CHAPTER III.

TANGLED.

"Women do not like a man the worse for having many favorites, if he desert them all for her. She fancies that she herself has the power of fixing the wanderer; that other women conquer like the Parthians, but that she herself, like the Romans, can not only make conquests, but retain them."--_Colton._

The conversation had now become more general; but towards the close of the visit Queenie found herself alone with Miss Cunningham. They were standing in the porch together. Garth had gone round to the stables to see after the waggonette, and the others were in the Vicar's study, turning over a portfolio of old engravings. Queenie had been more than half disposed to follow them, but Miss Cunningham had detained her.

"You will find this pleasanter than papa's dark little study; besides, he does not want us now he has Miss Faith Palmer. Why do men like talking to her so much?" she continued in a perplexed voice. "She is not a bit clever, or what one would call attractive, and yet Mr. Clayton and papa are always lauding her to the skies."

"She is very good," returned Queenie. After what had passed between herself and Garth she was disposed to hold her peace on the subject of Miss Faith's merits. Some hours had passed since her arrival at Crossgill Vicarage, but, strange to say, she was less than ever inclined to be communicative to Miss Cunningham.

"So are you and I good, at least I hope so," answered Dora promptly, "though we do not dress in grey, and wear a close bonnet like a Quaker. I am a foe to that sort of goodness that must cloak itself in a peculiar garb. By-the-bye, how do you get on with Langley Clayton? she is one of the good sort too."

"I think she is one of the best women I ever met," was the enthusiastic reply; "she is almost perfection, so unselfish and so unobtrusive in everything she does."

"Yes; Langley is Langley; but she is a trifle too melancholy for my taste. I don't like people to go through life in a sort of 'patience on a monument' attitude. One suspects all manner of strange back-grounds, and then it is so provoking. Langley is Langley, of course, but I like Cathy best."

"Have you known them long, Miss Cunningham?"

"Ever since I was so high," putting her hand about three feet from the ground. "I used to call Mr. Clayton Garth once, till he got so big and grand that he used to frighten me; not that I am at all frightened of him or any other man now," she continued, with a curl of her lip, "one sees their weaknesses too plainly for that. How long are you going to stay at Church-stile House, Miss Marriott?"

"About three weeks, I believe, that is, until the cottage is ready for us. You know, I suppose, that we remain in Hepshaw. I am the new school-mistress. Mr. Clayton and Mr. Logan have elected me," explained Queenie simply; but, nevertheless, making the statement with some reluctance. She had a notion that Miss Cunningham would think it strange.

Dora absolutely started, and then bit her lip.

"You! Why you must be joking!"

"No indeed, Miss Cunningham."

"Why did they not tell me? It is Cathy's doing, I suppose, to keep you near her, you are great friends I hear; but I am surprised Mr. Clayton allowed it for a moment. You,--excuse me, Miss Marriott, but I cannot get over my surprise,--you look so unlike a school-mistress. Did you ever see your predecessor, Miss Drake?"

Queenie shook her head. She felt a little discomposed; the cool scrutiny of the blue eyes did not please her. Dora's searching glance took in every detail--the well-gloved hands, the dainty French tie, the little brown hat with its pheasant's wing, all the finish and detail that marks the gentlewoman's taste.

"No, you are not much like Miss Drake," she replied coldly; and a little cloud of dissatisfaction and perplexity knitted her brow.

They both seemed relieved when Garth made his appearance with the waggonette. Dora at once went in search of the rest of the party. Miss Faith and Emmie joined them instantly, but Cathy still lingered.

"Come, Catherine, come, it is getting late," exclaimed her brother impatiently; "you and Miss Dora have gossiped enough by this time." Cathy gave him a laughing look as she jumped into the waggonette, and ensconced herself cosily by Queenie.

"Don't be cross, Garth. No one calls me Catherine but Mr. Logan and Miss Cosie. I have only been mystifying Dora on the subject of our young friend here. She seems 'struck all of a heap'--to use an elegant but most expressive phrase--at the notion of her turning school-mistress. What business of hers is it, I should like to know? Let her mind her own parish."

"Hush, Cathy, be quiet; she will hear you," interposed Garth sharply, as he turned round to wave an adieu to the little figure in the porch. Dora stood with her hand shading her eyes, watching them until they were out of sight. She looked still more like a picture framed in roses, her straw hat hanging on her arm, and the sunset shining on her fair hair.

Garth turned round more than once, and then he resumed the subject somewhat irritably.

"What has Dora got in her head, I should like to know? she looks as if something does not please her. What nonsense have you been talking, Cathy?"

"Plaze your honor, no nonsense at all, at all," began Cathy mischievously, but a glance at her brother's side face, which looked unusually grave, sobered her in time. "Garth, don't be such a griffin, or I will never take you out to tea again. Dora chose to cross-examine me as to Miss Marriott's motives in taking so singular a step as becoming our school-mistress, and I thought her curiosity somewhat impertinent, and so took a delight in baffling it."

