CHAPTER XIX.

“THE AUNTS.”

THE following evening Evelyn fulfilled her engagement, and punctually at eight o’clock arrived at the Duchess’s apartments, where, according to promise, she was introduced to the Miss Hazelhursts. These ladies were the sisters of the late, and aunts of the present Squire of Hazelhurst, in the beautiful Weald of Kent. They were now very old, and were passing a happy and serene old age, honoured and beloved by all who knew them. The Miss Hazelhursts were twins; but as Miss Grace had come into the world some three minutes before her sister, Miss Apollonia, it was settled between them that the former should on all occasions have the precedence, and be considered as the possessor of all the rights and privileges of primogeniture. The two old sisters loved each other tenderly, and in fact their only rivalry was in acts of kindness and in works of charity. It was “as good as a play” to hear Miss Apollonia ascribing all the attributes of maturer wisdom to Miss Grace, and to see Miss Grace deferring to the more youthful and vigorous intellect of Miss Apollonia. In person the Miss Hazelhursts were, like most twins, almost exactly alike, but, unlike most twins, who commonly take a malicious and hateful pleasure in confounding and mystifying their acquaintances, they made a point of dressing in distinct colours; thus Miss Grace (the elder) had always about her a ribbon or something of a pale flame-colour, while Miss Apollonia (the younger) wore trimmings of sea-green. This was done, doubtless, from a true ladylike wish to give as little trouble as possible to others. By friends, as well as by those to whom they actually stood in that near relationship, the twins were known far and wide as “the Aunts,” and in every act of their life they studied to justify that name of respect and affection. The old ladies would have been rich, but they had in their souls the royal gift of generosity to so great an extent, that they were compelled at times to curtail their personal expenses. No poor relation (and they had many) ever visited them without departing with a substantial proof of their liberality; no schoolboy ever bid them farewell untipped, and for friends and relatives alike they seemed to have an inexhaustible stock of beautiful gifts of old china, antique lace, pieces of ancient jewellery, and other choice and valuable nick-nacks. In politics the sisters were high Tories of the old pre-d’Israeli school, but no one had a tenderer love or more sisterly compassion for the poor than they had; and when, years ago, it was proposed to admit the public to the Palace gardens upon Sundays, it was the refusal of the Miss Hazelhursts to sign a memorial to the Queen against that humane and salutary reform, which went far to confer that priceless boon upon the working classes of the slums of London.

The Miss Hazelhursts greeted Evelyn with the utmost kindness, and said they had already intended to call upon her the following day, and that the Chaplain, Mr. fforester, had asked leave to accompany them. When Evelyn answered that she would be delighted to see them, the old ladies said how fortunate they were in having such a quiet, sensible, and wise man for their Chaplain as Mr. fforester, and then the Duchess warned her to be careful to respect that good man’s one weakness, which was his resentment at having his name spelt with a large F; for, like the ffiendses, and the ffaringdons, and the ffolkeses, Mr. fforester took it as a personal affront to be addressed without the small ff’s, which, rightly or wrongly, he held to be the right way of spelling his name. “We,” he always added, when the subject was mentioned--“we belong to the original family, you know, while the Foresters are mere modern upstarts, who may indeed claim a common origin, but of whom we fforesters know nothing whatsoever. Still I have no reason to doubt that they are respectable.”

When the four ladies, after an excellent dinner--for the Duchess studied perfection in all things, small as well as great--had returned to the drawing-room, and were seated before the fire, the door was suddenly thrown open, and a handsome young man, bursting into the room, threw himself into the arms of the Duchess, whom he kissed affectionately.

“My dear mother,” he cried, “I am so glad to see you; and how are the Aunts?” he added, shaking hands heartily with the two old ladies, “plotting, I suppose, as usual, to kill some one with kindness; I----good heavens! I beg pardon, mother, but I thought you and the Aunts were alone!”

This last exclamation was caused by the young Duke’s suddenly catching sight of Evelyn, who, seated in a low easy chair behind a screen, had hitherto escaped his notice.

