MARGARET. “For this reason I should wish never to be
in love all the days of my life. The loss would
grieve me to death.”
MEPHISTO. “Joy must have sorrow, sorrow joy.”
HAYWARD’S FAUST.
THE lessons went on fairly enough. There were days on which Lotty’s conduct could not be truthfully described as “obedient and attentive;” days, too, on which poor Sybil was provokingly absent and dreamy. Still there was nothing of sufficient importance to risk the children’s forfeiture2 of the promised treat.
Sybil, indeed, was not deserving of blame for the sleepy, stupid moods that occasionally over-powered her. As Marion learnt to know her better, she found that these always preceded periods of sharp suffering for the poor child. Some hours of headache, almost maddening in its intensity3, and invariably followed by prostration4 and weakness painful to witness. It seemed to Marion, anxious for the child’s peace and comfort, that there must be some cause for these attacks, for they evidently had to do greatly with her mental and nervous condition at the time. She tried gradually to gain the little girl’s confidence, for that there was something to tell she felt convinced; but whenever she thought that Sybil was on the verge5 of disclosing her secret distress6, the child seemed to grow frightened again, and would say no more.
The acquaintances Mrs. Archer8 had already made, were increased by a few more, so that every day brought its own little plan or amusement. Some one to call on, the band playing on the “Place,” and on Fridays their own miniature reception on the terrace. Captain Berwick was as good as his word, and unfailingly made his appearance. He asked and obtained Mrs. Archer’s permission to introduce to her his friend, Mr. Chepstow, who was certainly fully1 deserving of the epithet9 of “the most good-natured fellow living.” Notwithstanding his condition of inconsolable widowhood, he managed to get on very comfortably, every house in Altes was open to the reputed millionaire; whose endless variety of carriages and horses was always at the disposal of his friends. He entreated11 Mrs. Archer to consider as her own a charming pony-carriage, which she was one day rash enough to admire. The offer was made in all sincerity12 and kind-heartedness, but Cissy had too much good sense to avail herself of it to any great extent. Not so, Sophy Berwick. She, notwithstanding her brother’s remonstrations, drove Mr. Chepstow’s ponies13, rode Mr. Chepstow’s horses, whenever the inclination14 seized her for either of these amusements. And this at the very time that she was making fun of him in all directions.
“Vulgar old cotton-spinner, that he is,” she said one day to Marion, when they happened to meet at Mrs. Fraser’s, “Frank is always going on at me as if one should be as particular with those sorts of people as with one’s equals. He is certainly very good-natured, otherwise I would not put myself under an obligations to him. But seriously, he may be very much obliged to me for exercising his horses. He is so fat, the pony-carriage would break down if he got into it, and he is far too frightened to attempt to ride. Don’t you agree with it Miss Freer?”
“I would, much rather you did not ask me, Miss Berwick,” replied Marion.
“As if I didn’t know what that means!” exclaimed Sophy; “I can see you don’t like me, Miss Freer. I am too noisy and rattling15 for you. But truly I am very good-tempered, and I would really like you to tell me what you think. I won’t be a bit offended, I assure you.”
“Well, then, if you will have, it, Miss Berwick,” said Marion, “I do think your brother is quite right. In the first place it would to me be very disagreeable to put myself tinder an obligation to any one, a gentleman especially, who was not much more to me than a mere16 acquaintance. And in the second place it would be to me not merely disagreeable, but actually impossible, to receive benefits from a person whom I looked upon with the contempt which you appear to feel for Mr. Chepstow. More than contempt. You ridicule17 and deride18 him constantly, make fun even of his personal peculiarities19 on all occasions. I don’t like it at all, Miss Berwick, though I should never have said this unless you had asked me.”
“Vulgar,” Sophy had called Mr. Chepstow. Strange perversion22, that she should be so sharp to perceive the outward deficiencies in speech or manner of the honest, good-hearted millionaire, and yet be so utterly23 blind to the far more repulsive24 vulgarity of her own speech and behaviour.
Sophy did not answer. Marion began to fear she had really offended her, when looking up she saw that the girl’s face, though grave, bore by no means an angry expression.
