The Admiral's Daughter (17 page)

Lord Ramblay's brow shot up. “Ah! I beg your pardon; I did not wish to embark upon a subject that might be painful to you.”

Now Maggie was twice mortified. Clearly her cousin had mistaken her remarks, supposing that
her
affections had been rejected. With a flush she exclaimed: “Oh, no, it is nothing like that, I assure you! I meant that Mr. Wayland had done me the honor to make me an offer, which I was forced to refuse.”

“It is none of my business what your reasons were, Cousin, but from what I understand, Wayland would make an admirable match. My mother seems certain he is destined some day for a bishopric, and is in other wise a personable young man.”

“Even were that the case in my own view, sir,” replied Maggie, “I should have done the same. I cannot love a man only because he is destined someday for a high office or some consequential position, any more than I can love him for the color of his eyes or the size of his feet. Those may, if there is already some great feeling present, increase the temptation, but where there is nothing but disdain, even contempt, they will certainly not take the place of deeper motives.”

“You dislike him violently, I see,” said Lord Ramblay, smiling.

“No, I do not dislike him violently; I only know him to be a vain, pedantic, and sycophantic man, more fitted for the life of a dandy than of a clergyman. Were he born to a higher level of society, no doubt he should have preferred the former life himself. As it is, his pocket can only afford a religious existence, which has, besides, the advantage of allowing him a great use of his voice, a property of which he is very fond.”

Lord Ramblay looked for a moment as if he would laugh out loud, but evidently remembering his own position,
thought better of it. The resulting expression was almost prim, which made Maggie, in her turn, smile.

“Forgive me if I have vilified your new curate's character, Cousin,” she said hurriedly. “Indeed, I am probably tempted to exaggerate his faults because of his overcertainty of gaining my affections. There is nothing so calculated to raise a woman's ill opinion as a man's complacent assurance of inspiring a favorable one.”

“That is a fact I shall bear well in mind, Miss Trevor,” replied Lord Ramblay, with a little mock bow of his head. “Heaven preserve
my
inspiring anything like the opinion you have of the unfortunate Mr. Wayland.”

Maggie cocked her head a little to one side and replied, archly, “Oh, there is very little danger of
that
, Cousin. My opinion is already formed of
you
—or, if not absolutely formed, at least molded enough to prevent its being changed much.”

Now it was Lord Ramblay's turn to look startled.

“And what is the verdict, Cousin? I hope I am not to be called ‘vain, pedantic, and sycophantic'!”

“No, you are none of those. But I shall not tell you what you
are
—for I am certain you have not sufficient self-mockery to like me afterward.”

Lord Ramblay gazed at her a moment in silence. But his eyes were full of doubts, questions, and not a little mortification. This last pleased Maggie very well, for it was the first time she had beheld her cousin without that complacent self-assurance she found so irritating.

“Self-mockery?” he inquired, doubtfully. “Is that a great virtue in your eyes?”

“Oh, to be sure! I count it even higher on the scale of human virtue than a general mockery of humanity, which is certainly a necessary quality for anyone.”

“And do you count it higher than
simple
virtues? Such as honesty, or courage, or duty?”

“Higher than the last, at any rate: for where there is only duty, without any feeling behind it, there is very little. It is like a cake all made of air bubbles, and will collapse as easily the moment you try to eat it.”

Lord Ramblay stared at his cousin for a moment before replying. His look was full of doubts and questions at first, but soon resolved itself into the ironic expression, so difficult to see beneath, which was his usual mask.

“I see we think differently, Cousin,” he said gravely, “and I am very sorry for it. In my own view, there is nothing so worth striving toward as a dutiful way of life. Without duty, and without honor, we are little better than animals, ruled always by our basest passions, and incapable of any higher kind of existence than eating and drinking and seeking warmth.”

