And she will die ere she make her love known; and
she will die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one
breath of her accustomed coyness.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

It was the last day of Margaret's stay. Harriet was also to leave Chirke Weston the next morning. She was standing with Margaret in one of the drawing-room windows after breakfast, making her promise over and over again that she would come and see her at her uncle Singleton's, when Lord Raymond drove up to the house in his dog-cart. He produced out of this vehicle the two pointers which Harriet had been anxious to see; and, on a signal from her hand, he brought them up to the window where she was standing.

As soon as she had done admiring and commenting upon these pointers, Lord Raymond delivered them to his groom to pack up in their box again, and joined Harriet in the drawing-room. Elizabeth looked up from her carpet-work, and received Lord Raymond with her usual graceful calmness; and George Gage who was writing at the other end of the room, rising from his letters, took a chair by the side of that distinguished nobleman, and engaged him in conversation; and as he did this with an air of extreme politeness, Margaret did not guess that his sole motive was to expose his rival's deficiency in that useful art.

But Lord Raymond never actually conversed, he only answered questions. So, when he had told Mr. Gage that John Baldwin was a connexion of his, but that it was Ferdinand Baldwin who married Miss Thoresby; that he believed her fortune had been greatly overrated; that Ferdinand was a first cousin of John's;—that certainly Miss Thoresby had been engaged to a Colonel Carpenter, who had thought himself very much ill-used when she broke off the engagement; that Henry Baldwin was a Roman Catholic, and that there were a great many of that name in Staffordshire, he had nothing more to say for himself; and rising to depart, he asked Harriet whether she had any message to send to her sister at Wardenscourt.

"Tell Lucy," said Harriet looking archly at Lord Raymond, "that I should be disposed to envy her if I were any where but at Chirke Weston."

As soon as Lord Raymond was gone, Mr. Gage stalked back to his writing, and Harriet, calling Margaret to her side, began a panegyric on his Lordship; vaunting his good principles, his kindness of heart, and above all his even temper.

As all these qualities may exist under a very ordinary exterior, Margaret had nothing to do but to acquiesce; but when Harriet went on to say that she thought him unquestionably the most aristocratic man that she had ever seen, Margaret opened her eyes with a gesture of astonishment; and Mr. Gage, throwing down his pen, in something like a passion, said that Miss Conway was known to be original in her opinions; but that certainly, he imagined, she would find herself perfectly unique in this idea. That most people would find it difficult to credit from his appearance that Lord Raymond was a gentleman—and that, except the late Earl of D——, the peerage had seldom been disfigured by such a specimen of humanity.

"Did I say he was handsome, Squire Sullen?" retorted Harriet. "I merely gave my opinion of his deportment, which I consider quite fascinating."

"Unquestionably," Mr. Gage said, resuming his pen with great dignity. "Miss Conway's opinion of Lord Raymond was of more consequence than any other person's. He merely regretted that he could not in this instance agree with it."

Harriet merely replied by one of her most scornful looks. Mr. Gage took up the newspaper, and Hubert, coming in at the moment, persuaded Elizabeth and Margaret to go with him to one of the hot-houses to see some beautiful American plants.

Now on this very morning it chanced that Mrs. Somerton felt it her duty to call at Chirke Weston.

For, as she said, it was impossible to know what that artful little creature, Margaret Capel was about with those two brothers, unless she went to see it with her own eyes; and that it was Blanche's business to counteract her as much as possible: that if Margaret had really entangled Hubert, to flirt with him would be a mere waste of time; but that although George was not an impressible subject, yet by management, something might be done with him. Even a little attention from so fastidious a person might be of service to her; for there were several men in the neighbourhood who took for gospel all that George Gage chose to say.

"Ah!" said the amiable Blanche, "it is very well that I know how to manage matters without your help! See what you have done for my sister. Thank you! I don't wish to follow her example. I shall find a match for myself!"

"You are looking very well to day," said Mrs. Somerton, putting up her glass, "if you would but wear your hair a little lower on your face."