“Miss Freer,” she said at last, “I think I deserve what you say. I have got into reckless, careless sort of way of going on. To tell you the truth, I am not very happy at home, and so long as I can get something to amuse me; riding or driving, or making fun of people, it does not much matter which, I fear I think very little about how I get it. Frank is the only person who cares about me at all, and even he gives me credit for very little good. One thing I will promise you, and that is, to leave of making fun of poor old Chepstow, so long, at all events, as I continue to use his horses. There now, Miss Freer, isn’t it true that I am good-tempered?”
“And even more amiable27 than you think,” Sophy went on; “I don’t believe any other girl with a favourite brother would have tried to make friends with a girl that same brother is always praising up to the skies, and holding up as an example sister to follow! You will let me make friends with you, Miss Freer, won’t you?”
“Don’t you think I have done so already?” asked Marion. “I assure you I wonder at myself for speaking so plainly as I did. I could not have done so to a person I had not a friendly feeling for.”
“Thank you,” said Sophy, “that is a very pretty way of taking out the sting of your very decided28 home-thrust.”
And then, girl-like, they rambled29 on to other subjects. The excursion to Berlet, in which the Berwicks were to join, the balls Sophy was anticipating, and some few allusions31 to the home-troubles she had hinted at. Her father’s irritability33, her mother’s overweening partiality for Blanche, Blanche herself, with her everlasting34 ailments35:
“And yet with all, I think I could be very fond of her if she would let me,” said Sophy “she is really sensible and satisfactory when she chooses; and long ago, Miss Freer, she was so pretty.”
“So I have heard,” said Marion, not however encouraging further revelations of Sophy’s home secrets.
The girl was really not without many good qualities. Wanting in delicacy36 no doubt, far too self-confident and pronou?ée; but affectionate, and open to good impressions. And above all thoroughly37 honest and true. This was the reason of the liking38 Marion felt for her. This was why she so much preferred Sophy, rough, and even in a sense unrefined, to the graceful39, faultlessly lady-like Florence.
Sir Ralph’s call was not repeated for some little time. Cissy and Marion met him one day, and when the former reproached him for not having come again to see her, he confessed that he had been on his way thither40 the Friday previous, but meeting Captain Berwick and hearing from him that this was “Mrs. Archer’s day,” had thought better (“or worse,” Cissy suggested) of it, and turned back.
“Well, then, I think you very silly and provoking,” was all the sympathy he got Cissy.
“Particularly provoking,” she added, “for we had quite a little concert, and I know you like music. Indeed a little bird once told me you sang yourself. Bye-the-by, we are short of a gentleman’s voice for that pretty glee, Marion,” turning to her; “I wonder if Sir Ralph would take that part.”
Sir Ralph looked any thing but inclined to do so:
“Truly, Mrs. Archer,” he said, “you give me credit for powers I do not possess. Little birds at Altes, I am sorry to say, as well as in England, tell a great many stories. My singing is a thing of the past, not that it ever was much of a thing at all.” And then, as if anxious to change the subject, he turned abruptly41 to Marion. “Do you sing then, Miss Freer?” he asked.
“A little,” replied she, and then smiling at herself, she added, “you must not laugh at my very young-lady-like answer. In my case it is simply the truth.”
“I should like to hear you, and then I can judge,” he said.
And without giving Cissy time to invite him to come to her house, for the purpose of criticising her guest’s singing, he exclaimed hurriedly, “I really must not keep you standing10. Good morning, Mrs. Archer, I am sorry I have forfeited42 your good opinion.” And so left them.
“Well, Marion,” said Cissy, “though I thought him so nice the other day, I cannot say that I think so now. He is very rough and ill-tempered.”
“But Cissy, you teazed him on purpose. I think you deserved what you got.”
“You are an impertinent little cats Miss Freer,” replied her cousin. After which relief to her feelings, Mrs. Archer recovered her good humour, and they spent an amicable43 evening. This was the day before Sybil’s birthday. There had been some slight discussion, consultation44 rather, between Lady Severn and her niece, as to the advisability of inviting45 the daily governess to make one of the party to Berlet. But as Lady Severn wished to pay some attention to Mrs. Archer, and it would have been awkward to invite that lady without the young girl whom she evidently looked upon as a valued friend and guest, it was decided that the invitation should include Miss Freer. The children would have rebelled had their dear Miss Freer been left out; indeed they would naturally enough have looked upon such an omission46 as a gross breach47 of promise, as their governess had been asked to make one of the previous expedition, which the weather had put a stop to.
