Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/417

 404 avowed, and will know where to go to be nourished.

“Merely an idea I had,” she said to Jenny, who betrayed her mental pre-occupation by putting the question for the questions last.

Her Uncle Melville next received a visit from the restless young woman. To him she spoke not a word of the inferior classes, but as a special favourite of the diplomatist’s, begged a gift of him for her proximate birthday. Pushed to explain what it was, she said, “It’s something I want you to do for a friend of mine, Uncle Mel.”

The diplomatist instanced a few of the modest requests little maids prefer to people they presume to have power to grant.

“No, it’s nothing nonsensical,” said Rose; “I want you to get my friend Evan an appointment. You can if you like, you know, Uncle Mel, and it’s a shame to make him lose his time when he’s young and does his work so well—that you can’t deny! Now, please, be positive, Uncle Mel. You know I hate—I have no faith in your ‘nous verrons.’ Say you will, and at once.”

The diplomatist pretended to have his weather-eye awakened.

“You seem very anxious about feathering the young fellow’s nest, Rosey?”

“There,” cried Rose, with the maiden’s mature experience of us, “isn’t that just like men? They never can believe you can be entirely disinterested!”

“Hulloa!” the diplomatist sung out, “I didn’t say anything, Rosey.”

She reddened at her hastiness, but retrieved it by saying:

“No, but you listen to your wife, you know you do, Uncle Mel, and now there’s Aunt Shorne and the other women, who make you think just what they like about me, because they hate mama.”

“Don’t use strong words, my dear.”

“But it’s abominable!” cried Rose. “They asked mama yesterday what Evan’s being here meant? Why, of course, he’s your secretary, and my friend, and mama very properly stopped them, and so will I! As for me, I intend to stay at Beckley, I can tell you, dear old boy.” Uncle Mel had a soft arm round his neck, and was being fondled. “And I’m not going to be bred up to go into a harem, you may be sure.”

The diplomatist whistled, “You talk your mother with a vengeance, Rosey.”

“And she’s the only sensible woman I know,” said Rose. “Now promise me—in earnest. Don’t let them mislead you, for you know you’re quite a child, out of your politics, and I shall take you in hand myself. Why, now, think, Uncle Mel! wouldn’t any girl, as silly as they make me out, hold her tongue—not talk of him, as I do; and because I really do feel for him as a friend. See the difference between me and Juley!”

It was a sad sign if Rose was growing a bit of a hypocrite, but this instance of Juliana’s different manner of showing her feelings towards Evan would have quieted suspicion in shrewder men, for Juliana watched Evan’s shadow, and it was thought by two or three at Beckley Court, that Evan would be conferring a benefit on all by carrying off the romantically-inclined but little presentable young lady.

The diplomatist with a placid, “Well, well!” ultimately promised to do his best for Rose’s friend, and then Rose said, “Now I leave you to the Countess,” and went and sat with her mother and Drummond Forth. The latter was strange in his conduct to Evan. While blaming Laxley’s unmannered behaviour, he seemed to think that Laxley had grounds for it, and treated Evan with a sort of cynical deference that had, for the last couple of days, exasperated Rose.

“Mama, you must speak to Ferdinand,” she burst upon the conversation, “Drummond is afraid to—he can stand by and see my friend insulted. Ferdinand is insufferable with his pride—he’s jealous of everybody who has manners, and Drummond approves him, and I will not bear it.”

Lady Jocelyn hated household worries, and quietly remarked that the young men must fight it out together.

“No, but it’s your duty to interfere, mama,” said Rose, “and I know you will when I tell you that Ferdinand declares my friend Evan is a tradesman—beneath his notice. Why, it insults me!”

Lady Jocelyn looked out from a lofty window on such veritable squabbles of boys and girls as Rose revealed.

“Can’t you help them to run on smoothly while they’re here?” she said to Drummond, and he related the scene at the Green Dragon.

“I think I heard he was the son of Sir Something Harrington, Devonshire people,” said Lady Jocelyn.

“Yes, he is,” cried Rose, “or closely related. I’m sure I understood the Countess that it was so. She brought the paper with the death in it to us in London, and shed tears over it.”

“She showed it in the paper, and shed tears over it?” said Drummond, evidently repressing an inclination to laugh. “Was her father’s title given in full?”

“Sir Abraham Harrington,” replied Rose. “I think she said father, if the word wasn’t too common-place for her.”

“You can ask old Tom when he comes, if you are anxious to know,” said Drummond to her ladyship. “His brother married one of the sisters. By the way, he’s coming, too. Harrington ought really to clear up the mystery.”

“Now you’re sneering, Drummond,” said Rose: “for you know there’s no mystery to clear up.”

Drummond and Lady Jocelyn began talking of old Tom Cogglesby, whom, it appeared, the former knew intimately, and the latter had known.

“The Cogglesbys are sons of a cobbler, Rose,” said Lady Jocelyn. “You must try and be civil to them.”

“Of course I shall, mama,” Rose answered, seriously.

“And help the poor Countess to bear their presence as well as possible,” said Drummond. “The Harringtons have had to mourn a dreadful mésalliance. Pity the Countess!”