Elster's Folly. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ turned sick with envy when, in the morning visit that was that day paid by the Ashtons, she saw that Anne was really what Lord Hartledon had described her—one of the sweetest, most lovable, most charming of girls; almost without her equal in the world for grace and goodness and beauty. She turned more sick with envy when, at dinner afterwards, to which the Ashtons came, Lord Hartledon devoted himself to them, almost to the neglect of his other guests, lingering much with Anne.

      The countess-dowager marked it also, and was furious. Nothing could be urged against them; they were unexceptionable. The doctor, a chatty, straightforward, energetic man, of great intellect and learning, and emphatically a gentleman; his wife attracting by her unobtrusive gentleness; his daughter by her grace and modest self-possession. Whatever Maude Kirton might do, she could never, for very shame, again attempt to disparage them. Surely there was no just reason for the hatred which took possession of Maude's heart; a hatred that could never be plucked out again.

      But Maude knew how to dissemble. It pleased her to affect a sudden and violent friendship for Anne.

      "Hartledon told me how much I should like you," she whispered, as they sat together on the sofa after dinner, to which Maude had drawn her. "He said I should find you the dearest girl I ever met; and I do so. May I call you 'Anne'?"

      Not for a moment did Miss Ashton answer. Truth to say, far from reciprocating the sudden fancy boasted of by Maude, she had taken an unaccountable dislike to her. Something of falsity in the tone, of sudden hardiesse in the handsome black eyes, acted upon Anne as an instinctive warning.

      "As you please, Lady Maude."

      "Thank you so much. Hartledon whispered to me the secret about you and Val—Percival, I mean. Shall you accomplish the task, think you?"

      "What task?"

      "That of turning him from his evil ways."

      "His evil ways?" repeated Anne, in a surprised indignation she did not care to check. "I do not understand you, Lady Maude."

      "Pardon me, my dear Anne: it was hazardous so to speak to you. I ought to have said his thoughtless ways. Quant à moi, je ne vois pas la différence. Do you understand French?"

      Miss Ashton looked at her, really not knowing what this style of conversation might mean. Maude continued; she had a habit of putting forth a sting on occasion, or what she hoped might be a sting.

      "You are staring at the superfluous question. Of course it is one in these French days, when everyone speaks it. What was I saying? Oh, about Percival. Should he ever have the luck to marry, meaning the income, he will make a docile husband; but his wife will have to keep him under her finger and thumb; she must be master as well as mistress, for his own sake."

      "I think Mr. Elster would not care to be so spoken of," said Miss Ashton, her face beginning to glow.

      "You devoted girl! It is you who don't care to hear it. Take care, Anne; too much love is not good for gaining the mastership; and I have heard that you are—shall I say it?—éperdue."

      Anne, in spite of her calm good sense, was actually provoked to a retort in kind, and felt terribly vexed with herself for it afterwards. "A rumour of the same sort has been breathed as to the Lady Maude Kirton's regard for Lord Hartledon."

      "Has it?" returned Lady Maude, with a cool tone and a glowing face. "You are angry with me without reason. Have I not offered to swear to you an eternal friendship?"

      Anne shook her head, and her lips parted with a curious expression. "I do not swear so lightly, Lady Maude."

      "What if I were to avow to you that it is true?—that I do love Lord Hartledon, deeply as it is known you love his brother," she added, dropping her voice—"would you believe me?"

      Anne looked at the speaker's face, but could read nothing. Was she in jest or earnest?

      "No, I would not believe you," she said, with a smile. "If you did love him, you would not proclaim it."

      "Exactly. I was jesting. What is Lord Hartledon to me?—save that we are cousins, and passably good friends. I must avow one thing, that I like him better than I do his brother."

      "For that no avowal is necessary," said Anne; "the fact is sufficiently evident."

      "You are right, Anne;" and for once Maude spoke earnestly. "I do not like Percival Elster. But I will always be civil to him for your sweet sake."

      "Why do you dislike him?—if I may ask it. Have you any particular reason for doing so?"

      "I have no reason in the world. He is a good-natured, gentlemanly fellow; and I know no ill of him, except that he is always getting into scrapes, and dropping, as I hear, a lot of money. But if he got out of his last guinea, and went almost in rags, it would be nothing to me; so that's not it. One does take antipathies; I dare say you do, Miss Ashton. What a blessing Hartledon did not die in that fever he caught last year! Val would have inherited. What a mercy!"

      "That he lived? or that Val is not Lord Hartledon?"

      "Both. But I believe I meant that Val is not reigning."

      "You think he would not have made a worthy inheritor?"

      "A worthy inheritor? Oh, I was not glancing at that phase of the question. Here he comes! I will give up my seat to him."

      It is possible Lady Maude expected some pretty phrases of affection; begging her to keep it. If so, she was mistaken. Anne Ashton was one of those essentially quiet, self-possessed girls in society, whose manners seem almost to border on apathy. She did not say "Do go," or "Don't go." She was perfectly passive; and Maude moved away half ashamed of herself, and feeling, in spite of her jealousy and her prejudice, that if ever there was a ladylike girl upon earth, it was Anne Ashton.

      "How do you like her, Anne?" asked Val Elster, dropping into the vacant place.

      "Not much."

      "Don't you? She is very handsome."

      "Very handsome indeed. Quite beautiful. But still I don't like her."

      "You would like her if you knew her. She has a rare spirit, only the old dowager keeps it down."

      "I don't think she much likes you, Val."

      "She is welcome to dislike me," returned Val Elster.

      CHAPTER VI.

      AT THE BRIDGE

      The famous boat-race was postponed. Some of the competitors had discovered they should be the better for a few days' training, and the contest was fixed for the following Monday.

      Not a day of the intervening week but sundry small cockle-shells—things the ladies had already begun to designate as the "wager-boats," each containing a gentleman occupant, exercising his arms on a pair of sculls—might be seen any hour passing and repassing on the water; and the green slopes of Hartledon, which here formed the bank of the river, grew to be tenanted with fair occupants. Of course they had their favourites, these ladies, and their little bets of gloves on them.

      As the day for the contest drew near the interest became really exciting; and on the Saturday morning there was quite a crowd on the banks. The whole week, since Monday, had been most beautiful—calm, warm, lovely. Percival Elster, in his rather idle fashion, was not going to join in the contest: there were enough without him, he СКАЧАТЬ