"Much obliged," retorted Blanche. "I say, look at my sister, as complete an old maid as ever lived; all owing to your valuable hints. She has nothing for it now but to go to Missionary meetings, and pick up a stray Methodist preacher."

"There is one thing," said Mrs. Somerton, exasperated by this attack. "I don't believe anybody ever had such ill-disposed ungrateful children as mine!"

"Chips of the old block, I suppose," returned Blanche laughing.

"Come, come;" said Mrs. Somerton, as they reached the entrance to Chirke Weston, "this is not to the purpose; recollect that George is your object to-day."

While this attack was preparing for the unconscious Mr. Gage, he was in the drawing-room pretending to read the paper, and employing himself in watching intently every movement of Harriet Conway.

As soon as Elizabeth was gone, Harriet took up a book, drew a footstool close to the fire, and sat down upon it. She wore a beautiful morning gown of purple Cashemere, worked in floss silk, and trimmed, and tied with cords and tassels. Her attitude was striking and graceful, and as she slowly turned the leaves of her book, the light of the fire sparkled on the costly rings that adorned her slender fingers.

Although Mr. Gage never removed his eyes from her, she feigned to be totally absorbed in her book, and unconscious of his presence. At last he approached her under pretence of mending the fire.

She looked up and nodded to him.

"What is that you are reading?" said he. "A French novel? I thought ladies never did such things in public."

"I thought you knew, Squire—I mean Mr. Gage, that I am never ashamed of any thing I do," said Harriet. "Besides, this is a very readable one of EugÉne Sue's."

"Yes—a certain class of French novels are very harmless," said Mr. Gage.

"Look!" said Harriet, turning the book round, and holding it up so that he might read the title: 'Arthur.'

Now Mr. Gage had never read 'Arthur;' so he said directly, that it was a very clever work; indeed, in parts, really beautiful. There was something quite touching in one or two of the scenes.

As this might be safely said of any book written by EugÉne Sue, Mr. Gage was not out of his depth.

Harriet acquiesced, and asked him what he thought of the character of HÈlÉne.

Mr. Gage replied without hesitation, that it was very ably depicted, but that his ideas of female perfection were not exactly formed upon that model.

"Too statuesque, perhaps, for your taste," said Harriet.

"Yes, that was the case," Mr. Gage said, catching at the hint. "He thought something a little less unbending more attractive in the female character."

"And do you not think Arthur very interesting, in spite of his faults?" said Harriet.

"Undoubtedly," replied Mr. Gage, "but whether he would find any favour with the fair sex, you can determine better than me."

"I don't know. I can't quite make out," said Harriet. "You see one would never be prepared for so strange a disposition. But how beautifully he describes scenery," she continued, turning the leaves. "He makes quite a paradise of this cottage ornÈe."

"Your taste," said Mr. Gage, in a very pointed manner. "Your taste would lead you to a much less simple style of architecture."

"Oh, yes!" said Harriet putting up her book to conceal her smiles. "I hate cottages. My idea of perfect felicity is to be found only in a nobleman's seat."

"I trust," said Mr. Gage, looking very grand and injured, "that you will never have reason to acknowledge yourself mistaken."

"Why, George," said Harriet, just trusting her laughing eyes over the top of her book, "how long have you been an advocate for living in cottages? I should think they must be just one degree worse than barracks."

"Heartless!" muttered Mr. Gage, turning away, and walking to the window.

Harriet buried her face in her handkerchief to stifle her laughter. She was not in the slightest degree afraid that Mr. Gage would transfer his regard to another, in consequence of her provoking mystifications. She felt that she had regained her power over him, and that as long as she remained single, so would he. But she delighted in mischief, and would not for the world have let him discover that she cared anything about him. At this instant the bell rang.

"Now don't for Heaven's sake, George, leave me to entertain your guests," said Harriet, looking up with a very flushed face, "it is only fair to stay and support me."

"Pray don't call them my guests," said Mr. Gage, coming back, however, "I should have rather a different visiting list if this house were in my possession."

"Yes, your list would be very extensive if you lived in one of your favourite cottages," said Harriet, seating herself on the sofa; "all the neighbouring farmers and their wives. How I should like to see you playing cribbage with Farmer Jenkins!"

