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      Chapter 2 BYPLAY

      A right splendid old dowager was Lady Treherne, in her black velvet and point lace, as she sat erect and stately on a couch by the drawing-room fire, a couch which no one dare occupy in her absence, or share uninvited. The gentlemen were still over their wine, and the three ladies were alone. My lady never dozed in public, Mrs. Snowdon never gossiped, and Octavia never troubled herself to entertain any guests but those of her own age, so long pauses fell, and conversation languished, till Mrs. Snowdon roamed away into the library. As she disappeared, Lady Treherne beckoned to her daughter, who was idly making chords at the grand piano. Seating herself on the ottoman at her mother’s feet, the girl took the still handsome hand in her own and amused herself with examining the old-fashioned jewels that covered it, a pretext for occupying her telltale eyes, as she suspected what was coming.

      “My dear, I’m not pleased with you, and I tell you so at once, that you may amend your fault,” began Madame Mère in a tender tone, for though a haughty, imperious woman, she idolized her children.

      “What have I done, Mamma?” asked the girl.

      “Say rather, what have you left undone. You have been very rude to Mr. Annon. It must not occur again; not only because he is a guest, but because he is your—­brother’s friend.”

      My lady hesitated over the word “lover,” and changed it, for to her Octavia still seemed a child, and though anxious for the alliance, she forbore to speak openly, lest the girl should turn willful, as she inherited her mother’s high spirit.

      “I’m sorry, Mamma. But how can I help it, when he teases me so that I detest him?” said Octavia, petulantly.

      “How tease, my love?”

      “Why, he follows me about like a dog, puts on a sentimental look when I appear; blushes, and beams, and bows at everything I say, if I am polite; frowns and sighs if I’m not; and glowers tragically at every man I speak to, even poor Maurice. Oh, Mamma, what foolish creatures men are!” And the girl laughed blithely, as she looked up for the first time into her mother’s face.

      My lady smiled, as she stroked the bright head at her knee, but asked quickly, “Why say ‘even poor Maurice,’ as if it were impossible for anyone to be jealous of him?”

      “But isn’t it, Mamma? I thought strong, well men regarded him as one set apart and done with, since his sad misfortune.”

      “Not entirely; while women pity and pet the poor fellow, his comrades will be jealous, absurd as it is.”

      “No one pets him but me, and I have a right to do it, for he is my cousin,” said the girl, feeling a touch of jealousy herself.

      “Rose and Blanche Talbot outdo you, my dear, and there is no cousinship to excuse them.”

      “Then let Frank Annon be jealous of them, and leave me in peace. They promised to come today; I’m afraid something has happened to prevent them.” And Octavia gladly seized upon the new subject. But my lady was not to be eluded.

      “They said they could not come till after dinner. They will soon arrive. Before they do so, I must say a few words, Tavia, and I beg you to give heed to them. I desire you to be courteous and amiable to Mr. Annon, and before strangers to be less attentive and affectionate to Maurice. You mean it kindly, but it looks ill, and causes disagreeable remarks.”

      “Who blames me for being devoted to my cousin? Can I ever do enough to repay him for his devotion? Mamma, you forget he saved your son’s life.”

      Indignant tears filled the girl’s eyes, and she spoke passionately, forgetting that Mrs. Snowdon was within earshot of her raised voice. With a frown my lady laid her hand on her daughter’s lips, saying coldly, “I do not forget, and I religiously discharge my every obligation by every care and comfort it is in my power to bestow. You are young, romantic, and tender-hearted. You think you must give your time and health, must sacrifice your future happiness to this duty. You are wrong, and unless you learn wisdom in season, you will find that you have done harm, not good.”

      “God forbid! How can I do that? Tell me, and I will be wise in time.”

      Turning the earnest face up to her own, Lady Treherne whispered anxiously, “Has Maurice ever looked or hinted anything of love during this year he has been with us, and you his constant companion?”

      “Never, Mamma; he is too honorable and too unhappy to speak or think of that. I am his little nurse, sister, and friend, no more, nor ever shall be. Do not suspect us, or put such fears into my mind, else all our comfort will be spoiled.”

      Flushed and eager was the girl, but her clear eyes betrayed no tender confusion as she spoke, and all her thought seemed to be to clear her cousin from the charge of loving her too well. Lady Treherne looked relieved, paused a moment, then said, seriously but gently, “This is well, but, child, I charge you tell me at once, if ever he forgets himself, for this thing cannot be. Once I hoped it might, now it is impossible; remember that he continue a friend and cousin, nothing more. I warn you in time, but if you neglect the warning, Maurice must go. No more of this; recollect my wish regarding Mr. Annon, and let your cousin amuse himself without you in public.”

      “Mamma, do you wish me to like Frank Annon?”

      The abrupt question rather disturbed my lady, but knowing her daughter’s frank, impetuous nature, she felt somewhat relieved by this candor, and answered decidedly, “I do. He is your equal in all respects; he loves you, Jasper desires it, I approve, and you, being heart-whole, can have no just objection to the alliance.”

      “Has he spoken to you?”

      “No, to your brother.”

      “You wish this much, Mamma?”

      “Very much, my child.”

      “I will try to please you, then.” And stifling a sigh, the girl kissed her mother with unwonted meekness in tone and manner.

      “Now I am well pleased. Be happy, my love. No one will urge or distress you. Let matters take their course, and if this hope of ours can be fulfilled, I shall be relieved of the chief care of my life.”

      A sound of girlish voices here broke on their ears, and springing up, Octavia hurried to meet her friends, exclaiming joyfully, “They have come! they have come!”

      Two smiling, blooming girls met her at the door, and, being at an enthusiastic age, they gushed in girlish fashion for several minutes, making a pretty group as they stood in each other’s arms, all talking at once, with frequent kisses and little bursts of laughter, as vents for their emotion. СКАЧАТЬ