Page:Once a Week Jun to Dec 1864.pdf/146

 23, 1864.] know, and there may be time for Germany later. Mamma says we must remain a month, for she has written to ask Jane to come to us. At least, we must remain if Jane accepts the invitation.”

“I hope she will!” involuntarily exclaimed Frederick. “Did Sir Stephen say whether he should come down on Saturday, do you know, Lucy?”

“I cannot tell. I did not read his letter. Mamma read it to me, but I don’t know whether she read it all. Sir Stephen"

“Mr. Frederick Grey, Helen bade me ask whether you had forgotten that she is waiting. She says perhaps it is inconvenient to you to keep your promise.”

Frederick Grey turned to behold a girl of ten, Helen Vaughan’s sister. Helen Vaughan had watched the speakers with a resentful spirit and jealous eye. It was more than her chafed temper could bear, and she called her sister from the attractions of the sand pies, and gave her the message.

Following herself slowly on the heels of the little girl. As Frederick looked round she had nearly come up to them. The child flew off to the pies again and Helen spoke.

“It may be inconvenient to you now, Mr. Grey?”

“By no means. I shall be happy to accompany you.”

The two young ladies stood, scanning each other’s faces, waiting—as it seemed to him—for an introduction. He knew that Miss Vaughan’s position as the daughter of a general officer, would quite justify his making it to Lucy.

“Miss Vaughan: Lady Lucy Chesney.”

Two cold distant curtseys, and the ceremony was over. The general’s daughter was the first to speak.

“Not Miss Vaughan; Miss Helen Vaughan. I have an elder sister. Her health was indifferent and she stayed behind us at Montreal to come home later.”

Montreal? Vaughan? The names struck some nearly forgotten chord in the memory of Lucy, in connection with a Miss Beauchamp who had gone out to Montreal as governess, and who turned out not to be Clarice. She made no comment, however, no inquiry; the young lady’s haughty face did not take her fancy. Neither perhaps did her intimacy with Frederick Grey.

A few interchanged words, cold and civil, two more distant curtseys, and the young ladies had parted, and Miss Vaughan was walking in the direction of the town, side by side with Frederick Grey.

“I don’t like her a bit,” thought Lucy, as she turned away. “I wonder how long Frederick has known her?”

In a quiet spot, apart from others, sat Lady Oakburn. The seven years had passed over her face lightly, and she looked nearly as young, more magnificent than when, as Miss Lethwait, the captivated earl had asked her to become his wife. A hazardous venture, perhaps, but one that had turned out well: Lady Oakburn was a step-mother in a thousand. Seated by her side, having rushed up to claim acquaintance with her on hearing Frederick Grey’s announcement, was a Mrs. Delcie. The acquaintance between them was very slight. They had met once or twice in some of the crowded rooms of London; but you know it is not all of us who get the chance to show to our sea-bathing friends that we are on speaking terms with a countess. Mrs. Delcie appeared inclined to make herself at home, and was already initiating Lady Oakburn into the politics of the place.

“You look tired, my dear child,” exclaimed Lady Oakburn, when Lucy came up. “It is hot here. Would you rather go home?”

“I am not at all tired, mamma. I think Frank will be, by the way he is running about.”

“It will do him good,” returned Lady Oakburn. “You know what Sir Stephen says—that we wrap him up in lavender.”

“Is that Sir Stephen Grey?” interposed Mrs. Delcie. “You know the Greys personally, perhaps?”

“Very well indeed,” replied Lady Oakburn.

“I don’t. But I should like to. I must get an introduction to Lady Grey. What a handsome young fellow is that son of theirs! He will not get away from Seaford heart-whole.”

The words were spoken emphatically, and Lady Oakburn looked up with some curiosity. Lucy, who had sat down by her step-mother, bent her face and her parasol, and began her favourite pastime of tracing characters on the sands as she listened.

“That handsome girl, Helen Vaughan, has been making a dead set at him ever since he came here, and he does not respond to it unwillingly,” continued Mrs. Delcie. “Some think that they are already engaged; but I don’t know.”

“I do not think that likely,” observed Lady Oakburn.

“Why?”

“From what I know of Frederick Grey, he is not the man to choose a young lady for a wife after knowing her for a fortnight only.”

“You would think it likely if you saw them together. He is ever with her, evidently