in the wet, -or—If she had not been dressed in nineteenth-century costume.”</p> - -<p>“He calls that nineteenth-century costume!” said Phyllis with a mixture -of sympathy and scorn.</p> - -<p>“Poor Effie is not dressed at all,” said the other sister. “She has -clothes on, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> is all: but I could make her look very nice if she -were in my hands. She has a pretty little figure, not spoiled at -all—not too solid like most country girls but just enough to drape a -pretty flowing stuff or soft muslin upon. I should turn her out that you -would not know her if she trusted herself to me.”</p> - -<p>“For goodness’ sake let her alone,” cried Fred; “don’t make a trollop of -my little maiden. Her little stiffness suits her. I like her just so, in -her white frock.”</p> - -<p>“You should have been born a milliner, Dor.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I was—and papa’s money has thwarted nature. If he should ever -lose it all, which I suppose is on the cards——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very much on the cards,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>“There is always a smash some time or other in a great commercial -concern.”</p> - -<p>“What fun!” said Miss Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“Then I should set up directly. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> sisters Dirom, milliners and -dressmakers. It would be exceedingly amusing, and we should make a great -fortune—all <i>good</i> dressmakers do.”</p> - -<p>“It would be very amiable of you, Dor, to call your firm the sisters -Dirom—for I should be of no use. I shall spend the fortune if you -please, but I couldn’t help in any other way.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you could. You will marry, and have all your things from me. I -should dress you beautifully, and you would be the most delightful -advertisement. Of course you would not have any false pride. You would -say to your duchesses, I got this from my sister. She is the only -possible dressmaker nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“False pride—oh, I hope not! It would be quite a distinction—everybody -would go. You could set up afternoon teas, and let them try on all your -things. It would be delightful. But papa will not come to grief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> he is -too well backed up,” said Phyllis with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“If I do not marry next season, I shall not wait for the catastrophe,” -said Doris. “Perhaps if the Opposition comes in we might coax Lord -Pantry to get me appointed milliner to the Queen. If Her Majesty had -once a dress from me, she would never look at Worth more.”</p> - -<p>“Worth!” said Phyllis, throwing up her hands in mild but indignant -amazement.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, Waley, or whatever you call him. Worth is a mere symbol,” -said Doris with philosophical calm. “How I should like it! but if one -marries, one’s husband’s family and all kinds of impossible people -interfere.”</p> - -<p>“You had better marry, you girls,” said Fred; “it is much your best -chance. Wipe out the governor with a title. That’s what I should do if I -could. But unfortunately I can’t—the finest of heiresses does not -com<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span>municate her family honours, more’s the pity. I shall always be Fred -Dirom, if I were to marry a duchess. But an artist’s antecedents don’t -matter. Fortunately he makes his own way.”</p> - -<p>“Fred,” said his mother, coming in, “I wish you would not talk of -yourself as an artist, dear. Papa does not like it. He indulges you all -a great deal, but there are some things that don’t please him at all.”</p> - -<p>“Quite unreasonably, mother dear,” said Fred, who was a good son, and -very kind to her on the whole. “Most of the fellows I know in that line -are much better born than I am. Gentlemen’s sons, most of them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Fred!” said Mrs. Dirom, with eyes of deep reproach. She added in a -tremulous voice, “My grandfather had a great deal of property in the -country. He had indeed, I assure you, although you think we have nothing -but money. And if that does not make a gentleman, what does?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What indeed?” said her son: but he made no further reply. And the -sisters interposed.</p> - -<p>“We were talking of what we shall all do in case the firm should come to -grief, and all the money be lost.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, girls!” Mrs. Dirom started violently and put her hand to her heart. -“Fred! you don’t mean to say that there are rumours in the city, or a -word whispered—”</p> - -<p>“Not when I heard last—but then I have not been in the city for a -month. That reminds me,” said Fred, “that really I ought to put in an -appearance—just once in a way.”</p> - -<p>“You mean you want to have a run to town?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear,” said his mother, “go if you think you could be of any use. -Oh, you don’t know what it is you are talking of so <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span>lightly. I could -tell you things—Oh, Fred, if you think there is anything going on, any -danger—”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the sort,” he said, with a laugh. “We were only wondering -what we should be good for mother—not much, I believe. I might perhaps -draw for the <i>Graphic</i> fancy pictures of battles and that sort of thing; -or, if the worst came to the worst, there is the <i>Police News</i>.”</p> - -<p>“You have both got Vocations,” said Phyllis. “It is fine for you. You -know what to do, you two. But I can do nothing; I should have to Marry.” -She spoke with a languid emphasis as of capitals, in her speech.</p> - -<p>“Oh, children!” cried Mrs. Dirom, “what are you thinking of? You think -all that is clever, but it does not seem clever to me. It is just the -dreadful thing in business that one day you may be up at the top of the -tree, and next morning—”</p> - -<p>“Nowhere!” said Fred, with a burlesque<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> groan. And then they all -laughed. The anxious middle-class mother looked at them as the hen of -the proverb looks at her ducklings. Silly children! what did they know -about it? She could have cried in vexation and distress.</p> - -<p>“You laugh,” she said, “but you would not laugh if you knew as much as I -do. The very name of such a thing is unlucky. I wouldn’t let myself -think of it lest it should bring harm. Things may be quite right, and I -hope and believe they are quite right: but if there was so much as a -whisper on the Exchange that his children—his own children—had been -joking on the subject. Oh, a whisper, that’s enough!”</p> - -<p>The young people were not in the least impressed by what she said—they -had not been brought up in her sphere. That alarm for exposure, that -dread of a catastrophe which was strong in her bosom, had no response in -theirs. They had no more under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span>standing of poverty than of Paradise—and -to the girls in particular, the idea of a great event, a matter of much -noise and commotion, to be followed by new enchanting freedom and the -possibilities of adventure, was really “fun!” as they said. They were -not afraid of being dropped by their friends.</p> - -<p>Society has undergone a change in this respect. A young lady turned into -a fashionable dressmaker would be the most delightful of lions; all her -acquaintances would crowd round her. She would be celebrated as “a noble -girl” by the serious, and as <i>chic</i> by the fast.</p> - -<p>Doris looked forward to the possibility with a delightful perception of -all the advantages that were in it. It was more exciting than the other -expedient of marrying, which was all that, in the poverty of her -invention, occurred to Phyllis. They made very merry, while their mother -trembled with an alarm for which there was no ap<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span>parent foundation. She -was nervous, which is always a ready explanation of a woman’s troubles -and fears.</p> - -<p>There was, in fact, no foundation whatever for any alarm. Never had the -credit of Dirom, Dirom and Company stood higher. There was no cloud, -even so big as a finger, upon the sky.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dirom himself, though his children were ashamed of him, was not -without acceptance in society. In his faithfulness to business, staying -in town in September, he had a choice of fine houses in which to make -those little visits from Saturday to Monday which are so pleasant; and -great ladies who had daughters inquired tenderly about Fred, and learned -with the profoundest interest that it was he who was the Prince of -Wales, the heir-apparent of the house, he, and not Jack the married son, -who would have nothing to say to the business.</p> - -<p>When Fred paid a flying visit to town to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> “look up the governor,” as he -said, and see what was going on, he too was overwhelmed with invitations -from Saturday to Monday. And though he was modest enough he was very -well aware that he would not be refused, as a son-in-law, by some of the -finest people in England.</p> - -<p>That he was not a little dazzled by the perception it would be wrong to -say—and the young Lady Marys in English country houses are very fair -and sweet. But now there would glide before him wherever he went the -apparition of Effie in her white frock.</p> - -<p>Why should he have thought of Effie, a mere country girl, yet still a -country gentlewoman without the piquancy of a milkmaid or a nursery -governess? But who can fathom these mysteries? No blooming beauty of the -fields had come in Fred’s way, though he had piously invoked all the -gods to send him such a one: but Effie, who was scarcely a type at -all—Effie, who was only a humble represen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span>tative of fair maidenhood, -not so perfect, perhaps, not so well dressed, not so beautiful as many -of her kind.</p> - -<p>Effie had come across his path, and henceforward went with him in spirit -wherever he went. Curious accident of human fate! To think that Mr. -Dirom’s money, and Fred’s accomplishments, and their position in society -and in the city, all things which might have made happy a duke’s -daughter, were to be laid at the careless feet of little Effie Ogilvie!</p> - -<p>If she had been a milkmaid the wonder would have been less great.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> for all these things Effie cared nothing. This forms always a tragic -element in the most ordinary love-making, where one gives what the other -does not appreciate, or will not accept, yet the giver cannot be -persuaded to withdraw the gift, or to follow the impulse of that natural -resentment which comes from kindness disdained.</p> - -<p>There was nothing tragical, however, in the present circumstances, which -were largely composed of lawn tennis at Allonby, afternoon tea in the -dimness of an unnecessarily shaded room, or walks along the side of the -little stream. When Effie came for the favourite afternoon game, the -sisters and their brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> would escort her home, sometimes all the way, -sometimes only as far as the little churchyard where the path struck off -and climbed the high river bank.</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more pleasant than this walk. The days were often gray -and dim; but the walkers were young, and not too thinly clad; the damp -in the air did not affect them, and the breezes stirred their veins. The -stream was small but lively, brown, full of golden lights. So far as the -park went the bank was low on the Allonby side, though on the other -picturesque, with rising cliffs and a screen of trees. In the lower -hollows of these cliffs the red of the rowan berries and the graceful -bunches of the barberry anticipated the autumnal tints, and waving -bracken below, and a host of tiny ferns in every crevice, gave an air of -luxuriance. The grass was doubly green with that emerald brightness -which comes from damp, and when the sun shone everything lighted up with -almost an arti<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span>ficial glow of excessive colour, greenness, and growth. -The little party would stroll along filling the quiet with their young -voices, putting even the birds to silence.</p> - -<p>But it was not Effie who talked. She was the audience, sometimes a -little shocked, sometimes bewildered, but always amused more or less; -wondering at them, at their cleverness, at their simplicity, at what the -country girl thought their ignorance, and at what she knew to be their -superior wisdom.</p> - -<p>Fred too was remarkable on these points, but not so remarkable as his -sisters; and he did not talk so much. He walked when he could by Effie’s -side, and made little remarks to her, which Effie accounted for by the -conviction that he was very polite, and thought it right to show her -those regards which were due to a young lady. She lent but a dull ear to -what he said, and gave her chief attention to Phyllis and Doris, whose -talk was more wonderful than anything else that Effie knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is curious,” Miss Phyllis said, “that there never are two -picturesque banks to a river. Nature provides herself a theatre, don’t -you know. Here are we in the auditorium.”</p> - -<p>“Only there is nothing to hear,” said Doris, “except the birds—well, -that’s something. But music over there would have a fine effect. It -would be rather nice to try it, if it ever was warm enough here for an -open air party. You could have the orchestra hidden: the strings there, -the wind instruments here, don’t you see, violas in the foreground, and -the big ’cello booming out of that juniper.”</p> - -<p>“By Jove!” cried Fred from where he strolled behind with Effie, “how -astounded the blackbirds would be.”</p> - -<p>“It would be interesting to know what they thought. Now, what do you -suppose they would do? Stop and listen? or else be struck by the force -of the circumstances and set up an opposition?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Burst their little throats against the strings.”</p> - -<p>“Or be deafened with your vulgar trombones. Fancy a brass band on the -side of the wan water!”</p> - -<p>“It would be very nice, though,” said Doris. “I said nothing about -trombones. It would be quite eighteenth century. And here on the lawn we -could sit and drink syllabubs. What are syllabubs? Probably most people -would prefer tea. Effie, what do you think? you never say a word. Shall -we have a garden party, and music over there under the cliff?”</p> - -<p>Effie had walked on softly, taking in everything with a mingled sense of -admiration and ridicule. She was quite apart, a spectator, listening to -the artificial talk about nothing at all, the conversation made up with -a distinct idea of being brilliant and interesting, which yet was -natural enough to these young people, themselves artificial, who made up -their talk as they made up their life, out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> of nothing. Effie laughed -within herself with involuntary criticism, yet was half impressed at the -same time, feeling that it was like something out of a book.</p> - -<p>“Oh, me?” she said in surprise at being consulted. “I have not any -opinion, indeed. I never thought of it at all.”