CHAPTER XVI

ANTIQUITIES

"A little learning is a dangerous thing: Drink deep: or taste not the Pierian spring."

* * * * * *

"Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found."—POPE.

WITHIN two days of Fulvia's birthday, Daisy came sliding downstairs, leaning her whole weight upon the balusters, and ending with a ponderous leap of five steps at the bottom. She was addicted still to such little amusements when nobody was at hand to cry, "Oh!" Perhaps a certain sense of propriety, despite her objection to young-ladyism, made her dislike witnesses; and it was particularly provoking, when she rallied from her leap, to find Mr. Tom Elvey in the hall, pensively regarding her. He had a way of putting his head on one side when interested, and it was a good deal tilted at this moment.

"Oh, it's Mr. Elvey!" said Daisy, recovering herself and assuming a wooden air. "Have you come to see Nigel?"

"I—yes—I certainly came—to call," announced Tom. "Your brother was so good as to call upon me, I believe, the last time I was here."

"He left his card." Daisy objected to Tom Elvey; and she was a downright young woman, priding herself on showing what she felt; so she folded her arms foot-man fashion, and held her chin stiffly.

"True—yes—just so," assented Tom, studying Daisy with the mild wonder that he might have bestowed upon an infant kangaroo. She was quite a new "specimen" of humanity; rare in his experience. Tom thought her rather pretty, but her curt manner was perplexing. That it should spring from dislike to himself never entered into Tom's calculations. Tom had been accustomed to appreciation; and he expected it.

"Yes," responded Daisy, more shortly still, wondering how he had found his way in. Possibly her glance from him to the door was readable, for Tom said apologetically, "I am afraid it was a liberty—rather. I—in fact, I—I could not make anybody hear. The bell was not answered, so I thought I had better open for myself?"

"What could the servants be about?" demanded Daisy.

She marched before Tom into the morning-room, where Fulvia sat painting flowers upon a screen, and Nigel stood, gloves in hand. Daisy had seen him enter a minute earlier, peeping over the balusters on her way down. She had no business to bring Mr. Elvey to this retreat, as she knew well enough; only she did not pause to think.

"Where is Daisy? I want her," Nigel was saying when Daisy flung the door open.

"Here's Mr. Elvey come to call on Nigel," quoth Daisy, still with lifted chin and injured voice.

Fulvia did not get up. She shot one indignant glance at the culprit, then held out a hand streaked with paint.

"Daisy ought to have taken you to the drawing-room," she said. "We don't keep this in trim for callers."

Tom assured her that it was a charming room—delightful, natural, unsophisticated. He seemed bent upon using all the adjectives he could find. Nigel's greeting was polite, but not of the most cordial description; for it might be that this fellow was to carry off his dearest hope before his eyes. He could not be warm.

Tom seemed blissfully unconscious of any lack of welcome. He deposited his hat on one chair, and sat down upon another, into an open box of paints.

Fulvia uttered a warning word too late, and Daisy shrieked, then collapsed into a convulsion of laughter.

Tom got up, looking mildly at the box, which had suffered dilapidation from his weight, and walked to the chimney-piece. He could not better have displayed the streaky state of his own coat, one glimpse of which in rear sent the younger girl into a fresh paroxysm.

"Daisy!" Nigel said, under his breath, in displeasure. "Daisy!!"

Daisy hid her face behind the nearest window-curtain, and only an occasional choke was audible.

Tom's smile was benignity itself.

"I have a sister about her age, I should say," he observed. "A very merry age!"

Choke again.

"This room seems to be a receptacle for curiosities," meditated Tom, poking a little object on the mantelpiece with his awkward fingers. "I thought this was—a—but I see you have an elephant's tooth there, quite a good specimen; yes, killed no doubt in your travels?" He looked at Nigel.

"It has lain on that shelf for thirty years, I believe," Nigel answered.

"Not on that shelf! In the house, if you like," murmured Fulvia.

Nigel laughed; he had spoken absently.

