‘Miss Kirkpatrick?’ said Mr. Gibson, a good deal surprised.
‘Yes, sir!’ continued Mr. Coxe, rushing on now he had got so far. ‘I know it may appear inconstant and changeable, but I do assure you, I came here with a heart as faithful to your daughter as ever beat in a man’s bosom. I most fully intended to offer myself and all that I had to her acceptance before I left; but really, sir, if you had seen her manner to me every time I endeavoured to press my suit a little—it was more than coy, it was absolutely repellent; there could be no mistaking it—while Miss Kirkpatrick———’ he looked modestly down, and smoothed the nap of his hat, smiling a little while he did so.
‘While Miss Kirkpatrick———?’ repeated Mr. Gibson, in such a stern voice, that Mr. Coxe, landed esquire as he was now, felt as much discomfited as he used to do when he was an apprentice, and Mr. Gibson had spoken to him in a similar manner.
‘I was only going to say, sir, that so far as one can judge from manner, and willingness to listen, and apparent pleasure in my visits—al—together, I think I may venture to hope that Miss Kirkpatrick is not quite indifferent to me—and I would wait—you have no objection, have you, sir, to my speaking to her, I mean?’ said Mr. Coxe a little anxious at the expression on Mr. Gibson’s face. ‘I do assure you I haven’t a chance with Miss Gibson,’ he continued, not knowing what to say, and fancying that his inconstancy was rankling in Mr. Gibson’s mind.
‘No! I don’t suppose you have. Don’t go and fancy it is that which is annoying me. You’re mistaken about Miss Kirkpatrick, however. I don’t believe she could ever have meant to give you encouragement! ’
Mr. Coxe’s face grew perceptibly paler. His feelings, if evanescent, were evidently strong.
‘I think, sir, if you could have seen her—I don’t consider myself vain, and manner is so difficult to describe. At any rate, you can have no objection to my taking my chance, and speaking to her.’
‘Of course, if you won’t be convinced otherwise, I can have no objection. But if you’ll take my advice, you will spare yourself the pain of a refusal. I may, perhaps, be trenching on confidence, but I think I ought to tell you that her affections are otherwise engaged.’
‘It cannot be!’ said Mr. Coxe. ‘Mr. Gibson, there must be some mistake. I have gone as far as I dared in expressing my feelings, and her manner has been most gracious. I don’t think she could have misunderstood my meaning. Perhaps she has changed her mind? It is possible that, after consideration, she has learnt to prefer another, is it not?’
‘By “another” you mean yourself, I suppose. I can believe in such inconstancy’ (he could not help, in his own mind, giving a slight sneer at the instance before him), ‘but I should be very sorry to think that Miss Kirkpatrick could be guilty of it.’
‘But she may—it is a chance. Will you allow me to see her?’
‘Certainly, my poor fellow’—for, intermingled with a little contempt, was a good deal of respect for the simplicity, the unworldliness, the strength of feeling, even though the feeling was evanescent.—‘I will send her to you directly.’
‘Thank you, sir. God bless you for a kind friend.’
Mr. Gibson went upstairs to the drawing-room, where he was pretty sure he should find Cynthia. There she was, as bright and careless as usual, making up a bonnet for her mother, and chattering to Molly as she worked.
‘Cynthia, you will oblige me by going down into my consulting-room at once. Mr. Coxe wants to speak to you!’
‘Mr. Coxe?’ said Cynthia. ‘What can he want with me?’
Evidendy, she answered her own question as soon as it was asked, for she coloured, and avoided meeting Mr. Gibson’s severe, uncompromising look. As soon as she had left the room, Mr. Gibson sat down, and took up a new Edinburgh lying on the table, as an excuse for conversation. Was there anything in the article that made him say, after a minute or two, to Molly, who sat silent and wondering—
‘Molly, you must never trifle with the love of an honest man. You don’t know what pain you may give.’
Presently Cynthia came back into the drawing-room, looking very much confused. Most likely she would not have returned if she had known that Mr. Gibson was still there; but it was such an unheard-of thing for him to be sitting in that room in the middle of the day, reading or making pretence to read, that she had never thought of his remaining. He looked up at her the moment she came in, so that there was nothing for it but putting a bold face on it, and going back to her work.
‘Is Mr. Coxe still downstairs?’ asked Mr. Gibson.