“Still, dear aunt,” suggested Florence the sensible, “I think for every sake, her own especially, it is well to show that she is invited as the children’s governess. Of course, had she been governess to any one else, the mere fact of her staying in Mrs. Archer’s house would not have made it necessary for you to notice her.”
“Of course not, my dear,” replied Lady Severn; “but how can I draw the distinction? I quite agree with you about it but I don’t see how it is to be done.”
“It is difficult, certainly,” said Florence, “that is the worst part of a somewhat anomalous48 position, like Miss Freer’s. I am glad she is coming to-morrow, for I am anxious for the children’s sake to get to know her a little better. I have gone into the schoolroom now and then, but I am so afraid of seeming to interfere49 in any way.”
“It is very kind of you, my dear, to take such an interest in the children. Miss Freer could not possibly think any such kindness on your part, interference,” replied Lady Severn.
“Well, I don’t know. It is better not to risk it. Besides, I really think Lofty and Sybil are getting on very well with her. But do you know, aunt, I can’t quite make her out. She is inconsistent altogether. Her manners, her general appearance, her dress even, are not the least like what one expects in a girl brought up to be a governess.”
“I have not observed any inconsistency of the kind,” said Lady Severn, “but I dare say my eyes are not so quick as yours. The only time I can really say I had any conversation with her was the first day she called, when she appeared a gentle, modest young person. I understood her to say that her family had met with misfortunes, which had led to her becoming a governess. These things happen every day you know, my dear, in the middle classes. Rich one day and poor the next! But to return to our plans for to-morrow. What arrangement do you think will be best about Miss Freer?”
“I was thinking,” said Miss Vyse, “that it might be as well if Miss Freer were to come as usual, at half-past nine, and start from here in the same carriage as the children. You, dear aunt, might propose to call for Mrs. Archer on your way past her house, which would save her the fatigue50 of the walk here in the first place.”
“Yes,” said Lady Severn, “that will do very well. Knowing that Charlotte and Sybil are with their governess, I shall feel comfortable about them. I must consult with Ralph about the carriages. There are our own two, and Mr. Chepstow has offered any of his we like.”
For Mr. Chepstow had called at the Rue25 des Lauriers, and been graciously received by the dowager and her fascinating niece.
It was part of Florence’s worldly wisdom always to be civil to people in the first place. Time enough to snub and chill them if they turned out useless, or not worth cultivating further. Easier, far, to do this than to undo51 the prejudicial effects of a haughty52 or freezing manner on first introduction. And in the present case, that of Mr. Chepstow, if he were only half, or even a quarter, as rich as report said, he would still be well deserving of some judicious53 attentions—according to Miss Vyse’s scale of judgement on such matters.
Another little téte-à-téte conversation on the subject of the Berlet expedition took place this same Thursday evening between Mrs. Archer and her cousin. A note from Lady Severn, explaining the proposed arrangements for the morrow, brought the subject to Cissy’s mind.
“By-the-by, May,” she said, “what are you going to wear to-morrow?”
“I was thinking about it,” replied Marion, thoughtfully. “I should like to wear that gauzy dress; white, you know, with rosebuds54. It is deliciously cool, and then my white bonnet56 matches it so beautifully.”
“Suitable, certainly, for Marion Vere, but I am by no means sure that it is equally so for Miss Freer,” replied Marion.
“What on earth do you mean, child?” asked Cissy.
“Just what I say. As long as I have to act, what you call my farce58, I think I should do so as consistently as possible. And from some little things Lofty Severn has told me, I am afraid I have been careless. Miss Vyse, it appears, has remarked, in the children’s hearing, that my dress is unbecoming to my station; and, of all people in the world, I should least like her to begin making remarks about me.”
“Why ‘her of all people?’ ” asked Cissy.