"An Indian elephant, no doubt," Tom said, regarding the specimen critically. "I believe the—a—the molar tusks of the African elephant are—a—somewhat differently formed." Tom was not sure of his ground, but he had to keep up his character for learning.

"And the grinders?" asked Fulvia.

Tom was alarmed. Here might be a modern bluestocking of great attainments, before whom he must be cautious. He had not seen much of Fulvia hitherto, for she was not what Daisy called "addicted to the Elveys." But he had heard her spoken of as "out of the common," and her frizzly reddish-golden head looked "clever" in Tom's estimation.

"Yes, just so—a—the grinders," hesitated Tom, wondering whether "molar" had been the right word to use. It had come to mind so pat for the occasion as to be irresistible; but his specimen-hunting hitherto had not included elephant's teeth, and Tom resolved to adopt a safe vagueness before Fulvia. "The grinders—just so," he repeated. "By-the-bye, you have some curious weapons here. This odd attempt at a sword—abortive, rather!—must belong to a—a—rather early date."

"Pleistocene Period?" suggested Fulvia, playing with her brush.

Daisy exploded anew, and was again called to order by Nigel.

Tom tried to recall the exact position of the Pleistocene Period, and failed, not having read up his geology of late. "I—a—I should say—not far removed from the Stone Age," he said, pouncing on a happy thought.

"Wouldn't it rather be the Tin Age?" asked Fulvia, with lifted eyebrows, not yet looking towards him.

How like a girl! No lady of learning, evidently. Tom hastened to explain, greatly relieved. There had been a famous Stone Age, and a Bronze Age, and an Iron Age, but no Tin Age. He enlarged upon the fact geologically, if hazily, for Fulvia's information.

"I suppose every country has had its Stone Age sooner or later," said Fulvia at length. "The Malay Stone Age must have been very recent, but not the British. Which weapon are you speaking of? That thing!—" as if she had not known it all the while—"Why, Nigel made it for a charade ten years ago—King Hal's sword of State, was it not? Hardly so antique as the British Stone Age, I'm afraid. The fact is, it was buried underground in the tool-house for an indefinite time, and was found again by accident, which gave it a history, and explains its ancient appearance. One certainly might take it for an antediluvian implement of war," she added indulgently.

Tom was crestfallen. He did not so much mind making a mistake here or there; but he could not endure being found out in a mistake.

"I suppose you are antiquarian as well as scientific," said Fulvia. "Ethel could give you some help as to antiquarian spots in the neighbourhood. She has more of a learning in that direction than towards science."

Tom was happily started anew. He forgot his discomfiture, took another seat, and expatiated upon Ethel's good points.

She was "a nice girl," he said—"a very nice sort of girl." Tom was too circumspect to call her "awfully nice," as Nigel would have done in his place; but he meant it plainly. "Really sensible, quite intelligent," continued Tom, with his superior air of approval. He enjoyed intercourse with a mind like hers; young, fresh, capable of assimilating others' knowledge, worth expending trouble upon. Tom spoke with an air of cousinly proprietorship, which might or might not be more than cousinly.

When at last the caller departed, Daisy burst out—"I can't bear that man! He isn't half good enough for Ethel!"

"Daisy, I want you for a walk," interposed Nigel.

And she rushed away to dress, Fulvia saying at the same moment, with a smile—

"Poor fellow! He is hopelessly far gone!"

Nigel made no answer.

And the silence lasted until Daisy pranced in, exclaiming, "The day after to-morrow is Fulvie's birthday."

"Be quiet, Daisy," ordered Fulvia. "Everybody knows that. It is not to be talked about."

"Mr. Carden-Cox talks," said Daisy. "He means to have a lawyer to look into your affairs. I know he does, because he told me so."

Daisy's voice was penetrating. She spoke in the open doorway of the morning-room, and the study door lay opposite. A faint groan came across after her speech.

"Daisy, will you hold your tongue? He shall do no such thing."

"But he will. He told me so. He says he's not going to have your interest sacrificed to everybody's nerves."

"Nigel!" Fulvia spoke in a tone of despairing appeal.