Mr. Gage leaning against the mantelpiece, "regretted that he was unable to follow all Miss Conway's flights of fancy," and "was not aware that he had said anything that could lead her to suppose he intended forming an intimacy with Farmer Jenkins."

The door was opened and Mrs. Somerton and her daughter were announced. Harriet bowed coldly; and Mr. Gage, after a still more frigid fashion.

Mrs. Somerton, who had seen the world, was not at all put out by this English reception; and Blanche with a manner full of minauderie, glanced sideways at Mr. Gage, and glided into a chair as near to him as she conveniently could. Now any person totally unacquainted with society, and forming their notions of good manners from abstract principles, would perhaps imagine that Mr. Gage and Harriet would instantly begin to talk to the visitors, and endeavour to amuse them until Miss Gage should arrive. Not at all; they had seen enough of company, to know how much they might leave undone; a code much more extensively put in practice than that which might teach people how much to do.

Mr. Gage stared across at Mrs. Somerton. Harriet with her head drawn up, surveyed Blanche.

At last, Mr. Gage said to Harriet, "Have you any idea where Bessy is?"

"I suppose," said Harriet, "that she is somewhere among the hot-houses. Hubert said something about the American plants. I dare say she will be in to luncheon."

"It is not half past one yet," said Mr. Gage, pointing to the time-piece.

"That French piece of trumpery is always wrong," said Harriet.

"My watch is the same, all but two minutes," said Mr. Gage, taking it out.

"If they happened to meet your father, you know, he would carry them all over the country," returned Harriet.

"Of course he would," said Mr. Gage, "whenever I see his straw hat, I make a point of getting out of the way. I have no idea of being handed round the farm yard, and introduced to every fresh litter of pigs."

"Have not you?" said Harriet mischievously. "I thought those humble pleasures belonged especially to the sphere of life you are so partial to. Most cottages, I believe in these days, can boast a pig-stye."

Mr. Gage hardly knew whether to laugh or be angry; at that moment Elizabeth and Margaret made their appearance together, followed by Hubert with a splendid bouquet of flowers.

Elizabeth seated herself beside Mrs. Somerton. Hubert delivered the flowers to Margaret, and drew his chair close to hers.

"But what am I to do with all these, Mr. Hubert?" said Margaret.

"You are to wear all these heaths this evening, you know," he said selecting the heaths from the nosegay. "I will make a wreath for you."

"But how very smart I shall be," said Margaret, hesitatingly.

"Oh! you promised—you will not draw back; see this is the way I shall mix them. All the shades, from white to crimson—no, a cluster will be prettier than a wreath. You cannot refuse—your last day. Ah! how beautiful you will look—but that you always do. Come, you will promise to wear them?"

"Will you promise to talk something like sense then Mr. Hubert?" said Margaret archly. "These striped camellias are for you, Harriet."

"Thanks, little one," said Harriet. "Tell Hubert to keep them all in water for us till we go up to dress."

Mr. Gage, by this time, having noticed Blanche's childish, sparkling face, and pretty figure, condescended to say to her in a haughty tone, "Did you walk here?"

"To be sure!" said Blanche, "such a beautiful morning. I would not have had the carriage out on any account."

There was one slight drawback to her using a carriage, if she wished it; namely, that she did not possess a vehicle of any description. But Mr. Gage who was very little at home, and who knew nothing of the concerns of his neighbours, was easily imposed upon.

"Yes," he said rather less haughtily, "It was hardly worth while for a short distance."

"And then I am such a walker!" said Blanche, her pretty face kindling and dimpling with smiles; "I am never tired of wandering about this lovely country. I told mamma positively that I never would pass a season in town. My sister is there now with our relation, Lady K——, in the midst of balls and gaieties. But I should think them a very poor exchange for the Ashdale woods."

Had Mr. Gage possessed more than the usual amount of penetration, he could not have been expected to guess that Blanche was in a perpetual ill-humour, because her sister was in town this season instead of herself; he merely thought it was odd for so pretty a girl to be contented with retirement, and that there was something rather attractive in the novelty of it.

