Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон
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the easy manner, the tranquil but scrutinizing gaze,—all startled, discomposed, and half-frightened Evelyn.
Miss Merton herself, if more at her ease, was equally surprised by the beauty and unconscious grace of the young fairy before her, and rose to greet her with a well-bred cordiality, which at once made a conquest of Evelyn's heart.
Mrs. Merton kissed her cheek, and smiled kindly on her, but said little. It was easy to see that she was a less conversable and more homely person than Caroline.
When Evelyn conducted them to their rooms, the mother and daughter detected at a glance the care that had provided for their comforts; and something eager and expectant in Evelyn's eyes taught the good-nature of the one and the good breeding of the other to reward their young hostess by various little exclamations of pleasure and satisfaction.
"Dear, how nice! What a pretty writing-desk!" said one—"And the pretty goldfish!" said the other—"And the piano, too, so well placed;" and Caroline's fair fingers ran rapidly over the keys. Evelyn retired, covered with smiles and blushes. And then Mrs. Merton permitted herself to say to the well-dressed abigail,—
"Do take away those flowers, they make me quite faint."
"And how low the room is,—so confined!" said Caroline, when the lady's lady withdrew with the condemned flowers. "And I see no Pysche. However, the poor people have done their best."
"Sweet person, Lady Vargrave!" said Mrs. Merton,—"so interesting, so beautiful; and how youthful in appearance!"
"No tournure—not much the manner of the world," said Caroline.
"No; but something better."
"Hem!" said Caroline. "The girl is very pretty, though too small."
"Such a smile, such eyes,—she is irresistible! and what a fortune! She will be a charming friend for you, Caroline."
"Yes, she may be useful, if she marry Lord Vargrave; or, indeed, if she make any brilliant match. What sort of a man is Lord Vargrave?"
"I never saw him; they say, most fascinating."
"Well, she is very happy," said Caroline, with a sigh.
CHAPTER VI
TWO lovely damsels cheer my lonely walk.—LAMB: Album Verses.
AFTER dinner there was still light enough for the young people to stroll through the garden. Mrs. Merton, who was afraid of the damp, preferred staying within; and she was so quiet, and made herself so much at home, that Lady Vargrave, to use Mrs. Leslie's phrase, was not the least "put out" by her. Besides, she talked of Evelyn, and that was a theme very dear to Lady Vargrave, who was both fond and proud of Evelyn.
"This is very pretty indeed,—the view of the sea quite lovely!" said Caroline. "You draw?"
"Yes, a little."
"From Nature?"
"Oh, yes."
"What, in Indian ink?"
"Yes; and water-colours."
"Oh! Why, who could have taught you in this little village; or, indeed, in this most primitive county?"
"We did not come to Brook-Green till I was nearly fifteen. My dear mother, though very anxious to leave our villa at Fulham, would not do so on my account, while masters could be of service to me; and as I knew she had set her heart on this place, I worked doubly hard."
"Then she knew this place before?"
"Yes; she had been here many years ago, and took the place after my poor father's death,—I always call the late Lord Vargrave my father. She used to come here regularly once a year without me; and when she returned, I thought her even more melancholy than before."
"What makes the charm of the place to Lady Vargrave?" asked Caroline, with some interest.
"I don't know; unless it be its extreme quiet, or some early association."
"And who is your nearest neighbour?"
"Mr. Aubrey, the curate. It is so unlucky, he is gone from home for a short time. You can't think how kind and pleasant he is,—the most amiable old man in the world; just such a man as Bernardin St. Pierre would have loved to describe."
"Agreeable, no doubt, but dull—good curates generally are."
"Dull? not the least; cheerful even to playfulness, and full of information. He has been so good to me about books; indeed, I have learned a great deal from him."
"I dare say he is an admirable judge of sermons."
"But Mr. Aubrey is not severe," persisted Evelyn, earnestly; "he is very fond of Italian literature, for instance; we are reading Tasso together."
"Oh! pity he is old—I think you said he was old. Perhaps there is a son, the image of the sire?"
"Oh, no," said Evelyn, laughing innocently; "Mr. Aubrey never married."
"And where does the old gentleman live?"
"Come a little this way; there, you can just see the roof of his house, close by the church."
"I see; it is tant soit peu triste to have the church so near you."
"Do you think so? Ah, but you have not seen it; it is the prettiest church in the county; and the little burial-ground—so quiet, so shut in; I feel better every time I pass it. Some places breathe of religion."
"You are poetical, my dear little friend."
Evelyn, who had poetry in her nature, and therefore sometimes it broke out in her simple language, coloured and felt half-ashamed.
"It is a favourite walk with my mother," said she, apologetically; "she often spends hours there alone: and so, perhaps, I think it a prettier spot than others may. It does not seem to me to have anything of gloom in it; when I die, I should like to be buried there."
Caroline laughed slightly. "That is a strange wish; but perhaps you have been crossed in love?"
"I!—oh, you are laughing at me!"
"You do not remember Mr. Cameron, your real father, I suppose?"
"No; I believe he died before I was born."
"Cameron is a Scotch name: to what tribe of Camerons do you belong?"
"I don't know," said Evelyn, rather embarrassed; "indeed I know nothing of my father's or mother's family. It is very odd, but I don't think we have any relations. You know when I am of age that I am to take the name of Templeton."
"Ah, the name goes with the fortune; I understand. Dear Evelyn, how rich you will be! I do so wish I were rich!"
"And I that I were poor," said Evelyn, with an altered tone and expression of countenance.
"Strange girl! what can you mean?"
Evelyn said nothing, and Caroline examined her curiously.
"These notions come from living so much out of the world, my dear Evelyn. How you must long to see more of life!"
"I! not in the least. I should never like to leave this place,—I could live and die here."
"You will think otherwise when you are Lady Vargrave. Why do you look so grave? Do you not love Lord Vargrave?"
"What a question!" said Evelyn, turning away her head, and forcing a laugh.
"It is no matter whether you do or not: it is a brilliant position. He has rank, reputation, high office; all he wants is money, and that you will give him. Alas! I have no prospect so bright. I have no fortune, and I fear my face will never buy a title, an opera-box, and a house in Grosvenor