“I don’t know,” replied Marion. “I don’t like her, and I don’t trust her, and that’s about all I can say. No doubt if she were finding out about who I really am, she might do me great mischief59.”
“Of course she might,” said Cissy. “But one thing I must say, Marion: were it found out that you are not really Miss Freer, I should feel myself bound, in your defence, to tell the whole story from beginning to end. I could not consent to screen Harry’s part in it any longer.”
“Harry has had no part in it,” said Marion, eagerly. “You know this governessing scheme was most entirely60 my own. No one could be blamed for it but myself.”
“H—m,” was Cissy’s reply. “I am by no means sure of that. I should most strongly object to meeting Uncle Vere after he had learnt my part in it! However, I should bear that, and more too, rather than not let your conduct be seen in a proper light. But there’s no good talking about it. I trust, most devoutly61, you may continue Miss Freer, as long as we are at Altes. I have only warned you what I should think it right to do, in case of any fuss.”
“Very well,” said Marion.
But the conversation was not without its result. With a girlish sigh of regret, she put away the pretty rosebud55 dress, and laid out for the morning’s wear an unexceptionably quiet and inexpensive costume of simply braided brown-holland.
But I question much if so attired62, my Marion was any less winningly lovely than in the glistening63, delicately-painted gauze. The grey eyes looked out as soft and deep from under the shade of the brown straw hat, as from among the flowers and fripperies of the dainty Paris bonnet. Still, she was not so much above the rest of her sex and age but that this called for some self-denial.
Friday morning was cloudlessly fine. The sky was of that same even, intense blue, which had so impressed Marion on her first arrival in the south; and as she walked to the Rue des Lauriers, the girl felt joyous64 and light-hearted. She found Lotty and Sybil watching for her. In their different ways the two children were full of delight at the prospect65 of the day’s treat, and Marion felt glad that lessons had formed no part of the morning’s programme, as such a thing as sitting still would have been quite beyond the power of her excited little pupils.
By ten o’clock the various carriages assembled. Lady Severn and two middle-aged66 friends of hers, the English clergyman at Altes and his wife, seated themselves in the first, and drove off to pick up Mrs. Archer. Marion, looking out from the schoolroom window, did not envy Cissy her long drive in such company! Then came Mr. Chepstow’s dog-cart, driven, in the height of his exhilaration, by that adventurous67 individual himself. Miss Vyse was invited to occupy one of the two vacant seats, but, in some graceful manner, succeeded in evading68 the honour. After a little consultation, Sophy Berwick, nothing loth, took her place, followed, somewhat unwillingly—(but then, in pleasure parties the wrong people always get together!)—by her, so gossips said, former admirer, the cynical69 Erbenfeld. Next appeared a larger, and evidently hired, carriage, already occupied by Papa and Mamma Berwick, and a pale, worn-looking girl, whom Marion rightly concluded to be the invalid70 Blanche. No one appearing ambitious of making a fourth in this vehicle, it drove on.
Now dashed up, what penny-a-liners call, a “perfectly appointed equipage,” driven by the handsome young Russian Nodouroff. Seated beside him was his tutor, Mr. Price, who, however, descended71, leaving, two places to spare. Some discussion ensued as to who should occupy them, which was ended by Captain Berwick hoisting72 up a laughing, romping73 girl, whom Lotty informed Marion, was Kate Bailey, the younger sister of the languishing74 Dora.
“She’s only two years older than I am, Miss Freer,” said Lotty, virtuously75, “and yet she goes to all sorts of parties. I’m sure I don’t know how she ever learns any lessons.”
Vladimir’s horses growing impatient, young Berwick jumped in after Kate, and off they set. Next drew up a pretty waggonette, belonging to Mr. Chepstow. Into it, without hesitation76, stepped Miss Vyse and Dora Bailey, followed by the little Frenchman, De l’Orme. But where was the fourth? In some unaccountable manner this being, whoever he was, had disappeared. No one but Mr. Price stood waiting to ascend77. An angry toss of the head from Florence, an impatient order to the driver, and they drove off quickly. Rather lose the chance of the companion she had hoped for than, by longer delay, run the risk of Mr. Price’s uninteresting society!
Lotty and Sybil were beginning to think themselves forgotten, poor children, when a familiar voice sounded at the door.