</p> - -<p>“Then think now, and let us hear; for you should know best how the -people here would like it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see, Dor, that she thinks us very silly, and would not talk -such nonsense as we are talking for the world? There is no sense in it, -and Effie is full of sense.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Ogilvie has both sense and sympathy,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>This discussion over her alarmed Effie. She grew red and pale; half -affronted, half pleased, wholly shy and uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, “I couldn’t talk like you. I never talk except -when—except when—I have got something to say; that is, of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> I -mean something that is—something—not merely out of my head, like you. -I am not clever enough for that.”</p> - -<p>“Is she making fun of us, Phyll?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, Dor. She is fact, and we are—well, what are we?—not -fiction altogether, because we’re real enough in flesh and blood.”</p> - -<p>Effie was moved to defend herself.</p> - -<p>“You are like two young ladies in a book,” she said, “and I am just a -girl like anybody else. I say How-do-you-do? and Do you think it will be -a fine day? or I can tell you if anything has happened in the village, -and that Dr. Jardine was called away this morning to Fairyknowe, so that -somebody there must be ill. But you make up what is very nice to listen -to, and yet it makes one laugh, because it is about nothing at all.”</p> - -<p>“That is quite true,” said Doris; “that is our way. We don’t go in for -fact. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> belong to the speculative side. We have nothing real to do, so -we have to imagine things to talk about.”</p> - -<p>“And I hope you think we do it well,” said Phyllis with a laugh.</p> - -<p>Effie was encouraged to laugh too; but her feelings were very -complicated; she was respectful and yet she was a little contemptuous. -It was all new to her, and out of her experience; yet the great house, -the darkened rooms, the luxury and ease, the way in which life went on, -apparently without any effort on the part of this cluster of people, who -had everything they wanted without even the trouble of asking for it, as -in a fairy tale, harmonized with the artificial talk, the speculations, -the studies which were entirely voluntary, without any use as Effie -thought, without any call for them.</p> - -<p>She herself was not indeed compelled to work as poor girls were, as -governesses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> were, even as the daughters of people within her own range, -who made their own dresses, and taught their little brothers and -sisters, had to do. But still there were certain needs which she -supplied, and cases in which she had a necessary office to fulfil. There -were the flowers for instance. Old Pirie always brought her in a -basketful whenever she wanted them; but if Pirie had to be trusted to -arrange the flowers!</p> - -<p>In Allonby, however, even that was done; the vases refilled themselves -somehow, as if by help of the fairies; the table was always magnificent, -but nobody knew when it was done or who did it—nobody, that is, of the -family. Phyllis and Doris decided, it was to be supposed, what they -should wear, but that was all the trouble they took even about their -dress. Numbers of men and women worked in the background to provide for -all their wants, but they them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span>selves had nothing to do with it. And -they talked as they lived.</p> - -<p>Effie did not put all this into words, but she perceived it, by means of -a little humorous perception which was in her eyes though she did not -know it. And though they were so much finer than she was, knew so much -more, and possessed so much more, yet these young ladies were as the -comedians of life to little Effie, performing their drawing-room drama -for her amusement. They talked over the little churchyard which lay at -the opening of the glen in the same way.</p> - -<p>“The Americans have not found out Allonby yet,” they said to each other. -“We must ask Miss Greenwood up here—or, oh! let us have Henry Holland. -But no, he will not go into any raptures. He has gone through everything -in that way. He is more <i>blasé</i> than the most <i>blasé</i> of Englishmen; let -us have some one fresh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> How they will hang over the <i>Hic jacet</i>! And we -must have some one who knows the ballad. Do you know the ballad, Effie? -but perhaps you never heard of it, as you were born here.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean about Helen?” said Effie. And in her shyness she grew red, -up to her hair.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh Helen fair beyond compare,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I’ll make a garland of thy hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Shall bind my heart for ever mair.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“How delightful! the rural muse, the very genius of the country. Effie, -you shall recite it to us standing by the stone with a shepherd’s maud -thrown over you, and that sweet Scotch accent which is simply -delicious.”</p> - -<p>“And the blush, dear, just as it is,” said Phyllis, clapping her hands -softly; “you will have the most enormous success.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Effie, her soft colour of -shyness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> resentment turning into the hot red of shame. “I wish you -would not try to make a fool of me, as well as of the place.”</p> - -<p>“To make a fool of you! Don’t be angry, Effie, the phrase is enchanting. -Make a fool of—that is Scotch too. You know I am beginning to make a -collection of Scoticisms; they are one nicer than another. I only wish I -had the accent and the voice.”</p> - -<p>“And the blush, Dor; it would not be half so effective without that. -Could you pick up those little particulars which Effie doesn’t -appreciate, with your dramatic instinct into the bargain——”</p> - -<p>“Should I be able to recite Fair Helen as well as Effie? Oh no,” said -Doris, and she began, “Oh Helen fair beyond compare,” with an imitation -of that accent which Effie fondly hoped she was free of, which entirely -overcame the girl’s self-con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span>trol. Her blush grew hotter and hotter till -she felt herself fiery red with anger, and unable to bear any more.</p> - -<p>“If I spoke like that,” she cried, “I should be ashamed ever to open my -mouth!” then she added with a wave of her hand, “Goodbye, I am going -home,” for she could not trust herself further.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Effie, Effie! Why goodness, the child’s offended,” cried Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“And I had just caught her tone!” said the other.</p> - -<p>Then they both turned upon Fred. “Why don’t you go after her? Why don’t -you catch her up? Why do you stand there staring?”</p> - -<p>“Why are you both so—disagreeable?” cried Fred, who had hurried on -while they spoke, and turned back to fling at them this very innocent -missile as he ran; nothing stronger occurred to him to say. He had not -the vocabulary of his sisters. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> watched him while he rushed along -and saw him overtake the little fugitive. It was a sight which -interested these two young ladies. They became contemplative spectators -once more.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he will know what to say?” Doris inquired of herself. “It -should be a capital opportunity for Fred if he knows how to take -advantage of it. He ought to throw us both overboard at once, and say we -were a couple of idiots, who did not know what we were talking about. I -should, in Fred’s place.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I suppose that would be the right way; but a man does naturally -throw over his sisters,” said Phyllis. “You need not be afraid. It was -fine to see her blaze up. Fury is not pretty generally—in papa, for -instance.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that’s beyond a sentiment. But in Effie it will only be a flare and -all over. She will be penitent. After a little while she will be awfully -sweet to Fred.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And do you really want him to—propose to her, Dor?”</p> - -<p>“That is a strong step,” said the young lady, “because if he did he -would have to stick to it. I don’t see that I am called upon to consider -contingencies. In the meantime it’s very amusing to see Fred in love.”</p> - -<p>“In the absence,” said Phyllis, “of more exciting preoccupations.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! that’s true; you’re a marrying woman yourself,” was the remark her -sister made.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Fred had overtaken Effie, who was already beginning to feel -ashamed and remorseful, and to say in her own ear that it was she who -was making a fool of herself. How could she have been so silly? People -always make themselves ridiculous when they take offence, and, of -course, they would only laugh at her for being so touchy, so absurd. But -nobody likes to be mocked, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> to be mimicked, which comes to the same -thing, Effie said to herself.</p> - -<p>A hot tear had gathered into each eye, but the flush was softening down, -and compunction was more and more getting possession of her bosom, when -Fred, anxious, devoted, panting, came up to her. It was a moment or two -before he could get breath to speak.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to say to you, Miss Ogilvie. That is just my -difficulty with the girls,” said Fred, promptly throwing his sisters -over as they had divined. “They have so little perception. Not a bad -sort in themselves, and devoted to you: but without tact—without your -delicacy of feeling—without——”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Effie, “you must not compare them with me; they are far, far -cleverer—far more instructed—far—— It was so silly of me to be -vexed——”</p> - -<p>“Not silly at all; just what you would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> naturally be with your refined -taste. I can’t tell you how I felt it,” said Fred, giving himself credit -for the perception that was wanting in his sisters. “But you will -forgive them, Miss Ogilvie? they will be so unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” cried Effie, with once more a sense of the ludicrous in this -assertion. But Fred was as grave as an owl, and meant every word he -said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, and they deserve to be so; but if I may tell them that you -forgive them——”</p> - -<p>“It is not worth speaking about, Mr. Dirom; I was foolish too. And are -you really going to have Americans here? I never saw any Americans. What -interest would they take in our old churchyard, and Adam Fleming’s -broken old gravestone?”</p> - -<p>“They take more interest in that sort of thing than we do whom it -belongs to; that is to say, it doesn’t belong to us. I am as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> much a new -man as any Yankee, and have as little right. We are mere interlopers, -you know.”</p> - -<p>Fred said this with a charming smile he had, a smile full of frank -candour and openness, which forestalled criticism. Effie had heard the -same sentiment expressed by others with a very different effect. When -Fred said it, it seemed a delightful absurdity. He laughed a little, and -so, carried away by sympathetic feeling, did she, shame-faced and -feeling guilty in her heart at the remembrance of the many times in -which, without any sense of absurdity, she had heard the same words -said.</p> - -<p>“We are a queer family,” he continued in his pleasant explanatory way. -“My father is the money-maker, and he thinks a great deal of it; but we -make no money, and I think we are really as indifferent about it as if -we had been born in the backwoods. If anything happened at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> office I -should take to my studio, and I hope I should not enjoy myself too much, -but there would be the danger. ‘Ah, freedom is a noble thing,’ as old -Barbour says.”</p> - -<p>Effie did not know who old Barbour was, and she was uncertain how to -reply. She said at last timidly, “But you could not do without a great -deal of money, Mr. Dirom. You have everything you want, and you don’t -know how it comes. It is like a fairy tale.”</p> - -<p>Fred smiled again with an acquiescence which had pleasure in it. Though -he made so little of his advantages, he liked to hear them recognized.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” he said, “as you always are, Miss Ogilvie. You seem to -know things by instinct. But all the same we don’t stand on these -things; we are a little Bohemian, all of us young ones. I suppose you -would think it something dreadful if you had to turn out of Gilston. But -we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> should rather like any such twist of the whirligig of fortune. The -girls would think it fun.”</p> - -<p>To this Effie did not make any reply. To be turned out of Gilston was an -impossibility, for the family at least, whatever it might be for -individuals. And she did not understand about Bohemians. She made no -answer at all. When one is in doubt it is the safest way. But Fred -walked with her all the way home, and his conversation was certainly -more amusing than that with which she was generally entertained. There -ran through it a little vein of flattery. There was in his eyes a light -of admiration, a gleam from time to time of something which dazzled her, -which she could not meet, yet furtively caught under her drooping -eyelashes, and which roused a curious pleasure mixed with amusement, and -a comical sense of guilt and wickedness on her own part.</p> - -<p>She was flattered and dazzled, and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> something of the same laughter -with which she listened to Phyllis and Doris was in her eyes. Did he -mean it all? or what did he mean? Was he making conversation like his -sisters, saying things that he meant to be pretty? Effie, though she was -so simple, so inexperienced, in comparison with those clever young -people, wondered, yet kept her balance, steadied by that native instinct -of humour, and not carried away by any of these fine things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">We</span> were seeing young Mr. Dirom a little bit on his way. He is so kind -walking home with Effie that it was the least we could do. I never met -with a more civil young man.”</p> - -<p>“It appears to me that young Dirom is never out of your house. You’ll -have to be thinking what will come of it.”</p> - -<p>“What should come of it,” said Mrs. Ogilvie with a laugh, and a look of -too conscious innocence, “but civility, as I say? though they are new -people, they have kind, neighbour-like ways.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve no confidence,” said Miss Dempster, “in that kind of neighbours. -If he were to walk home with Beenie or me, that are about<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> the oldest -friends they have in the district—Oh yes, their oldest friends: for I -sent my card and a request to know if a call would be agreeable as soon -as they came: it may be old-fashioned, but it’s my way; and I find it to -answer. And as I’m saying, if he had made an offer to walk home with me -or my sister, that would have been neighbour-like; but Effie is just -quite a different question. I hope if you let it go on, that you’re -facing the position, and not letting yourself be taken unawares.