Faith and Unfaith: A Novel. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ time changes all things, and how many plans and affections can be altered in twelve months.

      "But surely you will tell James Scrope," he goes on, after a while: "that will not be making it public. He has known you and been fond of you ever since you were a baby; and it seems uncivil and unfriendly to keep him in the dark."

      "Then tell him; but no one else now, papa. I quite arranged for James, he is such an old friend, and so nice in every way."

      Here she smiles involuntarily, and, after a little bit, laughs outright, in spite of herself, as though at some ridiculous recollection.

      "Do you know," she says, "when I told Horace I thought I should like Sir James to know of our engagement, I really think he felt a little jealous! At least, he didn't half like it. How absurd! – wasn't it? Fancy being jealous of dear old Jim?"

      "Old! – old! He is a long way off that. Why, all you silly little girls think a man past twenty-nine to be hovering on the brink of the grave. He can not be more than thirty-three, or so."

      "He is very dreadfully old, for all that," says Miss Peyton, wilfully. "He is positively ancient; I never knew any one so old. He is so profound, and earnest, and serious, and – "

      "What on earth has he done to you, that you should call him all these terrible names?" says Mr. Peyton, laughing.

      "He scolds me," says Clarissa, "he lectures me, and tells me I should have an aim in life. You have been my aim, darling, and I have been very devoted to it, haven't I?"

      "You have, indeed. But now I shall be out in the cold, of course." His tone is somewhat wistful. "That is all one gains by lavishing one's affection upon a pretty child and centring one's every thought and hope upon her."

      "No, you are wrong there; it must be something to gain love that will last for ever." She tightens her arm around his neck. "What a horrid little speech! I could almost fancy James dictated it to you. He is a sceptic, an unbeliever, and you have imbibed his notions. Cynical people are a bore. You wouldn't, for example, have me fall in love with James, would you?"

      "Indeed I would," says George Peyton, boldly. "He is just the one man I would choose for you, – 'not Launcelot, nor another.' He is so genuine, so thorough in every way. And then the estates join, and that. I really wish you had fallen in love with Scrope."

      "I love you dearly, – dearly," says Miss Peyton; "but you are a dreadful goose! James is the very last man to grow sentimental about any one, – least of all, me. He thinks me of no account at all, and tells me so in very polite language occasionally. So you see what a fatal thing it would have been if I had given my heart to him. He would have broken it, and I should have died, and you would have put up a touching, and elaborate tablet to my memory, and somebody would have planted snowdrops on my grave. There would have been a tragedy in Pullingham, with Jim for its hero."

      "You take a different view of the case from mine. I believe there would have been no broken heart, and no early grave, and you would have been happy ever after."

      "That is a more comfortable theory, certainly for me. But think what a miserable life he would have had with me forever by his side."

      "A very perfect life, I think," says Mr. Peyton, looking with pardonable pride upon the half-earnest, half-laughing, and wholly lovely face so near him. "I don't know what more a fellow could expect."

      "You see I was right. I said you were a goose," says Miss Peyton, irreverently. But she pats his hand, in the very sweetest manner possible, as she says it. Then she goes on:

      "Horace said he would come up to-morrow to speak to you."

      "Very well, dear. That is the usual thing, I suppose. I hope he won't be long-winded, or lachrymose, or anything that way. When a thing is done it is done, and discussion is so unnecessary."

      "Promise me to be very, very kind to him."

      "I shan't eat him, if you mean that," says Mr. Peyton, half irritably. "What do you think I am going to say to him? 'Is thy father an ogre, that he should do this thing?' But have you quite made up your mind to this step? Remember there will be no undoing it."

      "I know that; but I feel no fear." She has grown pale again. "I love him. How should I know regret when with him? I believe in him, and trust him; and I know he is worthy of all my trust."

      Mr. Peyton sighs. Some words come to his memory, and he repeats them, – slowly, beneath his breath, —

      "There are no tricks in plain and simple faith!"

      Truly, her faith is pure and simple, and free from thought of guile.

      "I wonder what James Scrope will say to it all?" he says, presently.

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