“Now Lotty, now Sybil old woman, the carriage is coming round, for you. Ah! Miss Freer, too!” Ralph added, as he saw her. “I beg your pardon; I thought you were to have been picked up on the road with Mrs. Archer. But, never mind, we shall pack in.”
As they passed through the court-yard there stood Mr. Price, looking somewhat disconsolate78, not quite sure that he had done right in quitting his seat by the side of his pupil, which, yet, his shrinking modesty79 would not have allowed him to retain, unless all the rest of the company had been already provided for.
“You, too, still here, Price!” exclaimed Sir Ralph. “I thought you had been whisked off in the waggonette. However, it’s all the better! If Miss Freer does not mind a little crowding, that’s to say?”
Miss Freer, in her sensible brown-holland, being happily careless of crushing or squeezing, the whole party was soon comfortably established in the roomy carriage.
Sybil’s little face wore an expression of perfect content. Lotty, having obtained her uncle’s consent to sit beside the driver, was no less well pleased. Her incipient80 airs of fine ladyism forgotten for the time, she became the hearty81, happy child nature meant her still to be, chattering82 to the coachman in her broken French, and translating his replies for the benefit of the less accomplished83 Sybil. Both children really were their very nicest selves that day; and nice children are by no means a bad addition to a party of pleasure. For one thing, they are pretty sure to enjoy it, which is more than can be said or their elders.
What a merry drive they had! Marion hardly recognized the silent, melancholy84 Mr. Price in the agreeable, humourous man beside her. Sir Ralph and he amused her with reminiscences of their younger days, from time to time saddened by a passing allusion32 to the brother she had already heard of. The “John” so affectionately mentioned by Sir Ralph when speaking to Mrs. Archer.
Now and then the conversation became more general. Subjects of public interest were broached85 and commented upon by the two gentlemen, in a manner which caught Marion’s attention; for such discussions were not as strange or incomprehensible to her as to most girls of her age. Sir Ralph had the latest arrived English paper in his pocket. He glanced at it as he went along, from time to time reading out little bits for the edification of his companions. Once or twice Marion, half unconsciously, made some remark in response to his; remarks which showed that she knew what she was talking about, though, probably, of no great depth or originality86.
The second or third time this happened, Sir Ralph glanced at her with a slight smile of surprise and amusement.
“Why, Miss Freer,” he said, “you must be a great newspaper reader! You are certainly better up on that last speech on the education question of the member for —. Bye-the-by, what place does Vere stand for?” he asked, turning to Mr. Price, who could not satisfy him on the point. “Never mind,” he went on “how is it you know so much about it, Miss Freer? As I said, you are decidedly more at home in it than Price here, and that is saying a good deal; as I haven’t, in fifteen years, succeeded in finding a subject he was not at home in.”
“Nonsense, my dear boy,” said Mr. Price. “You will really make me blush, and that would look very funny on an old man like me. Would it not, Miss Sybil?”
Oh! how grateful Marion was to the all-unconscious Mr. Price, for thus opportunely87 turning the conversation!
The title of some forth-coming new book next attracted Sir Ralph’s attention, and led to an animated88 discussion on the previous works of the same author, in interest of which, Marion forgot her embarrassment89. She little knew how keenly her fresh, bright thoughts and enquiries, uttered with perfect simplicity90 and self-forgetfulness, were appreciated and enjoyed by her two companions. Cultivated, nay91 even learned men, that they were, yet not too “fusty and musty,” as Cissy had called it, to value the clear sparkling of an unprejudiced, but not uneducated youthful intellect; and better still, the softening92, beautifying radiance of a true, gentle, woman’s heart.
Mr. Price, as he looked at her, wondered if the little infant daughter long ago laid to rest beside her young mother, in the far of church-yard on a Welsh hill-side would ever, had she lived, have grown to be such a one as the sweet, bright girl beside him.
Sir Ralph, as he looked at her, thought to himself a “what might have been,” had he met this Marion in years gone by, before, as he fancied, youth and its sweet privileges, were over for him.