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that’s a thing that seldom happens, though I -say it myself. I can generally see as far as most folk. But whatever you -do, say nothing of this to Effie. We must just respect her innocence. -Experienced people see a great deal that should never be spoken of -before the young. I will leave her in your charge and Miss Beenie’s, for -I am going to Summerlaw, and she has had a long walk.”</p> - -<p>“Your stepmother is a very grand general,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> Effie,” said Miss Dempster, -as they watched Mrs. Ogilvie’s figure disappearing between the high -laurel hedges.</p> - -<p>It was a warm afternoon, though September had begun. Miss Beenie was -seated on the garden seat in front of the drawing-room window, which -afforded so commanding a prospect of the doctor’s sitting-room, with her -work-basket beside her, and her spectacles upon her nose. But Miss -Dempster, who thought it was never safe, except perhaps for a day or two -in July, to sit out, kept walking about, now nipping off a withered -leaf, now gathering a sprig of heliotrope, or the scented verbena, -promenading up and down with a shawl upon her shoulders. She had taken -Effie’s arm with an instant perception of the advantages of an animated -walking-staff.</p> - -<p>The little platform of fine gravel before the door was edged by the -green of the sloping lawn in front, but on either side ended in deep -borders filled with every kind of old-fashioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> and sweet-smelling -flower. The sloping drive had well-clipped hedges of shining laurel -which surrounded the entrance; but nothing interrupted the view from -this little height, which commanded not only the doctor’s mansion but -all the village. No scene could have been more peaceful in the sunny -afternoon. There were few people stirring below, there was nobody to be -seen at the doctor’s windows.</p> - -<p>The manse, which was visible at a distance, stood in the broad sunshine -with all its doors and windows open, taking in the warmth to its very -bosom. Mrs. Ogilvie disappeared for a short time between the hedges, and -then came out again, moving along the white road till she was lost in -the distance, Glen slowly following, divided in his mind between the -advantages of a walk which was good for his health, and the pleasure of -lying in the sun and waiting for Effie, which he preferred as a matter -of taste. But the large mat at the door, which Glen was aware was the -comfortable spot at Rosebank,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> was already occupied by the nasty little -terrier to which the Miss Dempsters, much to Glen’s contempt, were -devoted, and the gravel was unpleasant. So he walked, but rather by way -of deference to the necessities of the situation than from any lively -personal impulse, and went along meditatively with only an occasional -slow switch of his tail, keeping well behind the trim and active figure -of his mistress. In the absence of other incidents these two moving -specks upon the road kept the attention of the small party of spectators -on the soft heights of Rosebank.</p> - -<p>“Your stepmother’s a grand general,” said Miss Dempster again; “but she -must not think that she deceives everybody, Effie. It’s a very -legitimate effort; but perhaps if she let things take their own course -she would just do as well at the end.”</p> - -<p>“What is she trying to do?” said Effie with indifference. “It is a pity -Mrs. Ogilvie has only Rory; for she is so active and so busy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> she could -manage a dozen, Uncle John always says.”</p> - -<p>“She has you, my dear—and a great deal more interesting than Rory: who -is a nice enough bairn, if he were not spoilt, just beyond -conception—as, poor thing, some day, she’ll find out.”</p> - -<p>Effie did not pay any attention to the latter part of this speech. She -cried “Me!” in the midst of it, with little regard to Miss Dempster, and -less (had she been an English girl) to propriety in her pronouns. But -she was Scotch, and above reproof.</p> - -<p>“No,” she cried, “she has not me, Miss Dempster; you are making a -mistake. She says I am old enough to guide myself.”</p> - -<p>“A bonnie guide you would be for yourself. But, no doubt, ye think that -too; there is no end to the confidence of young folk in this generation. -And you are nineteen, which is a wise age.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Effie, “don’t think it is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> wise age. And then I have Uncle -John; and then, what is perhaps the best of all, I have nothing to do -that calls for any guiding, so I am quite safe.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, that’s a grand thing,” said the old lady; “to be just -peaceable and quiet, like Beenie and me, and no cross roads to perplex -ye, nor the need of choosing one way or another. But that’s a blessing -that generally comes on later in life: and we’re seldom thankful for it -when it does come.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Effie, “I have nothing to choose. What should I have to -choose? unless it was whether I would have a tweed or a velveteen for my -winter frock; or, perhaps——” here she stopped, with a soft little -smile dimpling about her mouth.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said the old lady; “or perhaps——? The perhaps is just what I -would like to know.”</p> - -<p>“Sarah,” said Miss Beenie from behind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> “what are you doing putting -things in the girlie’s head?”</p> - -<p>“Just darn your stockings and hold your tongue,” said the elder sister. -She leaned her weight more heavily on Effie’s arm by way of securing her -attention.</p> - -<p>“Now and then,” she said, “the road takes a crook before it divides. -There’s that marshy bit where the Laggan burn runs before you come to -Windyha’. If you are not thinking, it just depends on which side of the -road you take whether you go straight on the good highway to Dumfries, -or down the lane that’s always deep in dust, or else a very slough of -despond. You’re there before you know.”</p> - -<p>“But what has that to do with me?” said Effie; “and then,” she added, -with a little elevation of her head, “if I’m in any difficulty, there is -Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ay: he’s often very fine in the pulpit. I would not ask for a -better guide in the Gospel, which is his vocation. But in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> ways of -this world, Effie Ogilvie, your Uncle John is just an innocent like -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“That is all you know!” said Effie, indignantly. “Me an innocent!” She -was accustomed to hear the word applied to the idiot of the parish, the -piteous figure which scarcely any parish is without. Then she laughed, -and added, with a sudden change of tone, “They think me very sensible at -Allonby. They think I am the one that is always serious. They say I am -fact: and they are poetry, I suppose,” she said, after a second pause, -with another laugh.</p> - -<p>“Poetry!” said Miss Dempster, “you’re meaning silly nonsense. They are -just two haverels these two daft-like girls with their dark rooms, and -all their affected ways; and as for the brother——”</p> - -<p>“What about the brother?” said Effie, with an almost imperceptible -change of tone.</p> - -<p>“Aha!” said the old lady, “now we see where the interest lies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It is nothing of the kind,” cried the girl, “it is just your -imagination. You take a pleasure in twisting every word, and making me -think shame. It is just to hear what you have got to say.”</p> - -<p>“I have not very much to say,” said Miss Dempster; “we’re great students -of human nature, both Beenie and me; but I cannot just give my opinion -off-hand. There’s one thing I will tell you, and that is just that he is -not our Ronald, which makes all the difference to me.”</p> - -<p>“Ronald!” cried the girl, wondering. “Well, no! but did anybody ever say -he was like Ronald?”</p> - -<p>She paused a little, and a soft suffusion of colour once more came over -her face. “What has Ronald to do with it? He is no more like Ronald than -he is like—me.”</p> - -<p>“And I don’t think him like you at all,” cried Miss Dempster quickly, -“which is just the whole question. He is not of your kind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> Effie. We’re -all human creatures, no doubt, but there’s different species. Beenie, -what do you think? Would you say that young Fred Dirom—that is the son -of a merchant prince, and so grand and so rich—would you say he was of -our own kind? would you say he was like Effie, or like Ronald? Ronald’s -a young man about the same age; would you say he was of Ronald’s kind.”</p> - -<p>“Bless me, what a very strange question!” Miss Beenie looked up with -every evidence of alarm. Her spectacles fell from her nose; the stocking -in which her hand and arm were enveloped fell limp upon her lap.</p> - -<p>“I’ve no time to answer conundrums; they’re just things for winter -evenings, not for daylight. And when you know how I’ve been against it -from the very first,” she added, after a pause, with some warmth. “It -might be a grand thing from a worldly point of view; but what do we know -about him or his connections? And as for business, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> just a -delusion; it’s up to-day and down to-morrow. I’ve lived in Glasgow, and -I know what it means. Ye may be very grand, and who but you for a while; -and then the next moment nothing. No; if there was not another man in -the world, not the like of that man,” cried Miss Beenie, warming more -and more, gesticulating unconsciously with the muffled hand which was -all wrapped up in stocking; “and to compare him with our poor -Ronald——” She dropped suddenly from her excitement, as if this name -had brought her to herself. “You are making me say what I ought not to -say—and before Effie! I will never be able to look one of them in the -face again.”</p> - -<p>Effie stood upon the gravel opposite to the speaker, notwithstanding the -impulse of Miss Dempster’s arm to lead her away. “I wish you would tell -me what you mean. I wish I knew what Ronald had to do with me,” she -said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s just an old friend, poor laddie—just an old friend. Never you -mind what Beenie says. She’s a little touched in that direction, we all -know. Never you mind. It’s my own conviction that young Dirom, having no -connections, would be but a very precarious—— But no doubt your -parents know best. Ronald is just the contrary—plenty of connections, -but no money. The one is perhaps as bad as the other. And it’s not for -us to interfere. Your own people must know best.”</p> - -<p>“What is there to interfere about? and what has Ronald to do with it? -and, oh, what are you all talking about?” cried Effie, bewildered. What -with the conversation which meant nothing, and that which meant too -much, her little brain was all in a ferment. She withdrew herself -suddenly from Miss Dempster’s arm.</p> - -<p>“I will get you your stick out of the hall which will do just as well as -me: for I’m going away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Why should you go away? Your father is in Dumfries, your mother will be -getting her tea at Summerlaw. There is nobody wanting you at home; and -Beenie has ordered our honey scones that you are so fond of.”</p> - -<p>“I want no honey scones!” cried Effie. “You mean something, and you will -not tell me what you mean. I am going to Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“She is a hot-headed little thing. She must just take her own gait and -guide herself. Poor innocent! as if it were not all settled and planned -beforehand what she was to do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah, stop woman, for goodness’ sake! You are putting things in -the girlie’s head, and that is just what we promised not to do.”</p> - -<p>“What things are you putting in my head? You are just driving me wild!” -cried Effie, stamping her foot on the gravel.</p> - -<p>It was not the first time by a great many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> that she had departed from -Rosebank in this way. The criticisms of old ladies are sadly apt to -irritate young ones, and this pretence of knowing so much more about her -than she knew about herself, has always the most exasperating effect.</p> - -<p>She turned her back upon them, and went away between the laurel hedges -with a conviction that they were saying, “What a little fury!” and “What -an ill brought-up girl!”—which did not mend matters. These were the -sort of things the Miss Dempsters said—not without a cackle of -laughter—of the rage and impatience of the young creature they had been -baiting. Her mind was in high commotion, instinctive rebellion flaming -up amid the curiosity and anxiety with which she asked herself what was -it that was settled and planned?</p> - -<p>Whatever it was, Effie would not do it, that was one thing of which she -felt sure. If it had been her own mother, indeed! but who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> was Mrs. -Ogilvie, to settle for her what she ought to do? She would be her own -guide, whatever any one might settle. If she took counsel with any one, -it should be Uncle John, who was her nearest friend—when there was -anything to take counsel about.</p> - -<p>But at present there was nothing, not a question of any sort that she -knew, except whether the new tennis court that was making at Gilston -could possibly be ready for this season, which, of course, it could -not;—no question whatever; and what had Ronald to do with it? Ronald -had been gone for three years. There had been no news of him lately. If -there were a hundred questions, what could Ronald have to do with them?</p> - -<p>She went down very quickly between the laurel hedges and paused at the -gate, where she could not be seen from the terrace, to smooth down her -ruffled plumes a little and take breath. But as she turned into the road -her heart began to thump again, with no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> reason for it than the -sudden appearance of Uncle John coming quietly along at his usual -leisurely pace. She had said she was going to him; but she did not -really wish to meet Uncle John, whose kind eyes had a way of seeing -through and through you, at this present excited moment, for she knew -that he would find her out.</p> - -<p>Whether he did so or not, he came up in his sober way, smiling that -smile which he kept for Effie. He was prone to smile at the world in -general, being very friendly and kind, and generally thinking well of -his neighbours. But he had a smile which was for Effie alone. He caught -in a moment the gleam in her eyes, the moisture, and the blaze of angry -feeling.</p> - -<p>“What, Effie,” he said, “you have been in the wars. What have the old -ladies been saying now?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John,” she began eagerly; but then stopped all at once: for -the vague talk in which a young man’s name is involved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> which does not -tell for very much among women, becomes uncomfortable and suspect when a -man is admitted within hearing. She changed her mind and her tone, but -could not change her colour, which rose high under her troubled eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I suppose it was nothing,” she said, “it was not about me; it was -about Ronald—something about Ronald and Mr. Fred Dirom: though they -could not even know each other—could they know each other?