not like himself,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, in a leading tone.
‘Either the sweet youth is in love, or in the course of some strange transformation.’
‘In love!’ she exclaimed. ‘Have you any reason for thinking so?’
‘Only as a solution of phenomena; but you look as if I had hit on the truth.’
‘I hope it is no such thing; yet—’
‘Yet?’ repeated Charles, seriously. ‘I think he has discovered the danger.’
‘The danger of falling in love with Laura? Well, it would be odd if he was not satisfied with his own work. But he must know how preposterous that would be.’
‘And you think that would prevent it?’ said his mother, smiling. ‘He is just the man to plume himself on making his judgment conquer his inclination, setting novels at defiance. How magnanimously he would resolve to stifle a hopeless attachment!’
‘That is exactly what I think he is doing. I think he has found out the state of his feelings, and is doing all in his power to check them by avoiding her, especially in tete-a-tetes, and an unconstrained family party. I am nearly convinced that is his reason for bringing Mr. Thorndale, and fixing on the day of the dinner. Poor fellow, it must cost him a great deal, and I long to tell him how I thank him.’
‘Hm! I don’t think it unlikely,’ said Charles. ‘It agrees with what happened the evening of the Kilcoran ball, when he was ready to eat me up for saying something he fancied was a hint of a liking of Guy’s for Laura. It was a wild mistake, for something I said about Petrarch, forgetting that Petrarch suggested Laura; but it put him out to a degree, and he made all manner of denunciations on the horror of Guy’s falling in love with her. Now, as far as I see, Guy is much more in love with you, or with Deloraine, and the idea argues far more that the Captain himself is touched.’
‘Depend upon it, Charlie, it was this that led to his detecting the true state of the case. Ever since that he has kept away. It is noble!’
‘And what do you think about Laura?’
‘Poor child! I doubt if it was well to allow so much intimacy; yet I don’t see how it could have been helped.’
‘So you think she is in for it? I hope not; but she has not been herself of late.’
‘I think she misses what she has been used to from him, and thinks him estranged, but I trust it goes no further. I see she is out of spirits; I wish I could help her, dear girl, but the worst of all would be to let her guess the real name and meaning of all this, so I can’t venture to say a word.’
‘She is very innocent of novels,’ said Charles, ‘and that is well. It would be an unlucky business to have our poor beauty either sitting ‘like Patience on a monument’, or ‘cockit up on a baggage-waggon.’ But that will never be. Philip is not the man to have a wife in barracks. He would have her like his books, in morocco, or not at all.’
‘He would never involve her in discomforts. He may be entirely trusted, and as long as he goes on as he has begun, there is no harm done; Laura will cheer up, will only consider him as her cousin and friend, and never know he has felt more for her.’
‘Her going to Ireland is very fortunate.’
‘It has made me still more glad that the plan should take place at once.’
‘And you say “nothing to nobody”?’
‘Of course not. We must not let him guess we have observed anything; there is no need to make your father uncomfortable, and such things need not dawn on Amy’s imagination.’
It may be wondered at that Mrs. Edmonstone should confide such a subject to her son, but she knew that in a case really affecting his sister, and thus introduced, his silence was secure. In fact, confidence was the only way to prevent the shrewd, unscrupulous raillery which would have caused great distress, and perhaps led to the very disclosure to be deprecated. Of late, too, there had been such a decrease of petulance in Charles, as justified her in trusting him, and lastly, it must be observed that she was one of those open-hearted people who cannot make a discovery nor endure an anxiety without imparting it. Her tact, indeed, led her to make a prudent choice of confidants, and in this case her son was by far the best, though she had spoken without premeditation. Her nature would never have allowed her to act as her daughter was doing; she would have been without the strength to conceal her feelings, especially when deprived of the safety-valve of free intercourse with their object.
The visit took place as arranged, and very uncomfortable it was to all who looked deeper than the surface. In the first place, Philip found there the last person he wished his friend to meet—Lady Eveleen, who had been persuaded to stay for the dinner-party; but Mr. Thorndale was, as Charles would have said, on his good behaviour, and, ashamed of the fascination her manners exercised over him, was resolved to resist it, answered her gay remarks with brief sentences and stiff smiles, and consorted chiefly with the gentlemen.
Laura was grave and silent, trying to appear unconscious, and only succeeding in being visibly constrained. Philip was anxious and stern in his attempts to appear unconcerned, and even Guy was not quite as bright and free as usual, being puzzled as to how far he was forgiven about the ball.
Amabel could not think what had come to every one, and tried in vain to make them sociable. In the evening they had recourse to a game, said to be for Charlotte’s amusement, but in reality to obviate some of the stiffness and constraint; yet even this led to awkward situations. Each person was to set down his or her favourite character in history and fiction, flower, virtue, and time at which to have lived, and these were all to be appropriated to the writers. The first read was—
‘Lily of the valley—truth—Joan of Arc—Padre Cristoforo—the present time.’
‘Amy!’ exclaimed Guy.
‘I see you are right,’ said Charles; ‘but tell me your grounds!’
‘Padre Cristoforo,’ was the answer.
‘Fancy little Amy choosing Joan of Arc,’ said Eveleen, ‘she who is afraid of a tolerable sized grasshopper.’
‘I should like to have been Joan’s sister, and heard her tell about her visions,’ said Amy.
‘You would have taught her to believe them,’ said Philip.
‘Taught her!’ cried Guy. ‘Surely you take the high view of her.’
‘I think,’ said Philip, ‘that she is a much injured person, as much by her friends as her enemies; but I don’t pretend to enter either enthusiastically or philosophically into her character.’
What was it that made Guy’s brow contract, as he began to strip the feather of a pen, till, recollecting himself, he threw it from him with a dash, betraying some irritation, and folded his hands.
‘Lavender,’ read Charlotte.
‘What should make any one choose that?’ cried Eveleen.
‘I know!’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up. ‘I shall never forget the tufts of lavender round the kitchen garden at Stylehurst.’
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