LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

— Is she always so pale?” she asked, turning to the rector.

      “She used to be as rosy as the reddest of your flowers.”

      “Why is she altered? What has made her pale? Has she been ill?”

      “She tells me she wants a change.”

      “She ought to have one. You ought to give her one. You should send her to the sea-coast.”

      “I will, ere summer is over. Meantime, I intend her to make acquaintance with you, if you have no objection.”

      “I am sure Miss Keeldar will have no objection,” here observed Mrs. Pryor. “I think I may take it upon me to say that Miss Helstone’s frequent presence at Fieldhead will be esteemed a favour.”

      “You speak my sentiments precisely, ma’am,” said Shirley, “and I thank you for anticipating me. — Let me tell you,” she continued, turning again to Caroline, “that you also ought to thank my governess. It is not every one she would welcome as she has welcomed you. You are distinguished more than you think. This morning, as soon as you are gone, I shall ask Mrs. Pryor’s opinion of you. I am apt to rely on her judgment of character, for hitherto I have found it wondrous accurate. Already I foresee a favourable answer to my inquiries. — Do I not guess rightly, Mrs. Pryor?”

      “My dear, you said but now you would ask my opinion when Miss Helstone was gone. I am scarcely likely to give it in her presence.”

      “No; and perhaps it will be long enough before I obtain it. — I am sometimes sadly tantalized, Mr. Helstone, by Mrs. Pryor’s extreme caution. Her judgments ought to be correct when they come, for they are often as tardy of delivery as a Lord Chancellor’s. On some people’s characters I cannot get her to pronounce a sentence, entreat as I may.”

      Mrs. Pryor here smiled.

      “Yes,” said her pupil, “I know what that smile means. You are thinking of my gentleman-tenant. — Do you know Mr. Moore of the Hollow?” she asked Mr. Helstone.

      “Ay! ay! Your tenant — so he is. You have seen a good deal of him, no doubt, since you came?”

      “I have been obliged to see him. There was business to transact. Business! Really the word makes me conscious I am indeed no longer a girl, but quite a woman and something more. I am an esquire! Shirley Keeldar, Esquire, ought to be my style and title. They gave me a man’s name; I hold a man’s position. It is enough to inspire me with a touch of manhood; and when I see such people as that stately Anglo-Belgian — that Gérard Moore — before me, gravely talking to me of business, really I feel quite gentlemanlike. You must choose me for your churchwarden, Mr. Helstone, the next time you elect new ones. They ought to make me a magistrate and a captain of yeomanry. Tony Lumpkin’s mother was a colonel, and his aunt a justice of the peace. Why shouldn’t I be?”

      “With all my heart. If you choose to get up a requisition on the subject, I promise to head the list of signatures with my name. But you were speaking of Moore?”

      “Ah! yes. I find it a little difficult to understand Mr. Moore, to know what to think of him, whether to like him or not. He seems a tenant of whom any proprietor might be proud — and proud of him I am, in that sense; but as a neighbour, what is he? Again and again I have entreated Mrs. Pryor to say what she thinks of him, but she still evades returning a direct answer. I hope you will be less oracular, Mr. Helstone, and pronounce at once. Do you like him?”

      “Not at all, just now. His name is entirely blotted from my good books.”

      “What is the matter? What has he done?”

      “My uncle and he disagree on politics,” interposed the low voice of Caroline. She had better not have spoken just then. Having scarcely joined in the conversation before, it was not apropos to do it now. She felt this with nervous acuteness as soon as she had spoken, and coloured to the eyes.

      “What are Moore’s politics?” inquired Shirley.

      “Those of a tradesman,” returned the rector — “narrow, selfish, and unpatriotic. The man is eternally writing and speaking against the continuance of the war. I have no patience with him.”

      “The war hurts his trade. I remember he remarked that only yesterday. But what other objection have you to him?”

      “That is enough.”

      “He looks the gentleman, in my sense of the term,” pursued Shirley, “and it pleases me to think he is such.”

      Caroline rent the Tyrian petals of the one brilliant flower in her bouquet, and answered in distinct tones, “Decidedly he is.” Shirley, hearing this courageous affirmation, flashed an arch, searching glance at the speaker from her deep, expressive eyes.

      “You are his friend, at any rate,” she said. “You defend him in his absence.”

      “I am both his friend and his relative,” was the prompt reply. “Robert Moore is my cousin.”

      “Oh, then, you can tell me all about him. Just give me a sketch of his character.”

      Insuperable embarrassment seized Caroline when this demand was made. She could not, and did not, attempt to comply with it. Her silence was immediately covered by Mrs. Pryor, who proceeded to address sundry questions to Mr. Helstone regarding a family or two in the neighbourhood, with whose connections in the south she said she was acquainted. Shirley soon withdrew her gaze from Miss Helstone’s face. She did not renew her interrogations, but returning to her flowers, proceeded to choose a nosegay for the rector. She presented it to him as he took leave, and received the homage of a salute on the hand in return.

      “Be sure you wear it for my sake,” said she.

      “Next my heart, of course,” responded Helstone. — “Mrs. Pryor, take care of this future magistrate, this churchwarden in perspective, this captain of yeomanry, this young squire of Briarfield, in a word. Don’t let him exert himself too much; don’t let him break his neck in hunting; especially, let him mind how he rides down that dangerous hill near the Hollow.”

      “I like a descent,” said Shirley; “I like to clear it rapidly; and especially I like that romantic Hollow with all my heart.”

      “Romantic, with a mill in it?”

      “Romantic with a mill in it. The old mill and the white cottage are each admirable in its way.”

      “And the counting-house, Mr. Keeldar?”

      “The counting-house is better than my bloom-coloured drawing-room. I adore the counting-house.”

      “And the trade? The cloth, the greasy wool, the polluting dyeing-vats?”

      “The trade is to be thoroughly respected.”

      “And the tradesman is a hero? Good!”

      “I am glad to hear you say so. I thought the tradesman looked heroic.”

      Mischief, spirit, and glee sparkled all over her face as she thus bandied words with the old Cossack, who almost equally enjoyed the tilt.

      “Captain Keeldar, you have no mercantile blood in your veins. Why are you so fond of trade?”

      “Because I am a millowner, of course. Half my income comes from the works in that Hollow.”

      “Don’t enter into partnership — that’s all.”

      “You’ve put it into my head! you’ve put it into my head!” she exclaimed, with a joyous laugh. “It will never get out. Thank you.” And waving her hand, white as a lily and fine as a fairy’s, she vanished within the porch, while the rector and his niece passed out through the arched gateway.

      CHAPTER XII.

      SHIRLEY AND CAROLINE.

      Shirley showed she had been sincere in saying she should be glad

Скачать книгу