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you, Effie: most likely not; they certainly have not been -together here; but they may have met as young men meet—somewhere else.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps that was what it was. But yet I don’t see what Ronald could -have to do with it.”</p> - -<p>Here Effie stopped again, and grew redder than ever, expecting that Mr. -Moubray would ask her, “To do with—what?” and bring back all the -confusion again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span></p> - -<p>But the minister was more wise. He began to perceive vaguely what the -character of the suggestion, which had made Effie angry, must have been. -It was much clearer to him indeed than it was to her, through these two -names, which as yet to Effie suggested no connection.</p> - -<p>“Unless it is that Fred Dirom is here and Ronald away,” he said, “I know -no link. And what sort of a fellow is Fred Dirom, Effie? for I scarcely -know him at all.”</p> - -<p>“What sort of a fellow?” Mr. Moubray was so easy, and banished so -carefully all meaning from his looks, that Effie was relieved. She began -to laugh.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to say. He is like the girls, but not quite like the -girls.”</p> - -<p>“That does not give me much information, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John, they are all so funny! What can I say? They talk and -they talk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> and it is all made up. It is about nothing, about fancies -they take in their heads, about what they think—but not real thinking, -only fancies, thinking what to say.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the art of conversation, Effie,” the minister said.</p> - -<p>“Conversation? Oh no, oh, surely not!—conversation would mean -something. At Allonby it is all very pretty, but it means nothing at -all. They just make stories out of nothing, and talk for the sake of -talking. I laugh—I cannot help it, though I could not quite tell you -why.”</p> - -<p>“And the brother, does he do the same?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the brother! No, he is not so funny, he does not talk so much. He -says little, really, on the whole, except”—here Effie stopped and -coloured and laughed softly, but in a different tone.</p> - -<p>“Except?” repeated Uncle John.</p> - -<p>“Well, when he is walking home with me. Then he is obliged to speak, -because<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> there is no one else to say anything. When we are all together -it is they who speak. But how can he help it? He has to talk when there -is only me.”</p> - -<p>“And is his talk about fancies too? or does he say things that are more -to the purpose, Effie?”</p> - -<p>Effie paused a little before she replied, “I have to think,” she said; -“I don’t remember anything he said—except—Oh yes!—but—it was not to -the purpose. It was only—nothing in particular,” she continued with a -little wavering colour, and a small sudden laugh in which there was some -confusing recollection.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Uncle John, nodding his head. “I think I see what you mean.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> young ladies at Allonby, though Effie thought they meant nothing -except to make conversation, had really more purpose in their -extravagances than that severe little critic thought. To young ladies -who have nothing to do a new idea in the way of entertainment is a fine -thing.</p> - -<p>And though a garden party, or any kind of a party, is not an affair of -much importance, yet it holds really a large place in unoccupied lives. -Even going to it may mean much to the unconcerned and uninterested: the -most philosophical of men, the most passive of women, may thus find -their fate. They may drift up against a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> partner at tennis, or hand a -cup of tea to the predestined individual who is to make or mar their -happiness for life.</p> - -<p>So that no human assembly is without its importance to some one, -notwithstanding that to the majority they may be collectively and -separately “a bore.” But to those who get them up they are still more -important, and furnish a much needed occupation and excitement, with the -most beneficial effect both upon health and temper.</p> - -<p>The Miss Diroms were beginning to feel a little low; the country was -more humdrum than they had expected. They had not been quite sure when -they came to Scotland that there were not deer-forests on the Border. -They had a lingering belief that the peasants wore the tartan. They had -hoped for something feudal, some remnant of the Middle Ages.</p> - -<p>But they found nothing of this sort<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> they found a population which was -not at all feudal, people who were friendly but not over respectful, -unaccustomed to curtsy and disinclined to be patronized. They were -thrown back upon themselves. As for the aspect of the great people, the -Diroms were acquainted with much greater people, and thought little of -the county magnates.</p> - -<p>It was a providential suggestion which put that idea about the music -under the cliff into the head of Doris. And as a garden party in -September, in Scotland, even in the south, is a ticklish performance, -and wants every kind of organization, the sisters were immediately -plunged into business. There was this in its favour, that they had the -power of tempering the calm of the Dumfriesshire aristocracy by visitors -from the greater world at that time scattered over all Scotland, and -open to variety wherever they could find it. Even of the Americans, for -whom the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> ladies had sighed, there were three or four easily -attainable. And what with the story of Fair Helen and the little -churchyard and the ballad, these visitors would be fully entertained.</p> - -<p>Everything was in train, the invitations sent out and accepted, the -house in full bustle of preparation, every one occupied and amused, -when, to the astonishment of his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit.</p> - -<p>“I thought I’d come and look you up,” he said. He was, as he himself -described it, “in great force,” his white waistcoat ampler, his -watch-chain heavier, himself more beaming than ever.</p> - -<p>His arrival always made a difference in the house, and it was not -perhaps an enjoyable difference. It introduced a certain anxiety—a new -element. The kind and docile mother who on ordinary occasions was at -everybody’s command, and with little resistance did what was told her, -be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span>came all at once, in the shadow of her husband, a sort of silent -authority. She was housekeeper no longer; she had to be consulted, and -to give, or pretend to give, orders, which was a trouble to her, as well -as to the usual rulers of the house. Nobody disliked it more than Mrs. -Dirom herself, who had to pretend that the party was her own idea, and -that she had superintended the invitations, in a way which was very -painful to the poor lady’s rectitude and love of truth.</p> - -<p>“You should have confined yourself to giving dinners,” her husband -said—“as many dinners as you like. You’ve got a good cellar, or I’m -mistaken, and plenty of handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. The -dinners are the thing; men like ’em, and take my word for it, it’s the -men’s opinions that tell. Females may think they have it their own way -in society, but it’s the men’s opinion that tells.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You mean the males, I suppose,” said Doris. “Keep to one kind of word, -papa.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Miss D., I mean the males—your superiors,” said Mr. Dirom, with -first a stare at his critic and then a laugh. “I thought you might -consider the word offensive; but if you don’t mind, neither do I.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what is the use of quarrelling about a word?” said the mother -hastily. “We have had dinners. We have returned all that have been given -us. That is all any one can expect us to do, George. Then the girls -thought—for a little variety, to fill the house and amuse -everybody——”</p> - -<p>“With tea and toast—and hot-water bottles, I hope to put under their -feet. I’ll tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. Get out all the -keepers and gardeners with warm towels to wipe off the rain off the -trees; and have the laundresses out to iron the grass—by Jove, that’s -the thing to do;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> reduce rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and save as many -bad colds as possible. I shall say you did it when I get back to my -club.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris looked at each other.</p> - -<p>“It might be really a good thing to do. And it would be Fun. Don’t you -think the electric light put on night and day for forty-eight hours -would do some good? What an excellent thing it is to have papa here! He -is so practical. He sees in a moment the right thing.”</p> - -<p>This applause had the effect rarely attained, of confusing for a moment -the man of money.</p> - -<p>“It appears I am having a success,” he said. “Or perhaps instead of -taking all this trouble you would like me to send a consignment of fur -cloaks from town for the use of your guests. The Scotch ladies would -like that best, for it would be something,” he said with his big laugh, -“to carry away.”</p> - -<p>“And I believe,” said Mrs. Dirom, very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> anxious to be conciliatory, “you -could afford it, George.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, afford it!” he said with again that laugh, in which there was such -a sound of money, of plenty, of a confidence inexhaustible, that nobody -could have heard it, and remained unimpressed. But all the same it was -an offensive laugh, which the more finely strung nerves of his children -could scarcely bear.</p> - -<p>“After all,” said Fred, “we don’t want to insult our neighbours with our -money. If they are willing to run the risk, we may let them; and there -will always be the house to retire into, if it should be wet.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course there would always be the house. It is a very fine thing -to have a good house to retire into, whatever happens. I should like you -to realize that, all of you, and make your hay while the sun shines.”</p> - -<p>The room in which the family were sitting was not dark, as when they -were alone. The blinds were all drawn up, the sunshades, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> often drawn -when there was no sun, elevated, though a ruddy westerly sky, in all the -force of approaching sunset, blazed down upon the front of the house. -The young people exchanged looks, in which there was a question.</p> - -<p>What did he mean? He meant nothing, it appeared, since he followed up -his remarks by opening a parcel which he had brought down stairs in his -hand, and from which he took several little morocco boxes, of shape and -appearance calculated to make the hearts of women—or at least such -hearts of women as Mr. Dirom understood—beat high. They were some -“little presents” which he had brought to his family. He had a way of -doing it—and “for choice,” as he said, he preferred diamonds.</p> - -<p>“They always fetch their price, and they are very portable. Even in a -woman’s useless pocket, or in her bag or reticule, or whatever you call -it, she might carry a little fortune, and no one ever be the wiser,” Mr. -Dirom said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span></p> - -<p>“When one has diamonds,” said Phyllis, “one wishes everybody to be the -wiser, papa; we don’t get them to conceal them, do we, Dor? Do you think -it will be too much to wear that pendant to-morrow—in daylight? Well, -it is a little ostentatious.”</p> - -<p>“And you are rather too young for diamonds, Phyll—if your papa was not -so good to you,” said Mrs. Dirom in her uncertain voice.</p> - -<p>“She’s jealous, girls,” said her husband, “though hers are the best. -Young! nobody is ever too young; take the good of everything while you -have it, and as long as you have it, that’s my philosophy. And look -here, there’s the sun shining—I shouldn’t be surprised if, after all, -to-morrow you were to have a fine day.”</p> - -<p>They had a fine day, and the party was very successful. Doris had -carried out her idea about the music on the opposite bank, and it was -very effective. The guests took up this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> phrase from the sisters, who -asked, “Was it not very effective?” with ingenuous delight in their own -success.</p> - -<p>It was no common band from the neighbourhood, nor even a party of -wandering Germans, but a carefully selected company of minstrels brought -from London at an enormous cost: and while half the county walked about -upon the tolerably dry lawn, or inspected the house and all the new and -elegant articles of art-furniture which the Diroms had brought, the -trembling melody of the violins quivered through the air, and the wind -instruments sighed and shouted through all the echoes of the Dene. The -whole scene was highly effective, and all the actors in it looking and -smiling their best.</p> - -<p>The Marquis kindly paid Mr. Dirom a compliment on his “splendid -hospitality,” and the eloquent Americans who made pilgrimages to Adam -Fleming’s grave, and repeated tenderly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> his adjuration to “Helen fair, -beyond compare,” regarded everything, except Mr. Dirom in his white -waistcoat, with that mixture of veneration and condescension which -inspires the transatlantic bosom amid the immemorial scenery of old -England.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you feel the spell coming over you, don’t you feel the mosses -growing?” they cried. “See, this is English dust and damp—the ethereal -mould which comes over your very hands, as dear John Burroughs says. -Presently, if you don’t wash ’em, little plants will begin to grow all -along your line of life. Wonderful English country—mother of the ages!”</p> - -<p>This was what the American guests said to each other. It was the Miss -Dempsters, to whom Americans were as the South Sea Islanders, and who -were anxious to observe the customs and manners of the unknown race, -before whom these poetical exclamations were made.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span></p> - -<p>“The English country may be wonderful, though I know very little about -it; but you are forgetting it is not here,” Miss Dempster said. “This is -Scotland; maybe you may never have heard the name before.”</p> - -<p>It is needless to say that the ladies and gentlemen from across the -Atlantic smiled at the old native woman’s mistake.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, we know Scotland very well,—almost best of all,—for has not -everybody read the Waverleys?—at least all our fathers and mothers read -them, though they may be a little out of date in our day.”</p> - -<p>“You must be clever indeed if Walter Scott is not clever enough for -you,” said the old lady grimly. “But here’s just one thing that a -foolish person like me, it seems, can correct you in, and that’s that -this countryside is not England. No, nor ever was; and Adam Fleeming in -his grave yonder could have told you that.”