‘No. He is gone. He asked me to give you both his kind regards. I believe he is leaving this afternoon.’ Cynthia tried to make her manner as commonplace as possible; but she did not look up, and her voice trembled a little.
Mr. Gibson went on looking at his book for a few minutes; but Cynthia felt that more was coming, and only wished it would come quickly, for the severe silence was very hard to bear. It came at last.
‘I trust this will never occur again, Cynthia!’ said he, in grave displeasure. ‘I should not feel satisfied with the conduct of any girl, however free, who could receive marked attentions from a young man with complacency, and so lead him on to make an offer which she never meant to accept. But what must I think of a young woman in your position, engaged, yet “accepting most graciously”—for that was the way Coxe expressed it—the overtures of another man? Do you consider what unnecessary pain you have given him by your thoughtless behaviour? I call it thoughtless, but it is the mildest epithet I can apply to it. I beg that such a thing may not occur again, or I shall be obliged to characterize it more severely.’
Molly could not imagine what ‘more severely’ could be, for her father’s manner appeared to her almost cruel in its sternness. Cynthia coloured up extremely, then, went pale, and at length raised her beautiful appealing eyes full of tears to Mr. Gibson. He was touched by that look, but he resolved immediately not to be mollified by any of her physical charms of expression, but to keep to his sober judgment of her conduct.
‘Please, Mr. Gibson, hear my side of the story before you speak so hardly to me. I did not mean to—to flirt. I merely meant to make myself agreeable—I can’t help doing that—and that goose of a Mr. Coxe seems to have fancied I meant to give him encouragement.’
‘Do you mean that you were not aware that he was falling in love with you?’ Mr. Gibson was melting into a readiness to be convinced by that sweet voice and pleading face.
‘Well, I suppose I must speak truly’ Cynthia blushed and smiled—ever so little—but it was a smile, and it hardened Mr. Gibson’s heart again. ‘I did think once or twice that he was becoming a little more complimentary than the occasion required; but I hate throwing cold water on people, and I never thought he could take it into his silly head to fancy himself seriously in love, and to make such a fuss at the last, after only a fortnight’s acquaintance.’
‘You seem to have been pretty well aware of his silliness (I should rather call it simplicity). Don’t you think you should have remembered that it might lead him to exaggerate what you were doing and saying into encouragement?’
‘Perhaps. I dare say I’m all wrong, and he’s all right,’ said Cynthia, piqued and pouting. ‘We used to say in France, that “les absens ont toujours tort,”
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but really it seems as if here——’ she stopped. She was unwilling to be impertinent to a man whom she respected and liked. She took up another point of her defence, and rather made matters worse. ‘Besides, Roger would not allow me to consider myself as finally engaged to him; I would willingly have done it, but he would not let me.’
‘Nonsense. Don’t let us go on talking about it, Cynthia! I’ve said all I mean to say. I believe that you were only thoughtless, as I told you before. But don’t let it happen again.’ He left the room at once to put a stop to the conversation, the continuance of which would serve no useful purpose, and perhaps end by irritating him.
‘Not guilty, but we recommend the prisoner not to do it again. It’s pretty much that, isn’t it, Molly?’ said Cynthia, letting her tears fall down, even while she smiled. ‘I do believe your father might make a good woman of me yet, if he would only take the pains, and wasn’t quite so severe. And to think of that stupid little fellow making all this mischief! He pretended to take it to heart, as if he had loved me for years instead of only for days. I dare say only for hours if the truth were told.’
‘I was afraid he was becoming very fond of you,’ said Molly; ‘at least it struck me once or twice; but I knew he could not stay long, and I thought it would only make you uncomfortable if I said anything about it. But now I wish I had!’
‘It wouldn’t have made a bit of difference,’ replied Cynthia. ‘I knew he liked me, and I like to be liked; it’s born in me to try to make every one I come near fond of me; but then they shouldn’t carry it too far, for it becomes very troublesome if they do. I shall hate red-haired people for the rest of my life. To think of such a man as that being the cause of your father’s displeasure with me!’
Molly had a question at her tongue’s end that she longed to put; she knew it was indiscreet, but at last out it came almost against her will.
‘Shall you tell Roger about it?’
