Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/534

 . 12, 1861.] comfort on the altar of friendship, and that he might as well return to town.

As he was returning from a long and solitary walk, he made up his mind that he would start on the marrow. He had wandered along in his usual absent way towards the front door, and was ascending the steps, without having noticed that a carriage was drawn up in front of them, from which a lady was about to alight.

He had got about half way up, when to his intense astonishment and disgust, his hat was driven suddenly over his eyes by a slight but steady blow planted most scientifically upon the top. When he had dragged it fiercely off, by no means improved by the operation, his indignation suddenly melted beneath the gaze of a pair of the brightest blue eyes imaginable, carefully placed within about three inches of his own.

“When I had done it,” said their owner, “I began to be afraid that it was not you after all, and that would have been disagreeable, would it not?”

“I do not see that follows at all,” said Rochford, looking at his hat.

“But I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you, Charlie,” continued the lady.

“You don’t seem to care about my seeing you—extinguishing the light of my eyes in that way.”

“But it is nice to find you here—I had made up my mind to be bored to death—and I was obliged to come. but now, as I heard an omnibus driver say to Lady Snuffleigh’s coachman, we will wake them up.”

And Lady Fanny Trelane finished this sentence by executing a pas seul in the hall, winding it up with what young ladies call “a cheese,” during which her whirling skirts coming in contact with the housekeeper, who had come forward to receive her, they very nearly cut that respectable personage off her legs.

Lady Fanny was a first cousin of Rochford’s. They had been brought up together as children. During the time he was at Harrow and Oxford, Rochford had always spent his vacations at the house of his uncle and guardian, Lord Camborne, who was Lady Fanny’s father.

The cousins had always lived so much on the footing of brother and sister, that it never occurred to them to fall in love with one another. Indeed, their friendship bore some resemblance to that of clown and pantaloon. It was always at the strongest when they were engaged in planning mischief for the edification of somebody else.

Three years had passed since they last met. Lord Camborne had been obliged to remain in Italy for the benefit of his health, and had found his mischievous daughter the kindest nurse in the world. The father’s health was now restored, and the daughter’s spirits came back with it.

When her aunt, Lady Jane Polwhistle, told her father with lengthened visage the story of some new escapade of his daughter’s, the old earl would only laugh, and say—“You must make some allowance for her, she has got to make up for three years of lost time.”

When Lady Fanny had got half way up stairs she turned round, and seeing Rochford still in the hall, she attracted his attention—by dropping her parasol on his head; then leaning over the banisters, she said, “I have a message for you from Fred Mourningthorpe; I met him at the Rugby Station. He told me to tell you that the little matter about which he wrote to you is squared, but he hopes you will stop till next week at least, when he will come over for certain. I told him I would make you. Give me my parasol.” And the young lady clapped her hands together to show she meant to catch it.

Rochford tossed it up, and the lady fielded it beautifully, to the astonishment and horror of Mr. Alfred Mourningthorpe, who was then entering the hall.

“Shall I stay any longer,” said Rochford to himself, as he was dressing. “I may as well, now Fanny is here—and I suppose my uncle is either come or coming—I shall try if I can’t enjoy myself even in this hole, now I know Fred is all right. The young scoundrel, to serve me such a trick as this.”

And he walked into the drawing-room a few minutes afterwards with an expression on his countenance so different from anything it had worn during the preceding week, that Miss Ashford whispered to her sister Constance, “Look at Mr. Rochford, he looks positively handsome.”

Rochford’s eyes met hers, as she lifted them after making this communication.

The young lady blushed, as Rochford crossed the room, and sitting down by her, began to converse in so animated a strain, that she imagined she had made a conquest.

The illusion was dispelled, however, as soon as Lady Fanny Trelane came into the room.

When she had seated herself, Rochford took his position on an ottoman a little behind her.

“Now,” said the lady, turning her head a little, “I want to be amused after my journey; tell me everything you have been doing since I saw you last—that is to say, all the fun.”

Obedient to command, Rochford began to describe his life in chambers, the eccentricities of his laundress, the idiosyncrasy of the greengrocer’s assistant who waited at his parties, with many particulars, all of which were novelties to his cousin. Lady Fanny was in fits of laughter, which she made no effort to restrain, when the door opened, and Miss Lutterworth entered the room.

Lady Fanny had met the heiress in Rome during the preceding winter, and they had become great friends. They greeted one another with feminine affection.

“I am so glad to see you again,” said Lady Fanny, “and in this stupid place too, where we shall be sure to see so much of one another, compelled to form an alliance offensive and defensive against the forces of Boredom. How long have you been here? A whole fortnight? I suppose Charlie has kept you awake this last week?”

“And who may Charlie be?”

“Don’t you know my cousin, Charlie Rochford?”

“I have had the honour of being introduced to Mr. Rochford, but I did not know he was your cousin, and certainly I should never have guessed that there was any relationship, for, to tell you the truth, his forte seems rather to be the sending