And with these thoughts, mingled93 in the hearts of both her companions, a manly94 pity for this young creature, apparently95 so alone in the world, and already, at the age when most girls think of nothing but pleasure and amusement, working, if not for her daily bread, at least towards her own or her friends’ support. “For surely no girl would be a governess if she could help it,” thought Ralph, as ever and anon the curious, indefinable inconsistency struck him between this girl herself and her avowed96 position.
“Here we are,” exclaimed he, rather dolefully, as the carriage stopped at the little inn at Berlet, where all vehicles “arrested themselves,” a Monsieur De l’Orme called it. The ascent97 of the hill, from the top of which was the far-famed view, could only be managed on foot or donkey-back. Some of the elderly and more ponderous98 ladies had preferred the latter safe, though inglorious, mode of conveyance99, and had already set off by a more circuitous100 path. The younger members of the party, intending to climb up the most direct way, were just about starting, when the last carriage, containing our happy little party arrived.
As Marion was stepping out, she heard herself addressed by name:
“Miss Freer,” said a voice beside her, “I cannot understand how it is that you and the girls came in this carriage. There must have been some strange mistake, which you should have rectified101. Lady Severn is not a little annoyed at it, for she particularly wished you and your pupils to come alone,” with a strong accent on the last word.
Marion turned round, her cheeks pale with the paleness that tells of deeper indignation than quick mantling102 crimson103.
“Miss Vyse,” she said quietly, “I do not understand you. If Lady Severn has anything to find fault with in me, I am perfectly ready to hear it. But—”
The words were taken out of her mouth by Mr. Price, who standing beside her had, unawares, heard the little conversation.
“I think, indeed,” he said, “there has been some mistake. Miss Freer took her seat in the carriage in which she was asked to place herself. On these occasions little contre-temps are apt to occur. I myself did a very stupid thing, for I was as nearly as possible left behind altogether.”
Instantly Florence turned round, her face radiant with smiles:
“Oh. Mr. Price,” she said, “I hope you don’t think me so silly as to be cross about a trifle; but you don’t know how particular Lady Severn is in all arrangements about the children, and I was so afraid of her thinking either Miss Freer or I had neglected her wishes.”
Mr. Price looked puzzled but said nothing.
However, he resolutely104 attached himself to Marion; as the party dispersed105 into twos or threes, to begin the ascent.
Sybil clung to Marion, who felt some misgivings106 as to how the little creature would get to the top, when a cheerful “halloo” behind them made her glance round.
There was Frank Berwick dragging along a reluctant donkey, which Sir Ralph was encouraging on the other side to hasten its movements. With a cry of pleasure little Sybil ran hack107 to her uncle, who lifted her on to her steed. Hardly had he done so, when Vladimir appeared with a pencilled note for Sir Ralph. He glanced at it, and with a clouded face, turned to the young officer.
“Berwick,” said he, “I must go to look after some or my mother’s other guests. Will you help with Sybil’s donkey? I any sorry to trouble you, but unless some one leads it, she could not make it go up this steep path.”
“Certainly,” said Frank, heartily, “you may trust me to get it safely to the top.”
So Ralph left them. On the whole, I don’t think Frank would have regretted if Mr. Price had done the same. But this did not appear to be that worthy108 gentleman’s intention. So Captain Berwick consoled himself by engaging Marion steadily109 in conversation, and thus obliging her to walk at the other side of the donkey’s head; for she could not have been cold or inattentive to one who was showing such good nature to her little pupil.
At last they got to the top. Most of the party were there before them, for the donkey’s tardiness110 had delayed them. There was a sort of terrace round the cottage, or chalet rather, from which the view was supposed to be seen in perfection. It was indeed beautiful! If only there had not been such a crowd of people talking about it! How the young ladies cluttered111 and admired, how the gentlemen thought it their duty to agree with their observations, however inane112! All but Ralph. When Marion first caught sight of him he was standing perfectly silent beside Florence, who was speaking to him in a low voice, from time to time raising her beautiful, lustrous113 eyes to his face, with a look half of questioning, half of appeal. It was some mere trifle she was asking him about, but, as she watched them, Marion thought to herself that Sir Ralph must indeed be strangely almost unnaturally114 callous115, to resist the fascination116 of such loveliness.