Cynthia replied, ‘I’ve not thought about it—no! I don’t think I shall—there’s no need. Perhaps, if we are ever married———’
‘Ever married!’ said Molly, under her breath. But Cynthia took no notice of the exclamation until she had finished the sentence which it interrupted.
‘———and I can see his face and know his mood, I may tell it him then; but not in writing, and when he is absent; it might annoy him.’
‘I am afraid it would make him uncomfortable,’ said Molly, simply. ‘And yet it must be so pleasant to be able to tell him everything—all your difficulties and troubles.’
‘Yes; only I don’t worry him with these things; it is better to write him merry letters, and cheer him up among the black folk. You repeated “Ever married,” a little while ago; do you know, Molly, I don’t think I ever shall be married to him? I don’t know why, but I have a strong presentiment, so it’s just as well not to tell him all my secrets, for it would be awkward for him to know them if it never came off!’
Molly dropped her work, and sat silent, looking into the future; at length she said, ‘I think it would break his heart, Cynthia!’
‘Nonsense. Why, I’m sure that Mr. Coxe came here with the intention of falling in love with you—you need not blush so violently. I’m sure you saw it as plainly as I did, only you made yourself disagreeable, and I took pity on him, and consoled his wounded vanity.’
‘Can you—do you dare to compare Roger Hamley to Mr. Coxe?’ asked Molly, indignantly.
‘No, no, I don’t!’ said Cynthia in a moment. ‘They are as different as men can be. Don’t be so dreadfully serious over everything, Molly. You look as oppressed with sad reproach, as if I had been passing on to you the scolding your father gave me.’
‘Because I don’t think you value Roger as you ought, Cynthia!’ said Molly stoutly, for it required a good deal of courage to force herself to say this, although she could not tell why she shrank so from speaking.
‘Yes, I do! It’s not in my nature to go into ecstasies, and I don’t suppose I shall ever be what people, call “in love.” But I am glad he loves me, and I like to make him happy, and I think him the best and most agreeable man I know, always excepting your father when he isn’t angry with me. What can I say more, Molly? would you like me to say I think him handsome?’
‘I know most people think him plain, but———’
‘Well, I’m of the opinion of most people then, and small blame to them. But I like his face—oh, ten thousand times better than Mr. Preston’s handsomeness!’ For the first time during the conversation Cynthia seemed thoroughly in earnest. Why Mr. Preston was introduced neither she nor Molly knew; it came up and out by a sudden impulse; but a fierce look came into the eyes, and the soft lips contracted themselves as Cynthia named his name. Molly had noticed this look before, always at the mention of this one person.
‘Cynthia, what makes you dislike Mr. Preston so much?’
‘Don’t you? Why do you ask me? and yet, Molly,’ said she, suddenly relaxing into depression, not merely in tone and look, but in the droop of her limbs—‘Molly, what should you think of me if I married him after all?’
‘Married him! Has he ever asked you?’ But Cynthia, instead of replying to this question, went on, uttering her own thoughts.
‘More unlikely things have happened. Have you never heard of strong wills mesmerizing weaker ones into submission? One of the girls at Madame Lefebre’s went out as a governess to a Russian family, who lived near Moscow. I sometimes think I’ll write to her to find me a situation in Russia, just to get out of the daily chance of seeing that man!’
‘But sometimes you seem quite intimate with him, and talk to him——’
‘How can I help it?’ said Cynthia, impatiently. Then recovering herself, she added: ‘We knew him so well at Ashcombe, and he’s not a man to be easily thrown off, I can tell you. I must be civil to him; it’s not from liking, and he knows it is not, for I’ve told him so. However, we won’t talk about him. I don’t know how we came to do it, I’m sure: the mere fact of his existence, and of his being within half a mile of us, is bad enough. Oh! I wish Roger was at home, and rich, and could marry me at once, and carry me away from that man! If I’d thought of it, I really believe I would have taken poor red-haired Mr. Coxe.’
‘I don’t understand it at all,’ said Molly. ‘I dislike Mr. Preston, but I should never think of taking such violent steps as you speak of, to get away from the neighbourhood in which he lives.’
‘No, because you are a reasonable little darling,’ said Cynthia, resuming her usual manner, and coming up to Molly, and kissing her. ‘At least you’ll acknowledge I’m a good hater!’
‘Yes. But still I don’t understand it.’