Maggie could make no reply at first, for which she was thoroughly irritated at herself. Lord Ramblay always seemed to speak so convincingly that it was difficult to argue with him. She inevitably found herself feeling like a child before a disappointed tutor, though she believed these high-sounding words in fact defended nothing more than his own reluctance to be defeated in an argument She said at length, with a little triumphant sparkle in her eye: “I cannot argue with you, Cousin—to do so would make me seem to defend base conduct and dishonorable deeds, together with sloth, greed, and selfishness. I assure you I do not; but I still am firmly resolved in my opinion. You shall not convince me that to be civilized, one cannot also be amiable and friendly, nor that laughter in any way decreases a man's honor.”

And with these words, Maggie rose up from her seat, and casting her book down, walked from the room. Lord Ramblay stared after her for some minutes with a frown upon his face. It was not so much a frown of anger, however, as one of uncertainty, which in a man so accustomed to being listened to, was a peculiar sensation indeed.

Twelve

MAGGIE HAD BEEN
disappointed by her failure to speak privately with Miss Haversham all the day on Sunday, and the departure of the guests being set for early on the following day, she had not much hopes of another
tête-à-tête
before her friend left Essex. Determined to try to get her alone, however, she rose early on Monday, and by eight o'clock was dressed and going down the stairs. She saw at once that Blanche Haversham was occupied variously by her patient and the patient's sister, endeavoring to satisfy the demands of one, and fending off the ineffectual assistance of the other. But Blanche had the matter equally in her own mind, and glanced up at Maggie as she came into the breakfast room as if to say—“Only wait a little, if you will. I shall soon have done here, and then we shall be alone for a moment.”

Time passed, however, without an opening, and the carriages were driven up before the door. Ladies and gentlemen, exclaiming at some forgotten item or rushing back and forth to say their farewells, were soon disposed within, and the last of the guests were filing out of the doorway when Miss Haversham at last drew Maggie aside.

“Shall you be in London soon?” she inquired softly, with a gloved hand upon the other's arm.

“Within a week, I believe—but that depends upon Lady Ramblay's mood!” responded Maggie.

“Oh, indeed—never mind about her, my dear. I think her bite is not half so painful as her bark. Only try to ignore her as much as possible, and continue to be as civil as you have been. Shall you stay in Grosvenor Square? Good—for my house is in Grove Street, just off Berkeley Square. We shall see each other often. As to that other matter——”

But Miss Haversham broke off and glanced at Lord
Ramblay, who was bidding his guests good-bye some distance from where they stood.

“Never mind, my dear friend. I shall tell you more about it when we are at leisure in Town. And, Maggie——”

“Yes?”

“Have a care of your cousin. I believe he is not as happy as he deserves to be.”

And with these astonishing words, spoken in a confidential murmur, Blanche Haversham smiled and turned away, and in a moment was out the door. Maggie stood perfectly still staring after her in amazement.

The departure of the hunting party left the castle empty and echoing with the sounds of their laughter. The prospect of spending the next week alone with her cousins in that vast building did little to cheer Maggie, who wandered disconsolately from room to room in search of some occupation. No one was about, for Lady Ramblay was still in her room, her daughter upstairs with her tutors, and the Viscount, when his guests had left, retired immediately to his study saying he had work to do. He had not gone, however, before hinting that Maggie might do well to spend an hour or two practicing her music. This hint was not lost upon her, and indeed the truth of the matter was that her cousin's very perception annoyed her. There is nothing so calculated to raise our antagonism as a person who knows our faults, especially if that person be of the opposite sex and very handsome.

With a little flush of anger, therefore, she spent half an hour in pursuit of every
other
occupation she could think of. But the lower rooms of the castle, without any other occupants, proved barren of amusements, and after toying for a little with a novel, she finally threw it down and with a resigned look went into the music room. There she labored for an hour diligently, but at last she could bear it no more. Her natural energy and usual manner of living had made her require constant occupation. She was not one to sit idly by the hour gazing into space, and even the most interesting diversion wearied her after an hour or two. The day was very crisp and fine. She glanced repeatedly out of the windows, longing for a walk or some other exercise. At length, determining upon an exploration of the grounds, she ran up to her apartments to fetch a
cloak and bonnet. Very soon she was striding down a path that led between two banks of hedge.