Somehow she felt glad when the chorus of enthusiastic admiration117 calmed down again and, the little groups dispersed. Before long whispers of “luncheon118” began to run through the party, and they all adjourned119 to a smooth lawn on the other side of the chalet, where picnic parties were accustomed to dine.
Marion found herself seated near Cissy, who looked rather tired. She whispered to Marion: “How nice it would be if all these people were away!”
Still, it was very amusing, on the whole. There were dignified120 Lady Severn and fat Mrs. Berwick, seated on the grass, vainly endeavouring to preserve the equilibrium121 of their plates and glasses. Mr. Chepstow, in a peculiar20 attitude, looking more like a magnified frog than a portly, middle-aged Englishman; and insisting, in his exaggerated politeness, on constantly unsettling himself to fetch something or other which he imagined some lady beside him to be in want of.
“You have no salt, Mrs. Harper,” he exclaimed to the clergyman’s wife. “Allow me to fetch you some. I brought some of my own, knowing it is so often forgotten, I shall get it in a moment. It is in the pocket of my over-coat. And up he started.
“Stay one moment, my friend,” interrupted Mons. De l’Orme; “here is of the salt that one has not missed to bring.”
Upon which Mr. Chepstow was, with difficulty, induced to re-settle himself.
“How charming it is, this scene,” continued the little Frenchman, with effusion; “it must absolutely that I visit England. All that I of her see fills me with admiration. Above all these ‘peek-neeks.’ What can one desire of more agreeable than at the once to enjoy the delights of the nature, the charms of the society, and the sweet allures122 of the life of family.”
“Bravo! De l’Orme,” exclaimed Erbenfeld; “may I ask who assisted you in the composition of this little oration123? I strongly suspect Chepstow had to do with it. It is in his style. Do you not think so, Miss Sophie?” he asked of his neighbour, with whom, failing better, he had, in a rather lukewarm manner, renewed his last year’s flirtation124.
Sophy was on the point of replying in the same strain, but, happening to glance in Marion’s direction, had the self-control to remain silent.
In are opposite corner Marion espied125 Dora Bailey, looking so marvellously brisk and lively, that one would hardly have recognized her. The secret of the change was soon revealed, when looking again, Miss Freer perceived that young Berwick was her neighbour, for poor Dora had long before this disclosed his name as that of her chosen hero. Frank, however, did not appear to be in correspondingly good spirits.
But everybody talked and laughed, and eat cold chicken and drank champagne126, as if they had been in England. So I suppose they all enjoyed themselves.
After luncheon they dispersed in little parties to ramble30 about the hill, one side of which was covered by a charming miniature pine-forest. Cissy was tired, and went into the chalet to rest. Miss Vyse and the other young ladies went off to choose pretty “bits” to sketch127, followed by their attendant gentlemen.
Marion, finding them all scattered128, proposed to Lotty and Sybil to go a little way into the forest, and there find a nice seat, where she would tell them a story.
Her proposal was accepted with delight, Sybil only stipulating129 that they should not go far enough into the forest to meet bears or wolves. The story extended into two or three before the children were satisfied. Then at last they agreed that “poor Miss Freer must be tired;” and they amused themselves by discussing the rival merits of her narrations130. “Beauty and the Beast” was Sybil’s favourite, though she shuddered131 as she listened to the description of the dreadful, though amiable monster.
Suddenly a quick step approached them, and Sir Ralph appeared. He threw himself down beside them, exclaiming as he did so:
“I beg your pardon, Miss Freer, but I am so horribly tired. I have been on duty all this time, and if had stayed longer, I should infallibly have said something rude to somebody, so I ran away to avoid getting into a scrape.”
“You’re like the Beast, Uncle Ralph,” said Lotty, oracularly.
“Like a beast!” he exclaimed. “I hope not, Lotty. What on earth do you mean?”
“I said the Beast. We have been talking about Beauty and the Beast, and I thought when you came growling132 so, you were just like him.”
“Thank you, Lotty,” he said; “or, rather, I think I should thank Miss Freer for the compliment, should I not? That’s what Miss Freer teaches you, eh, Sybil? To call your poor old uncle a beast.”