</p> - -<p>“Was he a Border chief? was he one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> the knights in Branksome Hall? We -know all about that. And to think you should be of the same race, and -have lived here always, and known the story, and sung the song all your -life!”</p> - -<p>“I never was much addicted to singing songs, for my part. He must have -been a feckless kind of creature to let her get between him and the man -that wanted his blood. But he was very natural after that I will say. ‘I -hackit him in pieces sma’.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> said Miss Dempster; “that is the real -Border spirit: and I make little doubt he was English—the man with the -gun.”</p> - -<p>The pretty young ladies in their pretty toilettes gathered about the old -lady.</p> - -<p>“It is most interesting,” they said; “just what one wished to find in -the old country—the real accent—the true hereditary feeling.”</p> - -<p>“You are just behaving like an old haverel,” said Miss Beenie to her -sister in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> an undertone. It seldom occurred to her to take the command -of affairs, but she saw her opportunity and seized it.</p> - -<p>“For our part,” she said, “it is just as interesting to us to see real -people from America. I have heard a great deal about them, but I never -saw them before. It will be a great change to find yourselves in the -midst of ceevilization? And what was that about mosses growing on your -poor bit little hands? Bless me! I have heard of hair and fur, but never -of green growth. Will that be common on your side of the water?”</p> - -<p>She spoke with the air of one who was seeking information. Mr. John -Burroughs himself, that charming naturalist, might have been -disconcerted by so serious a question. And the two old ladies remained -in possession of the field.</p> - -<p>“I just answered a fool according to his folly,” Miss Beenie remarked, -with modest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> enjoyment of a triumph that seldom fell to her share, “for -you were carried away, Sarah, and let them go on with their impidence. A -set of young idiots out of a sauvage country that were too grand for -Walter Scott!”</p> - -<p>It was on the whole a great day for the Miss Dempsters. They saw -everybody, they explored the whole house, and identified every piece of -furniture that was not Lady Allonby’s. They made a private inspection of -the dining-room, where there was a buffet—erected not only for light -refreshments, but covered with luxuries and delicacies of a more serious -description.</p> - -<p>“Bless me, I knew there was tea and ices,” they said; “it’s like a ball -supper, and a grand one. Oh, those millionaires! they just cannot spend -money enough. But I like our own candlesticks,” said Miss Dempster, “far -better than these branchy things, like the dulse on the shore, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> -candelawbra, or whatever they call it, on yon table.”</p> - -<p>“They’re bigger,” said Miss Beenie; “but my opinion is that the branches -are all hollow, not solid like ours.”</p> - -<p>“There’s not many like ours,” said Miss Dempster; “indeed I am disposed -to think they are just unique. Lord bless us, is that the doctor at the -side-table? He is eating up everything. The capacity that man has is -just extraordinary—both for dribblets of drink and for solid food.”</p> - -<p>“Is that you, ladies?” said the doctor. “I looked for you among the -first, and now you’re here, let me offer you some of this raised pie. -It’s just particularly good, with truffles as big as my thumb. I take -credit for suggesting a game pie. I said they would send the whole -parish into my hands with their cauld ices that are not adapted to our -climate.”</p> - -<p>“We were just saying ices are but a wersh<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> provision, and make you -shiver to think of them at this time of the year; but many thanks to -you, doctor. We are not in the habit either of eating or drinking -between meals. Perhaps a gentleman may want it, and you have science to -help you down with it. But two women like us, we are just very well -content with a cup of tea.”</p> - -<p>“Which is a far greater debauch,” said the doctor hotly, “for you are -always at it.” But he put down his plate. “The auld cats,” he said to -himself; “there’s not a drop passes my lips but they see it, and it will -be over all the parish that I was standing guzzlin’ here at this hour of -the day.”</p> - -<p>But there were others beside the doctor who took advantage of the raised -pie and appreciated the truffles. People who have been whetted by music -and vague conversation and nothing to do or think of for a weary -afternoon, eat with enthusiasm when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> the chance occurs; they eat even -cake and bread and butter, how much more the luxurious <i>mayonnaise</i> and -lobsters and <i>foie gras</i>. After the shiver of an ice it was grateful to -turn to better fare. And Mr. Dirom was in his glory in the dining-room, -which was soon filled by a crowd more animated and genial than that -which had strolled about the lawn.</p> - -<p>“You will spoil your dinner,” the ladies said to their husbands, but -with small effect.</p> - -<p>“Never mind the dinner,” said the master of the house. “Have a little of -this Château Yquem. It is not a wine you can get every day. I call it -melted gold; but I never ask the price of a wine so long as it’s good; -and there’s plenty more where that came from.”</p> - -<p>His wealth was rampant, and sounded in his voice and in his laugh, till -you seemed to hear the money tinkle. Phyllis and Doris<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> and Fred cast -piteous glances at each other when they met.</p> - -<p>“Oh, will nobody take him away!” they cried under their breath. “Fred, -can’t you pretend there is a telegram and dreadful news? Can’t you say -the Bank of England is broke, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer has -run away?”</p> - -<p>He wounded his children’s nerves and their delicacy beyond description, -but still it had to be allowed that he was the master of the house. And -so the party came to an end, and the guests, many of them with -indigestions, but with the most cordial smiles and applause and -hand-shakings, were gradually cleared away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr. Ogilvie</span> was one of those who carried away an incipient indigestion. -He was not accustomed to truffles nor to Château Yquem. But he did not -spoil his dinner—for as they were in the habit of dining rather early, -and it was now nearly seven o’clock, his wife promptly decided that a -cup of tea when he got home would be much the best thing for him, and -that no dinner need be served in Gilston House that day. She said, “You -must just look a little lively, Robert, till we get away. Don’t let -strangers think that you’ve been taking more than is good for you, -either of meat or drink.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Drink!” said the good man. “Yon’s nectar: but I might have done without -the salad. Salad is a cold thing upon the stomach. I’m lively enough if -you would let me alone. And he’s a grand fellow the father of them. He -grudges nothing. I have not seen such a supper since my dancing days.”</p> - -<p>“It was no supper; it was just a tea party. I wish you would wake up, -and understand. Here is Mr. Dirom with Effie coming to put me into the -carriage. Rouse up, man, and say a civil word.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do that,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “We’ve had a most enjoyable evening, -Mr. Dirom, a good supper and a capital band, and—— But I cannot get it -out of my head that it’s been a ball—which is impossible now I see all -these young ladies with hats and bonnets upon their heads.”</p> - -<p>“I wish it had been a ball,” said the overwhelming host. “We ought to -have kept it up half through the night, and enjoyed another<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> supper, eh? -at midnight, and a little more of that Clicquot. I hope there’s enough -for half-a-dozen balls. Why hadn’t you the sense to keep the young -people for the evening, Fred? Perhaps you thought the provisions -wouldn’t last, or that I would object to pay the band for a few hours -longer. My children make me look stingy, Mrs. Ogilvie. They have got a -number of small economical ways.”</p> - -<p>“And that’s an excellent thing,” said the lady, “for perhaps they may -not have husbands that will be so liberal as their father—or so well -able to afford it—and then what would they do?”</p> - -<p>“I hope to put them beyond the risk of all that,” said the man of money, -jingling his coins. He did not offer to put Mrs. Ogilvie into the -carriage as she had supposed, but looked on with his hands in his -pockets, and saw her get in. The Ogilvies were almost the last to leave, -and the last object that impressed itself upon them as they turned round -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> corner of the house was Mr. Dirom’s white waistcoat, which looked -half as big as Allonby itself. When every one had disappeared, he took -Fred, who was not very willing, by the arm, and led him along the river -bank.</p> - -<p>“Is that the family,” he said, “my fine fellow, that they tell me you -want to marry into, Fred?”</p> - -<p>“I have never thought of the family. Since you bring it in so -suddenly—though I was scarcely prepared to speak on the subject—yes: -that’s the young lady whom in all the world, sir, I should choose for my -wife.”</p> - -<p>“Much you know about the world,” said Mr. Dirom. “I can’t imagine what -you are thinking of; a bit of a bread-and-butter girl, red and white, -not a fortune, no style about her, or anything out of the common. Why, -at your age, without a tithe of your advantages, I shouldn’t have looked -at her, Mr. Fred.”</p> - -<p>If there was in Fred’s mind the involun<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span>tary instinctive flash of a -comparison between his good homely mother and pretty Effie, may it be -forgiven him! He could do nothing more than mutter a half sulky word -upon difference of taste.</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” said his father; “one man’s meat is another man’s poison. -My Lady Alicia’s not much to look at, but she is Lady Alicia; that’s -always a point in her favour. But this little girl has nothing to show. -Bread and butter, that’s all that can be said.”</p> - -<p>To this Fred, with gathering curves upon his forehead, made no reply at -all.</p> - -<p>“And her people are barely presentable,” said the father. “I say this -with no personal feeling, only for your good; very Scotch, but nothing -else about them to remember them by. A sodden stagnant old Scotch -squire, and a flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a few pounds -of her own that will make her think herself somebody. My dear fellow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> -there you have everything that is most objectionable. A milkmaid would -not be half so bad, for she would ask no questions and understand that -she got everything from you——”</p> - -<p>“There is no question of any milkmaid,” said Fred in high offence.</p> - -<p>“Middle class is social destruction,” said Mr. Dirom. “Annihilation, -that’s what it is. High or low has some chance, but there’s no good in -your <i>milieu</i>. Whatever happens, you’ll never be able to make anything -out of her. They have no go in that position; they’re too respectable to -go out of the beaten way. That little thing, sir, will think it’s -unbecoming to do this or that. She’ll never put out a step beyond what -she knows. She’ll be no help to you if anything happens. She’ll set up -her principles; she’ll preach your duty to you. A pretty kind of wife -for the son of a man who has made his way to the top of the tree, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span> -Jove! and that may tumble down again some fine day.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Fred. “You might add she will -most likely neither look nor listen to me, and all this sermon of yours -will go for nought.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean it for a sermon. I give it you in friendship to warn you -what’s before you. You think perhaps after this I’m going to forbid the -banns: though there’s no banns wanted in this free country, I believe. -No, Fred, that’s not it; I’m not going to interfere. If you like -insipidity, it’s your own concern: if you choose a wife in order to -carry her on your shoulders—and be well kicked while you do it: mind -that.”</p> - -<p>“I think, sir,” said Fred, who had grown very red, “that we had better -drop the subject. If you mean to oppose, why, of course, you can -oppose—but if not, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> sort of thing does little good. It can never -alter my mind, and I don’t see even how it can relieve yours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, it relieves mine,” said his father. “It shows you my opinion. -After that, if you choose to take your own way, why, you must do it. I -should have advised you to look out for a nice little fortune which -might have been a stand-by in case of anything happening. No, nothing’s -going to happen. Still you know—— Or I’d have married rank (you might -if you had liked), and secured a little family interest. Things might -change in a day, at any moment. Jack might tire of his blue china and -come and offer himself for the office. If he did, you have married -against my advice, and Jack being the eldest son—— Well, I don’t need -to say any more.”</p> - -<p>“I quite understand, sir,” Fred said.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s a good thing; but you need not go too far on the other -side, and think<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> I’m going to disinherit you, or any of that rubbish. -Did I disinherit Jack? I bring you up in the best way, spend no end of -money on you, teach you to think yourselves twice the man I am, and then -you take your own way.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir,” cried Fred anxiously, “you are mistaken. I——” But -though he did not think he was twice the man his father was, yet he did -think he was a very different man from his father, and this -consciousness made him stammer and fall into confusion, not knowing what -to say.</p> - -<p>“Don’t trouble yourself to contradict me,” said Mr. Dirom. “<i>I</i> don’t -think so. I think your father’s twice the man you are. Let each of us -keep his opinion. We shan’t convince each other. And if you insist on -marrying your insipidity, do. Tell the stupid old father to communicate -with my lawyers about the settlements, and get it over as soon as you -please.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You are going a great deal too fast, sir,” said Fred. He was pale with -the hurry and rapid discussion. “I can’t calculate like this upon what -is going to happen. Nothing has happened as yet.”</p> - -<p>“You mean she mayn’t have you? Never fear; young fellows with a father -behind them ain’t so common. Most men in my position would put a stop to -it altogether. I don’t; what does it matter to me? Dirom and Co. don’t -depend upon daughters-in-law. A woman’s fortune is as nothing to what’s -going through my hands every day. I say, let every man please himself. -And you’ve got quiet tastes and all that sort of thing, Fred. Thinking -of coming up to town to look after business a little? Well, don’t; -there’s no need of you just now. I’ve got some ticklish operations on, -but they’re things I keep in my own hands.