"I suppose your tastes are quite pastoral," said Mr. Gage, relaxing still more of his dignity. "I dare say, if the truth were told, you have a pet lamb, which you crown with flowers every morning before breakfast."

"Oh, Mr. Gage!" said Blanche shaking her head with a little air of reproach, "the days are gone by when country people were obliged to depend on such childish amusements. We can have new books and music now, almost as soon as they appear in town. Indeed, we can bring everything from London, but its smoky atmosphere."

Harriet who had been watching Hubert arranging the flowers in a glass, now turned round and beheld Mr. Gage actually talking to Blanche Somerton,—bending down and smiling at her. She coloured with anger and contempt.

"Mr. Gage," said she, pointing to a work-box close to him, "shall I trouble you to give me that box?"

Mr. Gage brought it her; she took out of it what she wanted, and then returned him the box. He sat down beside her still holding it.

"I think you don't often work," he said. "I do not remember to have seen you."

"No. This is not work exactly; this is crochet," said Harriet, holding up a purse of blue and silver twist. "Don't you think it very handsome?"

"Yes. Only so stiff; you could not draw it through a ring."

"Of course not; it is to have a clasp. See, this will match it very well; silver and turquoise. Now, wrap it up again in the silver paper. Put it neatly away. Now who do you think it is for?"

Mr. Gage's brow darkened.

"Uncle Singleton! When he plays at cards, he always likes to have a handsome purse. Would you believe it? I think it is only that he may have the pleasure of saying, 'My niece Harriet made this for me.!'"

"You are a great favourite there," said Mr. Gage, looking quite comfortable again.

"Can you wonder?" said Harriet, looking very like a coquette into his face.

"No indeed," replied Mr. Gage.

"It was there I first met Lord Raymond," said Harriet, heaving a deep sigh.

Mr. Gage put down her work-box, and rose from the sofa; but he did not return to Blanche, he went to his newspaper.

"Too bad!" said Blanche to herself, swelling with rage and spite. "She does not want him for herself, and yet she must needs interfere with me, when I was getting on so nicely. A malicious creature! I should like to drown her! I don't think anything in this world so mean as to interrupt another's flirtation when you have no good reason for doing it."

And Blanche crossed the room and tried very hard to detach Hubert from Margaret.

George Gage did not at all recover this last attack before dinner-time; he was very grand and sullen. Harriet, on the contrary, was in the wildest spirits. In many respects Margaret thought these two very well suited to each other. Kind and cordial as Harriet was to her, nothing could exceed her pride; and she was as haughty and as distant to people, whom she did not consider on a level with herself, as Mr. Gage could be. Her manners that morning were merely a sample of her general style of behaviour. A cold stare, and a monosyllable were all she vouchsafed to any of the village people who happened to be on visiting terms at Chirke Weston, and the only subject on which she and George Gage were sure to sympathise, was disgust at the intrusion of such persons while they condescended to honour the house with their presence. At such times, their eyes would meet with an expression of endurance very different from the hostile looks they so frequently exchanged.

Harriet came down to dinner looking like an old picture. She wore a high dress of black satin, ornamented with Spanish buttons of gold filigree. Her hair was frizzed out round her head like some of Van Dyck's early pictures, and the striped camellias put in just behind the ear—she seemed determined to look her best this last evening.

George Gage stared directly. He had a great fancy for seeing women in fine clothes; and clothes that looked as if they cost a great deal of money. He took her into dinner, and tried to command his temper, and keep up a conversation with her.

"You drove out after luncheon, did you not?"

"Yes. Did not you hear Uncle Gage and me planning a secret expedition together?"

"No. Might I ask where you went?"

"We went all the way to S——. Are you not very anxious to learn our object?"

"If it is not a breach of confidence, certainly."

"You could not guess, Mr. Gage?"

"I fear not."

"It was to get pack-thread for garden-nets."

"A very important mission," said Mr. Gage.

"You will think it important when the season comes for fruit; but, perhaps, you will not be here."

"I shall not. I go back to Ireland in about a fortnight."