The brisk air, the smells of earth and grass, the brilliant colorations of the leaves, had soon done their work upon the young lady. Almost at once she felt refreshed, her cheeks were lit with color, and her eyes sparkling from exercise. Maggie had naturally a long stride and, her attention divided equally between an admiration of the natural beauties around her and her private thoughts, she had soon covered half a mile. The path now was giving way to an avenue. Leaving the garden proper behind, she struck out along this route into a kind of wood. From the great height of the trees, and the rougher terrain on either side the avenue, she assumed this must have been part of the ancient forest. The combination of serenity and great age of the place struck her as doubly pleasing for the careful attention it received. Here and there were gardeners laboring near the tree trunks, weeding out any minor growths and shrubs. The ground was perfectly covered with pine needles, and every leaf was plucked up as it fell from above.

Absorbing the tranquil luxury of so much beauty and order, she was soon lost in her own thoughts and did not notice much where she walked. Miss Haversham's words to her that morning had continued to turn in her mind without any comprehension. “Have a care for your cousin,” she had said. Why a care for
him
? What could she have meant, indeed? And what on earth could
she
, a mere cousin, do to improve his spirits? Miss Montcrieff had better be looked to for that! And yet what had Miss Haversham meant by saying he was not as happy as he deserved to be? What more did he deserve, beside the luxury of this place, with all the devotion and respect of his family, rank, place, and great wealth?

It was true she had seen an occasional expression come over Lord Ramblay's face which had struck her as a great sadness. But these moments were always instantly covered over by his usual formality and that cold civility with which he was used to address everyone. It struck Maggie all at once that his sadness might be the result of penitence over his marriage. Perhaps after all he had felt remorse for his heartless treatment of the young lady who had been his wife. That such might be the case, made her like him a
little better. Even had he been really cruel, even had he felt nothing more than a pride of possession for her, if he
now
repented of his conduct, it proved he was not altogether without a heart.

Turning the matter over in her mind, she stepped off the avenue and into the woods. Here the smells of leaves and pine needles were stronger, and here the atmosphere of great age and history lingered in the branches of the trees as palpably as a fog. Absorbing everything, but without any conscious knowledge of it, she began to reconstruct what that marriage must have been like. Captain Morrison had said the lady was exquisitely beautiful. Aside from this, Maggie had hardly any knowledge about her. That she had been very young, very innocent, and in awe of Lord Ramblay, she had been told, and that she was a stranger to England, having been brought up all her life in the West Indian Islands. Such a kind of creature might well have been the foil for an arrogant man's pride. How could she defend herself against his superior mind, greater experience, and worldly view of life? No, no—surely she would have stood too much in awe of him to ever question his interminable orders, his strict code of conduct, his unequal idea of how they should live. Yes, it was all clear now—she would have gone willingly wherever he required her, and kept silent even as he dashed about on a ceaseless round of pleasure with his friends. Confined to the country, to loneliness and heartache, she would have awaited his infrequent returns eagerly, hoping for a little of that tenderness and love which he had never shown her.

The picture was forming itself very clearly in Maggie's mind as she looked up and, glancing through the trees, noticed the outline of a small building. It seemed to be a sort of gazebo or summer house, constructed in the midst of the forest. Still lost in her reverie, she wandered toward the shape, and at last came into a little clearing of trees. There she stood for a moment, entranced by the charming picture before her. The gazebo—for it was one of those constructions that had been in vogue some few years before, with a Chinese roof and supporting columns, but without any walls—stood up upon a platform, several feet above the ground. A flight of steps led up to it on three sides, and the light and shade falling upon it lent it an almost fairy-like appearance. In the middle of the little
house was a crumbling stone statue of the goddess Diana, lifting her bow as if to shoot an arrow into the overhanging bows of trees. On four sides were small stone benches. The appearance of the place was very delightful, and yet Maggie was struck by some oddity about it. It had the air of a place no longer in use, though it was obviously of recent construction. The paint on the slender columns was peeling off, the steps were crumbling a little, and the roof appeared to have sagged under the weight of rain. Yet here she was standing in a really ancient wood, so well tended that it was immaculate. Why should not the little pavilion have the benefit of an equal degree of care?