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t pretend to be the business man you are,” said Fred with a -fervour which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> was a little forced, “but if I could be of use——”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t think you could be of use. Go on with your love-making. By -the way, I’m going back to-night. When is the train? I’ll just go in and -mention it to your mother. I wanted to see what sort of a set you had -about. Poor lot!” said Mr. Dirom, shaking his heavy chain as he looked -at his watch. “Not a shilling to spare among ’em—and thinking all the -world of themselves. So do I? Yes: but then I’ve got something to stand -upon. Money, my boy, that’s the only real power.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris met their brother anxiously on his way back. “What is -he going to do?” they both said; “what has he been talking to you about? -Have you got to give her up, you poor old Fred?”</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t have given her up for a dozen governors; but he’s very good -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span>about it. Really to hear him you would think—— He’s perhaps better -about it than I deserve. He’s going back to town by the fast train -to-night.”</p> - -<p>“To-night!” There was both relief and grievance in the tone of the -girls.</p> - -<p>“He might just as well have gone this morning, and much more comfortable -for him,” said Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“For us too,” said her sister, and the three stood together and indulged -in a little guilty laugh which expressed the relief of their souls. “It -is horrid of us, when he’s always so kind: but papa does not really -enjoy the country, nor perhaps our society. He is always much happier -when he’s in town and within reach of the club.”</p> - -<p>“And in the meantime we have got our diamonds.”</p> - -<p>“And I my freedom,” said Fred; then he added with a look of compunction, -“I say, though, look here. He’s as good to us as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> he knows how, and -we’re not just what you would call——”</p> - -<p>“Grateful,” said both the sisters in a breath. Then they began to make -excuses, each in her own way.</p> - -<p>“We did not bring up ourselves. We ought to have got the sort of -education that would have kept us in papa’s sphere. He should have seen -to that; but he didn’t, Fred, as you know, and how can we help it? I am -always as civil to him as it’s possible to be. If he were ill, or -anything happened—By-the-bye, we are always saying now, ‘If anything -happened:’ as if there was some trouble in the air.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right; you needn’t be superstitious. He is in the best of -spirits, and says I am not wanted, and that he’s got some tremendous -operation in hand.”</p> - -<p>“I do not suppose you would make much difference, dear Fred, even if you -were wanted,” said Miss Phyllis sweetly. “Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> course if he were ill we -should go to him wherever he was. If he should have an accident now, I -could bind up his arteries, or foment his foot if he strained it. I have -not got my ambulance certificate for nothing. But keeping very well and -quite rampant, and richer than anybody, what could we do for him?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the sentiment of the thing,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>“As if he ever thought of the sentiment; or minded anything about us.”</p> - -<p>They returned to the house in the course of this conversation—where -already the servants had cleared the dining-room and replaced it in its -ordinary condition. Here Doris paused to tell the butler that dinner -must be served early on account of her father’s departure: but her -interference was received by that functionary with a bland smile, which -rebuked the intrusion.</p> - -<p>“We have known it, miss, since master came,” a little speech which -brought back<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> the young people to their original state of exasperated -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“You see!” the girls said, while even Fred while he laughed felt a prick -of irritation. Williams the butler had a great respect for his master, a -respect by no means general in such cases. He had served a duke in his -day, but he had never met with any one who was so indifferent to every -one else, so masterful and easy in his egotism, as his present -gentleman. And that he himself should have known what Mr. Dirom’s -arrangements were, while the children did not know, was a thing that -pleased this regent of the household. It was putting things in their -proper place.</p> - -<p>All the arrangements were made in the same unalterable imperious way. -There was no hurry with Mr. Dirom. He dined and indulged in a great many -remarks upon county people, whom he thought very small beer, he who was -used to the best society.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> He would not in London have condescended to -notice such people.</p> - -<p>But in the country, if the girls liked, and as there was nothing better -to be had—“From time to time give them a good spread,” he said; “don’t -mind what’s the occasion—a good spread, all the delicacies of the -season; that’s the sort of thing to do. Hang economy, that’s the virtue -of the poor-proud. You’re not poor, thanks to me, and you have no call -to be humble, chicks. Give it ’em grand, regardless of expense. As long -as I’m there to pay, I like you to cut a figure. I like to feed ’em up -and laugh in their faces. They’ll call me vulgar, you bet. Never mind; -what I like is to let them say it, and then make them knuckle under. Let -’em see you’re rich,—that’s what the beggars feel,—and you’ll have -every one of them, the best of them, on their knees. Pity is,” he added -after a while, “that there’s nobody here that is any good. Nothing -marriageable, eh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> Phyll? Ah, well, for that fellow there, who might -have picked up something better any day of his life; but nothing for you -girls. Not so much as a bit of a young baronet, or even a Scotch squire. -Nothing but the doctor; the doctor won’t do. I’m very indulgent, but -there I draw the line. Do you hear, mother? No doctor. I’ll not stand -the doctor—not till they’re forty at the least, and have got no other -hope.”</p> - -<p>The girls sat pale, and made no reply. Their mother gave a feeble laugh, -as in duty bound, and said, “That’s your fun, George.” Thus the -propriety of Doris’s statement that they ought to have been brought up -in papa’s sphere was made apparent: for in that case they would have -laughed too: whereas now they sat silent and pale, and looked at each -other, with sentiments unutterable: fortunately the servants had gone -away, but he was quite capable of having spoken before the servants.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span></p> - -<p>After dinner they waited with ill-restrained impatience the hour of the -train. <i>He</i> had rarely made himself so offensive; he went on about the -doctor, who would probably be their fate as they got near forty, with -inexhaustible enjoyment, and elicited from their mother that little -remonstrating laugh, which they forgave her for pity, saying to each -other, “Poor mamma!” Decidedly it is much better when daughters, and -sons too, for that matter, are brought up in their father’s sphere. He -went away in great good humour, refusing Fred’s offer to drive him to -the station.</p> - -<p>“None of your dog-carts for me,” he said: “I’ve ordered the brougham. -Good-bye girls; take care of yourselves, and try to rummage out -something superior to that doctor. And, Fred, you’d better think better -of it, my fine fellow, or, if you won’t be warned, do as you like, and -be hanged to you. Good-bye, old lady; I expect to hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> you’ve got -screwed up with rheumatism in this damp old den here.”</p> - -<p>“And when will you come back, George? They say the weather is fine up to -November. I hope you’ll soon come back.”</p> - -<p>“Not for some time—unless I should have worse luck,” said the rich man. -He was at the door when he said this, his wife accompanying him, while -Fred stood outside with his hair blown about his eyes, at the door of -the brougham. The girls, standing behind, saw it all like a picture. -Their father, still with his white waistcoat showing under his overcoat, -his heavy chain glittering, and the beam and the roll of triumphant -money in his eye and his gait—“Not soon, unless I have worse luck,” and -he paused a moment and gave a comprehensive look around him with sudden -gravity, as he spoke.</p> - -<p>Then there was a laugh, a good-bye—and the carriage rolled away, and -they all stood<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> for a moment looking out into the blackness of the -night.</p> - -<p>“What does he mean by worse luck?” they said to their mother as she came -in from the door.</p> - -<p>“He means nothing; it is just his fun. He’s got the grandest operations -in hand he has ever had. What a father you have got, girls! and to think -he lets you do whatever you please, and keeps you rolling in wealth all -the same!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> day of the party at Allonby had been a day of pleasure to Effie, but -of pleasure she was half afraid of and only half understood. The -atmosphere about her had been touched by something beyond her -experience,—softened, brightened, glorified, she could not tell how. -She did not understand it, and yet she did understand it, and this soft -conflict between knowing and not knowing increased its magical effect. -She was surrounded by that atmosphere of admiration, of adoration, which -is the first romantic aspect of a love-making. Everything in her and -about her was so beautiful and lovely in the eyes of her young and -undeclared lover, that somehow in spite of herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> this atmosphere got -into her own eyes and affected her conception of herself. It was all an -effect of fancy, unreal, not meaning, even to Fred Dirom, what it had -seemed to mean.</p> - -<p>When love came to its perfection, when he had told it, and made sure of -a return (if he was to have a return), then Fred too, or any, the most -romantic of lovers, would so far return to common earth as to become -aware that it was a woman and not a poetical angel whom he was about to -marry.</p> - -<p>But at present fancy was supreme, and Effie was as no real creature ever -had been, lit up with the effulgence of a tender imagination, even in -her own consciousness. She was not vain, nor apt to take much upon -herself; neither was she by any means prepared to respond to the -sentiment with which Fred regarded her. She did not look at him through -that glorifying medium. But she became aware of herself through it in a -bewildering, dazzling, incomprehensible way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> Her feet trod the air, a -suffusion of light seemed to be about her. It was a merely sympathetic -effect, although she was the glorified object; but for the moment it was -very remarkable and even sweet.</p> - -<p>“Well! it appears you were the queen of the entertainment, Effie, for -all so simple as you sit there,” said her stepmother. “I hope you were -content.”</p> - -<p>“Me!” said Effie, in those half bewildered tones, conscious of it, yet -incapable of acknowledging it, not knowing how it could be. She added in -a subdued voice: “They were all very kind,” blushing so deeply that her -countenance and throat rose red out of her white frock.</p> - -<p>“Her!” cried Mr. Ogilvie, still a little confused with the truffles; -“what would she be the queen of the feast for, a little thing like that? -I have nothing to say against you, Effie; but there were many finer -women there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, Robert,” said his wife. “There may be some things on -which you’re qualified to speak: but the looks of his own daughter, and -her just turning out of a girl into a woman, is what no man can judge. -You just can’t realize Effie as anything more than Effie. But I’ve seen -it for a long time. That’s not the point of view from which she is -regarded there.”</p> - -<p>“I know no other point of view,” he said in his sleepy voice. “You are -putting rank nonsense into her head.”</p> - -<p>“Just you lean back in your corner and take a rest,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, -“you’ve been exposed to the sun, and you’ve had heating viands and -drinks instead of your good cup of tea; and leave Effie’s head to me. -I’ll put nothing into it that should not be there.”</p> - -<p>“I think Effie’s head can take care of itself,” said the subject of the -discussion, though indeed if she had said the truth she would have -acknowledged that the little head<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> in question was in the condition -which is popularly described as “turned,” and not in a very fit -condition to judge of itself.</p> - -<p>“It is easy to see that Mr. Dirom is a most liberal person,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, “and spares nothing. I would not wonder if we were to see him -at Gilston to-morrow. What for? Oh, just for civility, and to see your -father. There might be business questions arising between them; who can -tell? And, Effie, I hope you’ll be reasonable, and not set yourself -against anything that would be for your good.”</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” said Effie, “but I don’t know what it is that you think -would be for my good.”</p> - -<p>“That is just what I am afraid of,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “that’s what -young folk are always doing. I can remember myself in my young days the -chances I threw away. Instead of seeing what’s in it as a real serious -matter, you will just consider it as a joke, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> a thing to amuse -yourself with. That is not what a reasonable person would do. You’re -young, to be sure, but you will not be always young; and it is just -silly to treat in that light way what might be such a grand settlement -for life.”</p> - -<p>“I wish,” cried Effie, reddening now with sudden anger,—“oh, I wish you -would——”</p> - -<p>“Mind my own business? But it is my own business. When I married your -father it was one of the first of my duties to look after you, and -consider your best interests. I hope I’ve always done my duty by you, -Effie. From seeing that your hair was cut regularly, which was just in a -heart-breaking tangle about your shoulders when I came home to Gilston, -to seeing you well settled, there is nothing I have had so much in my -mind. Now don’t you make me any answer, for you will just say something -you will regret. I shall never have grown-up daughters of my own, and if -I were not to think of you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> I would be a most reprehensible person. All -I have to ask of you is that you will not be a fool and throw away your -advantages. You need not stir a finger. Just take things pleasantly and -make a nice answer to them that ask, and everything else will come to -your hand. Lucky girl that you are! Yes, my dear, you are just a very -lucky girl. Scarcely nineteen, and everything you can desire ready to -drop into your lap. There is not one in a hundred that has a lot like -that. There are many that might do not amiss but for some circumstances -that’s against them; but there is no circumstance against you, and -nothing that can harm you, unless just some nonsense fancy that you may -take up at your own hand.”