"Still you know, though you will not be here to steal the plums, other people will be enjoying them; and you can leave word with the gardener to send your friend, little Blanche Somerton, the first basket of ripe cherries."

"I really do not know any person of that name," said Mr. Gage, indignantly.

"Well, after that!" said Harriet lifting up her hands. "Hubert, I hope you saw what was going on this morning."

"Oh, yes! I saw plainly enough," said Hubert. "She is a great flirt, that little thing; and rather pretty, I think."

"Very pretty!" said Harriet magnanimously. "I was not blaming Mr. Gage. I merely suggested a little offering—quite a cottage offering Mr. Gage."

"Oh! the little creature who was here this morning," said Mr. Gage; "rather a nice little creature! Yes, I should not object taking her a basket of cherries."

"You could eat them with her like Napoleon, you know," said Harriet.

Here Hubert burst into a violent fit of laughter, at the idea of his brother doing anything like Napoleon.

"She is a very pretty girl," said Captain Gage, joining in the discussion. "Did not you dance with her a good deal at the ball, Hubert?"

"Yes, Sir, that is, I believe, once or twice. That miserable ball," he added in a low voice to Margaret.

"Oh, Mr. Hubert!" said Margaret laughing.

Elizabeth Gage did not say one word either for or against Blanche Somerton. She knew her to be almost devoid of good qualities; but she knew that people, men especially, will always form their own opinion.

"You shall sing, little one;" said Harriet to Margaret after tea. "I will not let you off any longer."

"No. It distresses her, Harriet," said Elizabeth kindly, "I never press her."

"I dare say. Is she to have her own way always? I want to hear the quality of her voice," said Harriet positively.

"Indeed, Harriet, I am not a man; you might let me have my way," said Margaret, shrinking back from the piano.

"My dear Harriet, I hope you apply that remark; there is a little bit of unconscious satire in it," said Elizabeth.

"Bah! there is no truth in it. I never tyrannise," said Harriet, laughing. "But as I am not so timid, I will try and sing you something. Mr. Gage, you like Italian music. Have you ever heard this?"

She sang beautifully. Margaret was entranced.

Mr. Gage came round to the piano to look at the name of the song. It was 'Senza pace, senza speme;' and on the top was written, as if with a coarse lead pencil:—

"Harriet Conway,
from Lord Raymond."

Now Margaret had seen Harriet busy writing something on the song with a pencil, a few minutes before she had sat down to sing, and she could not help wondering at the perseverance with which she contrived to teaze Mr. Gage. It need not be said that Lord Raymond had never given her the song, although from his long intimacy with her family there would have been no great crime if he had.

Mr. Gage, who had taken the song from the stand, dropped it again as if it had burnt his fingers.

"Is it not a beautiful thing?" said Harriet looking up at Mr. Gage. "He has such a taste for music!"

"Who has, my dear?" asked Captain Gage.

"Lord Raymond, uncle."

"Has he, indeed?—I never knew that before," said Captain Gage. "Why he has never any music at his house, unless there is a very large party."

"He has no wife, you know, Uncle Gage, and he cannot play the piano himself."

"He must marry a good musician, then," said Captain Gage. "I don't know anything that more contributes to the cheerfulness of a family circle than a little good music."

"So Lord Raymond seems to think," said Mr. Gage, in a low voice to Harriet.

"Yes. Nothing so very first-rate though," said Harriet, thinking of Lucy, who played in a pleasing style, but nothing more, on the harp and piano.

"Oh! you are too modest," said Mr. Gage.

"Thank you," said Harriet laughing. "Do you think me then such a very good player?"

"Can you never be serious?" said Mr. Gage, turning away reproachfully.

Harriet laughed more merrily than before at the tone of this last remark. Margaret watched them earnestly. Surely, she thought, this last evening something will be said, something will occur, to bring about an understanding. Harriet will surely not be able to keep up this appearance of indifference to the last.

But the tapers were brought in, people wished each other good night, and Harriet touched Mr. Gage's fingers, and bade him good bye, as if she should see him to-morrow. And the next day, before he had left his room, she was on her way to join her friends at Wardenscourt.