“Miss Manwaring,” said the Duchess, “let me present to you my son; Frank,” she added, “you will find in Miss Manwaring the sister of an old and dear friend, to whom you have often told me you owe a deep debt of gratitude.”

“I am sure, Miss Manwaring,” said the young man, as they shook hands, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance; and do you know, if you will allow me to say so, there is a strong likeness between you and my late dear friend? I am so astonished and so glad to see you.”

Evelyn’s great eyes filled with tears, and she could scarcely find voice sufficient to respond to the young Duke’s salutation. But she felt very glad to see one who had loved and who had been loved by her late brother. She would have known the Duke anywhere, for, in point of fact, she possessed several photographs of him in the book which Wilfred had left behind him when banished from Holmcastle, and for this reason she did not look on him as a stranger.

“And now, my dear boy,” said his mother, “to what are we indebted for this sudden invasion?”

“Why, the fact is, mother, I came over to-day to call on Conger and Sprattles of the ----th, who are both right good fellows; and when I had taken pot-luck with them at the barracks, I felt I couldn’t go back to Town without coming to see how my dear old mother’s bronchitis was getting on. Now let me sit down, and give me a cup of tea, for I must be off in a few minutes, the last train on this stupid South Western line starts at ten.” So saying, the Duke threw himself down on an ottoman beside Miss Manwaring, and the two were soon engaged in close and animated conversation.

When at last the young man rose to depart, which he did apparently with much reluctance, his mother followed him into the corridor. “Where on earth, mother, did you pick up Miss Manwaring?” said he. “It’s a most extraordinary thing that I should find her here.”

“Not at all extraordinary,” answered the Duchess, “considering that she has just come to reside in poor Lady Glengriskin’s apartments. She is sister to that wonderful Captain Lionel Manwaring, you know.”

“Well, I never was more astonished; why, she’s the living image of her brother Wilfred; I hope I shall see her again soon. Now, mother, kiss me, and say good-night;” and then, after giving his mother a great hug, the young man was gone.

“Lieutenant Sprattles was at the dingy little station to see the Duke off. By the way, Duke,” he said, “have you seen our new Beauty?”

The Duke objected to this use of the possessive pronoun, but he answered calmly--“Well, I believe I have. I imagine I met her at my mother’s ten minutes ago. Do you know Miss Manwaring?”

“Yes; and what did you think of her?”

“I think she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life,” answered the Duke, lighting his cigar, and getting into an empty first-class carriage; “but pretty’s not the word--she’s something more than that--she’s perfectly lovely. Now good-night, Sprattles, and thank you for coming to see me off.”

Francis, Duke of Ribblesdale, had a very sensitive and impressionable nature, and he was much affected and delighted by his unexpected meeting with the sister of the friend he had so dearly loved, and had never ceased to regret. He was charmed, too, with the young lady herself, and as he smoked and thought, it came to pass that before he reached Waterloo, which “the slow South Western” always makes a long business, he had come to a determination, and that determination was that he would change regiments--in order to be near his mother, and in addition to this----But what the young man’s further resolve was will appear hereafter.

Truth to tell, for some time past, the Duke of Ribblesdale had been but ill at ease. He was tired of the “trivial round” of fashionable London life. He wished he had gone into a regiment on foreign service, instead of into the household troops. He longed for a more active life. He had had ideas of cutting the army altogether, and of buying a yacht, and going off to the Faröe Isles, or the Isles of Greece, or, in short, anywhere to get away from Town, until the following year, when he would come of age. Now, another and greater idea had struck him, and it will be seen hereafter whether he was able to carry it out. Anyhow, the Duke felt it was something to have got a new idea at all, and when he jumped into a hansom at Waterloo, he felt in better spirits than he had done for some months past.

Let us thank Providence that “the Jeunesse Dorée” of England are not yet like those of some other countries, and especially like those of the Bourgeois Empire of Napoleon the Little, or of the “one-horse” Republic, as the Yankees have it, which has succeeded his tyrannical and debasing rule.