</p> - -<p>Thus Mrs. Ogilvie ran on during the drive home. After one or two murmurs -of protest Effie fell into silence, preferring, as she often did, the -soft current of her own thoughts to the weary words of her stepmother, -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> indeed was by no means unaccustomed to carry on a monologue of this -description, in which she gave forth a great many sentiments that were a -credit to her, and gave full intimation, had any attention been paid to -her, of various plans which were hotly but ineffectually objected to -when she carried them out.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie in his corner, what with his truffles and the unusual -fatigue of an afternoon spent in the midst of a crowd, and the familiar -lullaby of his wife’s voice, and the swift motion of the horses glad to -get home, had got happily and composedly to sleep. And if Effie did not -sleep, she did what was better. She allowed herself to float away on a -dreamy tide of feeling, which indeed was partly caused by Fred Dirom’s -devotion, yet was not responsive to it, nor implied any enchantment of -her own in which he held a leading place. She mused, but not of Fred. -The pleasure of life, of youth, of the love shown to her, of perhaps, -though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> it is a less admirable sentiment, gratified vanity, buoyed her -up and carried her along.</p> - -<p>No doubt it was gratified vanity; yet it was something more. The feeling -that we are admired and beloved has a subtle delight in it, breathing -soft and warm into the heart, which is more than a vain gratification. -It brings a conviction that the world, so good to us, is good and kind -to its core—that there is a delightful communication with all lovely -things possible to humanity to which we now have got the key, that we -are entering into our heritage, and that the beautiful days are dawning -for us that dawn upon all in their time, in their hour and place.</p> - -<p>This, perhaps, has much to do with the elevation and ecstasy even of -true love. Without love at all on her own part, but only the reflected -glow of that which shone from her young lover, who had not as yet -breathed a word to her of hopes or of wishes, this soft uprising tide, -this consciousness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> a new existence, caught Effie now. She ceased to -pay any attention to her stepmother, whose wise words floated away upon -the breezes, and perhaps got diffused into nature, and helped to -replenish that stock of wisdom which the quiet and silence garner up to -transmit to fit listeners in their time. Some other country girl, -perhaps, going out into the fields to ask herself what she should do in -similar circumstances, got the benefit of those counsels, adjuring her -to abandon fancy and follow the paths of prudence, though they floated -over Effie’s head and made no impression on her dreaming soul.</p> - -<p>This vague and delightful period lasted without being broken by anything -definite for some time longer. The Dirom family in general had been -checked and startled, they could scarcely tell how, by the visit of the -father. Not that its abruptness surprised them, or its brevity, to both -of which things they were accustomed. No one indeed could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> define what -was the cause, or indeed what was exactly the effect. It did not reach -the length of anxiety or alarm, and it was not produced by any special -thing which he had done or said; but yet they were checked, made -uncomfortable, they could not tell why.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dirom herself retired to her room and cried, though she would not -or could not give any reason for it; and the young people, though none -of their pursuits had been blamed by their father, tacitly by one -impulse paused in them, renouncing their most cherished habits, though -with no cause they knew.</p> - -<p>The same indefinite check weighed upon Fred. He had received, to his own -surprise, full license from his father to do as he pleased, and make his -own choice, a permission indeed which he had fully calculated upon—for -Mr. Dirom’s sentiment of wealth was such that he had always -persistently<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> scoffed at the idea of a wife’s fortune being any special -object on the part of his sons—but which he had not expected to receive -without asking for it, without putting forth his reasons, in this -prodigal way.</p> - -<p>But Fred did not at once take advantage of this permission to please -himself. Perhaps the mere fact that his father took it so entirely for -granted, gave the subject greater gravity and difficulty in the eyes of -the son, and he became doubtful in proportion as the difficulties seemed -smoothed away. He did not even see Effie for some days after. The first -touch of winter came with the beginning of October, and tennis became a -thing of the past. Neither was there much pleasure to be had either in -walks or rides. The outside world grew dark, and to the discouraged and -disturbed family it was almost an advantage to shut themselves up for a -day or two, to gather round the fire, and either mutely or by -implication consult with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> each other, and question that Sphinx of the -future which gives no reply.</p> - -<p>When this impression began to wear off, and the natural course of life -was resumed, Fred found another obstacle to the promotion of his suit. -Effie gave him no rebuff, showed no signs of dislike or displeasure, but -smiled to meet him, with a soft colour rising over her face, which many -a lover would have interpreted to mean the most flattering things. But -with all this, Fred felt a certain atmosphere of abstraction about her -which affected him, though his feelings were far from abstract. He had a -glimmering of the truth in respect to her, such as only a fairly -sympathetic nature and the perfect sincerity of his mind could have -conveyed to him.</p> - -<p>The girl was moved, he felt, by love, by something in the air, by an -ethereal sentiment—but not by him. She felt his love, thrilling somehow -sympathetically the delicate strings of her being, but did not share -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> passion. This stopped him in the strangest way, re-acting upon him, -taking the words from his lips. It was too delicate for words. It seemed -to him that even a definite breath of purpose, much more the vulgar -question, Will you marry me? would have broken the spell. And thus a -little interval passed which was not without its sweetness. The nature -of their intercourse changed a little. It became less easy, yet almost -more familiar; instead of the lawns, the tennis, the walk through the -glen, the talk of Doris and Phyllis for a background, it was now in -Gilston chiefly that he met Effie. He came upon all possible and -impossible errands, to bring books or to borrow them, to bring flowers -from the conservatories, or grapes and peaches, or grouse; to consult -Mr. Ogilvie about the little farm, of which he knew nothing; or any -other pretext that occurred to him. And then he would sit in the homely -drawing-room at Gilston the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> afternoon through, while Effie did -her needlework, or arranged the flowers, or brought out the dessert -dishes for the fruit, or carried him, a pretty handmaiden, his cup of -tea.</p> - -<p>“Now just sit still,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and let Effie serve you. A -woman should always hand the tea. You’re fine for heavier things, but -tea is a girl’s business.”</p> - -<p>And Fred sat in bliss, and took that domestic nectar from the hand of -Effie, standing sweetly with a smile before him, and felt himself grow -nearer and nearer, and yet still farther and farther away.</p> - -<p>This state of affairs did not satisfy Mrs. Ogilvie at all. She asked -herself sometimes whether Fred after all was trifling with Effie? -whether it was possible that he might be amusing himself? whether her -father should interfere? This excellent woman was well aware that to get -Effie’s father to interfere was about as likely as that good Glen, -sweeping his mighty tail, should stop Fred upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> the threshold, and ask -him what were his intentions. But then “her father” meant, of course, -her father’s wife, and the lady herself felt no reluctance, if Effie’s -interest required it, to take this step.</p> - -<p>Her objects were various. In the first place, as a matter of principle, -she had a rooted objection to shilly-shally in a question of this kind. -She had the feeling that her own prospects had suffered from it, as many -women have; and though Mrs. Ogilvie had not suffered much, and was very -well satisfied on the whole with her life, still she might, she felt, -have married earlier and married better but for the senseless delays of -the man in more cases than one.</p> - -<p>From a less abstract point of view she desired the question to be -settled in Effie’s interests, feeling sure both that Fred was an -excellent <i>parti</i>, and that he was that highly desirable thing—a good -young man. Perhaps a sense that to have the house to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> herself, without -the perpetual presence of a grown-up stepdaughter, might be an -advantage, had a certain weight with her; but a motive which had much -greater weight, was the thought of the triumph of thus marrying -Effie—who was not even her own, and for whom her exertions would be -recognized as disinterested—in this brilliant manner at nineteen—a -triumph greater than any which had been achieved by any mother in the -county since the time when May Caerlaverock married an English duke. -None of these, it will be perceived, were sordid reasons, and Mrs. -Ogilvie had no need to be ashamed of any of them. The advantage of her -husband’s daughter was foremost in her thoughts.</p> - -<p>But with all this in her, it may well be believed that Mrs. Ogilvie was -very impatient of the young people’s delays, of the hours that Fred -wasted in the Gilston drawing-room without ever coming to the point,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> -and of the total want of any anxiety or desire that he should come to -the point, on the part of Effie.</p> - -<p>“He will just let the moment pass,” this excellent woman said to herself -as she sat and frowned, feeling that she gave them a hundred -opportunities of which they took no heed, which they did not even seem -to be conscious of.</p> - -<p>It was all she could do, she said afterwards, to keep her hands off -them! the two silly things! just playing with their fate. She was moved -almost beyond her power of self-control, and would sit quivering with -the desire to hasten matters, ready every time she opened her lips to -address them on the subject, while Fred took his tea with every -appearance of calm, and Effie served him as if in a dream.</p> - -<p>“Oh ye two silly things!”—this was what was on her lips twenty times in -an afternoon; and she would get up and go out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> of the room, partly lest -she should betray herself, partly that he might have an opportunity. But -it was not till about the end of October, on a dusky afternoon after a -day of storm and rain, that Fred found his opportunity, not when Mrs. -Ogilvie, but when Effie happened to be absent, for it was, after all, to -the elder lady, not to the younger, that he at length found courage to -speak.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Mrs. Ogilvie</span>, may I say a word to you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Dear me, Mr. Fred, a hundred if you like. I am just always most ready -to listen to what my friends have to say.”</p> - -<p>Which was true enough but with limitations, and implied the possibility -of finding an opening, a somewhat difficult process. She made a very -brief pause, looking at him, and then continued, “It will be something -of importance? I am sure I am flattered that you should make a confidant -of me.”</p> - -<p>“It is something of a great deal of importance—to me. I am going to ask -you as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> kind friend, which you have always shown yourself——”</p> - -<p>“Hoots,” said the lady, “I’ve had nothing in my power. But what will it -be? for though I have the best will in the world, and would do anything -to serve you, I cannot think what power I have to be of any use, or what -I can do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of the greatest use. Tell me first,” cried the young man, who had -risen up and was standing before her with an evident tremor about him. -“Shall I have time to tell you everything? is Miss Effie coming back -directly? will she soon be here?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie felt as if her senses were abandoning her. It was evident -he wanted Effie to stay away in order that he might reveal something to -<i>her</i>. Dear, what could it be? Was it possible that she had been -mistaken all through? was it possible—? Mrs. Ogilvie was not a vain -woman, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> the circumstances were such as to confuse the clearest head.</p> - -<p>“She has gone up to the manse to her Uncle John’s. Well, I would not -wonder if she was half-an-hour away. But, Mr. Dirom, you will excuse me, -I would sooner have believed you wanted me out of the way than Effie. I -could have imagined you had something to say to her: but me!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that is just it,” said Fred, “I feel as if I dared not. I want you -to tell me, dear Mrs. Ogilvie, if it is any good. She is—well, not -cold—she is always sweetness itself. But I feel as if I were kept at a -distance, as if nothing of that sort had ever approached her—no -idea—— Other girls laugh about marriage and lovers and so forth, but -she never. I feel as if I should shock her, as if——”</p> - -<p>“Then it <i>is</i> about Effie that you want to speak?”</p> - -<p>He was so full of emotion that it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> only by a nod of his head that he -could reply.</p> - -<p>“You know this is just an extraordinary kind of proceeding, Mr. Fred. -It’s a thing nobody thinks of doing. She will perhaps not like it, for -she has a great deal of spirit—that you should first have spoken to -me.”</p> - -<p>“It is in many parts of the world the right thing to do. I—didn’t -know——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is just a very right thing, no doubt, in principle; but a girl -would perhaps think—Well, you must just say your mind, and I will help -you if I can. It may be something different from what I expect.”</p> - -<p>“What could it be, Mrs. Ogilvie? I have loved her since the first moment -I saw her. When I lifted the curtain and my eyes fell upon that fair -creature, so innocent, so gentle! I have never thought of any one in the -same way. My fate was decided in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span> that moment. Do you think there is any -hope for me?”</p> - -<p>“Hope!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “well, I must say I think you are a very -humble-minded young man.”</p> - -<p>He came up to her and took her hand and kissed it. He was full of -agitation.</p> - -<p>“I am in no way worthy of such happiness. Humble-minded—oh no, I am not -humble-minded. But Effie—tell me! has she ever spoken of me, has she -said anything to make you think—has she——”</p> - -<p>“My dear Mr. Fred, of course we have spoken of you many a time; not that -I would say she ever said anything—oh no, she would not say anything. -She is shy by nature, and shyer than I could wish with me. But, dear me, -how is it likely she would be insensible? You’ve been so devoted that -everybody has seen it. Oh, yes, I expected.