Marion laughed, but Sybil looked distressed133.
“Oh no, dear Uncle,” she said, “Miss Freer didn’t ever say you were a beast. Lotty only said it because you growled134. But, besides, Uncle Ralph, didn’t you know that the Beast was very nice, really he was, a beautiful prince at the end.”
“Really, was he? And how did he come to be so improved?” asked Ralph, with an air of the profoundest interest.
“Oh, because Beauty—” began Sybil.
“But who was Beauty, in the first place?” interrupted heir uncle.
“Beauty was a pretty, sweet young lady,” replied Sybil.
“Oh, indeed. Like you or Lotty, perhaps?” he suggested.
“No, oh no. Not a little girl. A young lady, Uncle. A big young lady, like——like——oh, yes! Just like Miss Freer. A pretty, sweet young lady, just like Miss Freer.”
“And she turned the Beast into a beautiful prince, you say? I wonder how ever she could do that,” he said, thoughtfully.
“Can’t you guess? Well, I will tell you,” said Sybil, full of importance. “You see, the Beast was very good and kind, though he was ugly. And the fairy fixed135 that whenever any pretty young lady would love him for being good and kind, and not mind his being ugly, then that minute he was to turn into a beautiful prince. So the very minute Beauty said, ‘I do love you, my dear good Beast,’ he turned into the prince. Isn’t it a pretty story, Uncle, and don’t you think Beauty must have been just like Miss Freer?”
“A very pretty story, indeed, Sybil,” replied he, to the first question; but to the second he made no answer. As he lay on the ground, however, he managed to glance up slyly to see how the “big young lady” took all these rather personal remarks. But he did not get much satisfaction. Marion’s face was rather graver than usual, but for all other change in its expression, her thoughts might have been far away, too far away to have paid any heed136 to the child’s chattering.
What was she really thinking?
The old puzzle: “I wonder how Sir Ralph and Miss Vyse get on together!” And why from the first have I disliked the one and liked the other?”
Ralph seemed suddenly to grow restless. He sat up and looked at his watch, and then said it was time for them to return to their party. So they all left their pleasant nook, considerably137 to their regret.
Sir Ralph stayed beside them till they were close to the edge of the wood, helping138 them to climb up the steep, rough paths. Then he hastened on before them, saying they had better follow at their leisure. Soon after they had reached the chalet it became time to think of rejoining the carriages.
They all descended the hill together; an easier managed business than the ascent; and returned home as they came, except that, by Lady Severn’s request, Marion took Mr. Harper’s seat in her carriage, that gentleman occupying her former place, and was set down with Mrs. Archer at the door of their own house, which was passed on their way to the Rue des Lauriers.
So ended little Sybil’s birthday pic-nic.
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收听单词发音
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1
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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forfeiture
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| n.（名誉等）丧失 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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15
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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16
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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17
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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18
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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19
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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20
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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21
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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22
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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23
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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24
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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27
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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28
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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29
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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30
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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31
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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32
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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33
irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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34
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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36
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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37
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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38
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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39
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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40
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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41
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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42
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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44
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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45
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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46
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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47
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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48
anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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49
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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50
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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51
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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52
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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53
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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54
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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56
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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57
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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58
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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59
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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60
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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61
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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62
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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64
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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65
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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66
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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67
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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68
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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69
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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70
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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71
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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72
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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73
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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74
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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75
virtuously
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| 合乎道德地，善良地 | |
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76
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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77
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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78
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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79
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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80
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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81
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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82
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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83
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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84
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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85
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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86
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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87
opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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88
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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89
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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90
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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91
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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92
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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93
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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94
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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95
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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96
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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97
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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98
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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99
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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100
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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101
rectified
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| [医]矫正的，调整的 | |
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102
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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103
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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104
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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106
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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107
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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108
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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109
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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110
tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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111
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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112
inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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113
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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114
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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116
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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117
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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118
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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119
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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121
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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122
allures
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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124
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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125
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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127
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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128
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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129
stipulating
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| v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的现在分词 )；规定，明确要求 | |
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130
narrations
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| 叙述事情的经过，故事( narration的名词复数 ) | |
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131
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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132
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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133
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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134
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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136
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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137
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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