"I'll see to that. Mind, Daisy, it is not to go any farther. Do for once be discreet. Now are you ready? What's that?" touching her glove.

"Oh, only a hole. It split last time I went out."

"Couldn't you have mended it before now?"

"I suppose so—if I hadn't forgotten."

"Have you no other pair?"

"Yes, one other. Won't these do? Oh, bother; must I go all the way upstairs again?"

Nigel showed no signs of relenting, and Daisy's face certainly showed no annoyance.

She went off at full speed, and reappeared with two gloved hands spread out for inspection.

"That's better," Nigel said.

And they were off, Daisy asking in the garden—

"What did you want me to do?"

"Help me choose something for Fulvia's birthday."

"Ah, then I guessed! Father hasn't got anything this year."

"Never mind—my mother has. Fulvia will understand."

"Fulvia never gets vexed at that sort of thing. But it will be a horribly dull day. Such a pity! Mr. Carden-Cox is quite put out. He didn't mind so much a week or two ago, but now he says it is all nonsense, and he doesn't believe anything is the matter with my father. Nigel, why does he mind so about the day? I wish you would tell me."

"Nobody knows." After a pause Nigel said abruptly—

"What makes you think of Elvey marrying Ethel?"

"Everybody says it."

"Who?"

"Mr. Carden-Cox, and Fulvia, and the Brambles, and—oh, all sorts of people."

"Have you seen signs of it in Ethel herself?"

Nigel spoke quietly, and it was growing dusk.

But when Daisy looked up in answer, with a meditative "I don't know," she thought her brother oddly pale. "Why, Nigel!" she said, staring.

"What is the matter?"

"Why, you look—"

"Well?"

"Seedy."

"I'm not—thanks."

"Well, you look so. Is anything wrong?"

"Something is always wrong, when a lady can't answer a question."

"Oh, if you can make fun!" said Daisy, satisfied. "But I really thought for a moment that you minded something very much. What was it you wanted to know? Oh yes, about Ethel. I'm sure I can't tell. What sort of 'signs' do you mean? I never do see when people are in love, except when they get to the stupid stage, and by that time it isn't a secret at all. Ethel says she likes Tom, and Tom says Ethel is nice. And Ethel laughs at Tom. And Tom bores Ethel. At least, I should be bored in her place. But they spend lots of time together, so I suppose they got on pretty smoothly. Mr. Carden-Cox declares they will marry, and he is very glad it is Mr. Tom Elvey and not you, because he says that would never do."

"What would never do?"

"Why, you and Ethel! When you first came home, you were always going after Ethel, and Mr. Carden-Cox didn't like it, any more than mother did. He wants you to marry Fulvia, and he says the other is out of the question. He says there are reasons against it, and my father would never consent. And he says you care for Fulvia more than for anybody else in the world. Do you?" asked innocent Daisy. "More than mother?"

Nigel's temper was not very easily roused, but Daisy had said enough to rouse it now. The idea of Mr. Carden-Cox discussing him and his affairs in this cool fashion with his youngest sister was unbearable. Nigel could not trust himself to speak at once in answer. He was too angry to have control over his own voice. He only walked faster and faster, till Daisy could scarcely keep pace with him, and words on her part failed for lack of breath. Now and again she glanced up at his closed lips, first in wonder, then in fear.

"Are you vexed?" she panted at length. "I didn't mean—Nigel, how you race!"

Nigel slackened speed. "I did not know we were going so fast," he said. "Yes, of course I am vexed. Mr. Carden-Cox had no business to say anything of the sort to you. Remember, Daisy—not one word of this is to go a step farther—least of all to Fulvia. It is absurd rubbish, the whole of it—mere gossip."

"Mr. Carden-Cox!" exclaimed Daisy aghast.

"Mr. Carden-Cox or anybody. It doesn't matter who talks so. The whole is mere gossip. You understand? If you repeat a word, you may make no end of mischief."

"No, I won't; indeed I won't," said Daisy. "But, please don't tell Mr. Carden-Cox that I let out what he said."