—And how could she help but -see? She has never met with anybody else,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> she is just fresh from the -nursery and the schoolroom, and has never had such a notion presented to -her mind. It would be very strange to me, just out of all possibility, -that she should refuse such an offer.”</p> - -<p>The pang of pleasure which had penetrated Fred’s being was here modified -by a pang of pain. He shrank a little from these words. This was not how -he regarded his love. He cried anxiously, “Don’t say that. If you think -it is possible that she may learn to—love me——”</p> - -<p>“And why not?” said this representative of all that was straightforward -and commonplace. “There is nobody before you, that is one thing I can -tell you. There was a young man—a boy I might say—but I would never -allow her to hear a word about it. No, no, there is nobody—you may feel -quite free to speak.”</p> - -<p>“You make me—very happy,” he said, but in a tone by no means so assured -as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> his words. Then he added, hesitating, “Perhaps I should not ask -more; but if she had ever shown—oh, I am sure you must know what I -mean—any interest—any——”</p> - -<p>“Toots!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “am I going to betray a bit girlie’s -secrets, even if I knew them. One thing, she will not perhaps be pleased -that you have spoken to me. I am but her stepmother when all is said. -Her father is in the library, and he is the right person. Just you step -across the passage and have a word with him. That will be far more to -the purpose than trying to get poor Effie’s little secrets out of me.”</p> - -<p>“But, Mrs. Ogilvie,” cried Fred—</p> - -<p>“I will just show you the way. It would be awkward if she found you here -with me with that disturbed look; but her father is another matter -altogether. Now, don’t be blate, as we say here. Don’t be too modest. -Just go straight in and tell him—Robert,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> here is Mr. Fred Dirom that -is wishful to have a word with you.”</p> - -<p>Fred followed, altogether taken by surprise. He was not in the least -“wishful” to have a word with Mr. Ogilvie. He wanted to find out from a -sympathetic spectator whether Effie’s virginal thoughts had ever turned -towards him, whether he might tell his tale without alarming her, -without perhaps compromising his own interests; but his ideas had not -taken the practical form of definite proposals, or an interview with the -father. Not that Fred had the slightest intention of declaring his love -without offering himself fully for Effie’s acceptance; but to speak of -his proposal, and to commit him to a meeting of this sort before he knew -anything of Effie’s sentiments, threw a business air, which was half -ludicrous and half horrible, over the little tender romance. But what -can a young man do in such absurd circumstances? Mrs. Ogilvie did not -ask his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span> opinion. She led the way, talking in her usual full round -voice, which filled the house.</p> - -<p>“Just come away,” she said. “To go to headquarters is always the best, -and then your mind will be at ease. As for objections on her part, I -will not give them a thought. You may be sure a young creature of that -age, that has never had a word said to her, is very little likely to -object. And ye can just settle with her father. Robert, I am saying this -is Mr. Dirom come to say a word to you. Just leave Rory to himself; he -can amuse himself very well if you take no notice. And he is as safe as -the kirk steeple, and will take no notice of you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I’m very glad to see Mr. Dirom—at any time,” said Mr. -Ogilvie; but it was not a propitious moment. The room in which he sat, -and which was called the library, was a dreary dark gray room with a few -bookcases, and furniture of a dingy kind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> The old armchairs, when they -were discarded from other regions, found their way there, and stood -about harshly, like so many old gentlemen, with an air of twirling their -thumbs and frowning at intruders. But to-day these old fogeys in -mahogany were put to a use to which indeed they were not unaccustomed, -but which deranged all the previous habitudes of a lifetime. They were -collected in the middle of the room to form an imaginary stage-coach -with its steeds, four in hand, driven with much cracking of his whip and -pulling of the cords attached to the unyielding old backs, by Master -Rory, seated on high in his white pinafore, and gee-wo-ing and -chirruping like an experienced coachman. Mr. Ogilvie himself, with much -appropriate gesture, was at the moment of Fred’s entry riding as -postilion the leader, which had got disorderly. The little drama -required that he should manifest all the alarm of a rider about to be -thrown off,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> and this he was doing with much demonstration when the door -opened.</p> - -<p>Fred thought that if anything could have added to the absurdity of his -own position it was this. Mr. Ogilvie was on ordinary occasions very -undemonstrative, a grave leathern-jawed senior, who spoke little and -looked somewhat frowningly upon the levities of existence. He got off -his horse, so to speak, with much confusion as the stranger came in.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he said, apologetically—but for the moment said no more.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, we see. Rory, ye’ll tumble off that high seat; how have ye got -so high a seat? Bless me, ye’ll have a fall if ye don’t take care.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” continued Mr. Ogilvie, “the weather has been wet and the -little fellow has not got his usual exercise. At that age they must have -exercise. You’ll think it’s not very becoming for a man of my age<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“Hoots,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “what does it matter about your age? You are -just a father whatever age you are, and Mr. Dirom will think no worse of -you for playing with your own little child. Come, Rory, come, my wee -man, and leave papa to his business.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ll no go,” shouted the child. “We’re thust coming in to the inn, -and all the passengers will get out o’ the coach. Pappa, pappa, the off -leader, she’s runned away. Get hold o’ her, get hold o’ her; she’ll -upset the coach.”</p> - -<p>Fred looked on with unsympathetic eyes while the elderly -pseudo-postilion, very shamefaced, made pretence of arresting the -runaway steed, which bore the sedate form of a mahogany arm-chair.</p> - -<p>“You will just excuse me,” he said, “till the play’s played out. There, -now, Rory, fling your reins to the hostler, and go in and get your -dram—which means a chocolate sweetie,” he added, to forestall any -reproof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<p>If Rory’s father had been a great personage, or even if being only Mr. -Ogilvie of Gilston he had been Rory’s grandfather, the situation would -have been charming; but as he was neither, and very commonplace and -elderly, the tableau was spoiled. (“Old idiot,” the Miss Dempsters would -have said, “making a fool of a bairn that should have been his son’s -bairn, and neglecting his own lawful children, at his age!” The -sentiment was absurd, but Fred shared it.) Perhaps it was the unrelaxing -countenance of the young man, as Mrs. Ogilvie seized and carried off the -charioteer which made the poor papa so ill at ease. He pulled the chairs -apart with an uneasy smile and gave one to his visitor.</p> - -<p>“No, I am not ashamed of it,” he said, “but I daresay I would look -ridiculous enough to a stranger:” and with this he sat down before his -table, on which, amid the writing things, were a child’s trumpet and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> -other articles belonging to a person of very tender years. “And in what -can I be of use to you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>It was Fred’s turn to grow red. He had been led into this snare against -his will. He felt rather disgusted, rather angry.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” he said, “that it was anything calling for your -attention to-day. It was a matter—still undecided. I should not have -disturbed you—at a moment of relaxation.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if that is all,” said Mr. Ogilvie with a smile, “I have Rory -always, you know. The little pickle is for ever on my hands. He likes me -better than the weemen, because I spoil him more, my wife says.”</p> - -<p>Having said this with effusion, the good man awoke once more to the fact -that his audience was not with him, and grew dully red.</p> - -<p>“I am entirely at your service now,” he said; “would it be anything -about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span> wheat? Your grieve is, no doubt, a very trustworthy man, but -I would not leave your fields longer uncut if I was you. There is no sun -now to do them any good.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, very much,” said Fred, “it was not about the wheat——”</p> - -<p>“Or perhaps the state of the woods? There will be a good deal of pruning -required, but it will be safest to have the factor over, and do nothing -but what he approves.”</p> - -<p>“It was not about the woods. It was an entirely personal question. -Perhaps another day would be more appropriate. I—have lost the thread -of what I was going to say.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me,” said the good man, “that’s a pity. Is there nothing that I -can suggest, I wonder, to bring it back to your mind?”</p> - -<p>He looked so honestly solicitous to know what the difficulty was, that -Fred’s irri<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span>tation was stayed. An embarrassment of another kind took -possession of him.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ogilvie,” he said, “I don’t know why I should have come to you, for -indeed I have no authority. I have come to ask you for—what I am sure -you will not give, unless I have another consent first. It is -about—your daughter that I want to speak.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie opened his eyes a little and raised himself in his seat.</p> - -<p>“Ay!” he said, “and what will it be about Effie?”</p> - -<p>He had observed nothing, seeing his mind was but little occupied with -Effie. To be sure, his wife had worried him with talk about this young -fellow, but he had long accustomed himself to hear a great deal that his -wife said without paying any attention. He had an understanding that -there could be only one way in which Fred Dirom could have anything to -say to him about his daughter: but still, though he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> heard a good -deal of talk on the subject, it was a surprise.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Fred, collecting himself, “I have loved her since the first -time I saw her. I want to know whether I have your permission to speak -to Miss Ogilvie—to tell her——”</p> - -<p>Poor Fred was very truly and sincerely in love. It was horrible to him -to have to discourse on the subject and speak these words which he -should have breathed into Effie’s ear to this dull old gentleman. So -strange a travesty of the scene which he had so often tenderly figured -to himself filled him with confusion, and took from him all power of -expressing himself.</p> - -<p>“This is very important, Mr. Dirom,” said Effie’s father, straightening -himself out.</p> - -<p>“It is very important to me,” cried the young man; “all my hopes are -involved in it, my happiness for life.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s very important,” said Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> Ogilvie, “if I’m to take this, as -I suppose, as a proposal of marriage to Effie. She is young, and you are -but young for that responsibility; and you will understand, of course, -that I would never force her inclinations.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens, sir,” cried the young fellow, starting to his feet, “what -do you take me for?—do you think that I—I——”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said Mr. Ogilvie, shaking his gray head. “Sit down, my young -friend. There could be no such thing as forcing her inclinations; but -otherwise if your good father and mother approve, there would not, so -far as I can see, be any objections on our part. No, so far as I can -see, there need be no objection. I should like to have an opportunity of -talking it over with my wife. And Effie herself would naturally require -to be consulted: but with these little preliminaries—I have heard -nothing but good of you, and I cannot see that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span> there would be any -objections on our part.”</p> - -<p>At this point the door opened quickly, and Mrs. Ogilvie came in.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “I hope ye have got it over and settled everything: -for, Mr. Fred, Effie is just coming down from the manse, and I thought -you would perhaps like to see her, not under my nose, as people say, but -where ye could have a little freedom. If ye hurry you will meet her -where the road strikes off into the little wood—and that’s a nice -little roundabout, where a great deal can be got through. But come away, -ye must not lose a moment; and afterwards ye can finish your talk with -papa.”</p> - -<p>If Fred could have disappeared through the dingy old carpet, if he could -have melted into thin air, there would have been no more seen of him in -Gilston house that day. But he could not escape his fate. He was hurried -along to a side door, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> Mrs. Ogilvie pointed out to him the little -path by which Effie would certainly return home. She almost pushed him -out into the waning afternoon to go and tell his love.</p> - -<p>When he heard the door close behind him and felt himself free and in the -open world, Fred for a moment had the strongest impulse on his mind to -fly. The enthusiasm of his youthful love had been desecrated by all -these odious prefaces, his tender dreams had been dispelled. How could -he say to Effie in words fit for her hearing what he had been compelled -to say to those horrible people to whom she belonged, and to hear resaid -by them in their still more horrible way? He stood for a moment -uncertain whether to go on or turn and fly—feeling ashamed, outraged, -irritated. It seemed an insult to Effie to carry that soiled and -desecrated story for her hearing now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span></p> - -<p>But just then she appeared at the opening of the road, unconscious, -coming sweetly along, in maiden meditation, a little touched with -dreams. The sight of her produced another revolution in Fred’s thoughts. -Could it be for him that soft mist that was in her eyes? He went -forward, with his heart beating, to meet her and his fate.</p> - -<p class="fint">END OF VOLUME I.<br /><br /><br /> -<small>ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW</small></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Effie Ogilvie; vol. 1, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE; VOL. 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 61914-h.htm or 61914-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/1/61914/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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