"I think it was you who were impertinent, Cathy," returned Garth, still displeased. "Surely such an old friend as Dora has a right to interest herself in our affairs if she likes."

"Not at all," returned his sister haughtily; "besides, this is not our affair at all, it is Queenie's. What right has any one to poke and pry into her motives? Of course you always take Dora's part, you and Langley are alike in that; but she got nothing out of me."

"My dear Cathy, Miss Cunningham is perfectly welcome to know everything, as far as I am concerned," interrupted Queenie, somewhat distressed at this argument. These slight diversities of opinion were not unusual between Cathy and her brother; but Queenie had never before heard him express himself so strongly.

"I am glad you take such a sensible view of it," returned Garth, mollified in an instant. "Cathy is thoughtless with her tongue sometimes, and hurts people. Miss Cunningham always takes a lively interest in all that concerns Hepshaw; you see, their own parish is managed so admirably, Crossgill is quite a model village in every way, that she feels she has some authority in speaking."

"All meddlers have authority, self-imposed, of course," observed Cathy, _sotto voce_. Nevertheless, the remark reached Garth's ears.

"What makes you so hard on Dora this evening?" he asked, good-humoredly. "She deserves a good scolding, does she not, Miss Faith? You are generally such good friends; something has gone wrong to-night, eh, little one?"

He spoke coaxingly, but Cathy would not be induced to answer. "She was sick of Dora; she would have Dora on the brain if they did not change the subject," was her pettish reply, and, seeing her in this humor, Garth, like a wise man, dropped the subject. But the conversation made a painful impression on Queenie; in her heart she sided with Cathy. She thought Miss Cunningham's curiosity unjustifiable in the last degree. "What is it to her how long I remain in Church-Stile House and in Hepshaw?" she said proudly to herself.

This feeling was not mollified when, two days afterwards, Cathy informed her that Miss Cunningham had driven over in her little basket-carriage, and was at that moment talking to Langley in the drawing-room.

Queenie changed color a little as she put down her book.

"So soon!" she ejaculated.

"Yes; she has come to return our call, and to see Langley," with a meaning look, that made Queenie feel still more uncomfortable. "No; we need not go to her just yet; Langley will bring her out to us by-and-bye. I think I shall tell Susan to let us have some tea, it is so delightfully cool and shady under these trees."

"Wait a moment, Cathy," catching hold of her dress, as she brushed past her, on hospitable thoughts intent. "Tell me why you do not like Miss Cunningham."

"But I do like her," returned Cathy, opening her eyes widely. "Who has said anything to the contrary? I think she is a dear little thing, and as good as gold. Why her father and sisters dote on her; only they have spoiled her between them."

"Then what put you out so the other night?" persisted Queenie.

"My dear, that is a complaint to which I am often subject. Many things put me out, you do sometimes, and so does Garth, dear, stupid, blundering old fellow that he is."

"Yes; but, Cathy, do be serious; you were as cross as possible that evening with Miss Cunningham, and would not say anything in her favor."

"Well, I believe I was cross," candidly. "If there be one thing I hate it is to be managed, and Dora will try to manage people. It is all very well in Crossgill, where every one worships the ground she treads on,--and of course she is very clever, and does no end of good,--but it is different when she tries to manage us here. It will be time enough for that when,--that is, if,--but I think I will leave that part of my sentence unfinished," continued Cathy, provokingly, and she ran away into the house, leaving Queenie still more mystified and uncomfortable.

Tea had long been set out on the low table under the plane-tree before Langley made her appearance with their visitor. The blue cambric and the broad-brimmed hat, wreathed with wild convolvoli, seemed quite familiar to Queenie. Dora held out her hand to her with perfect good humor; perhaps her manner was a trifle condescending.

"Well, I have come over to talk to you, and hear all about it," she said, taking possession of Garth's favorite basket-work chair, and unfastening her hat in her old fashion. "Papa says that I am too fond of interfering in every one's business, and that the world would go on just as well without me; but I can never believe that," with a low laugh, as though the idea amused her. "Fancy Crossgill and papa without me!" folding her dimpled hands complacently.

"I dare say they would do very well," interrupted Cathy, who was hovering near her with some rosebuds in her hands. Dora calmly helped herself to some, and went on talking.

"They will have to do without me some day, of course. It is a woman's duty to marry, and I suppose I must submit to my destiny. The girls will be sad managers; but no one could expect me to remain an old maid on their account. I have brought them up, and when I have introduced them into society I shall consider that I have done my duty."

"Hear, hear," interposed Garth from the back-ground, so suddenly that even Langley started. Queenie thought that now, at least, Miss Cunningham must look conscious and confused; but she did nothing of the kind; she only faced round coolly on the interloper, and asked what he meant by eaves-dropping in that fashion?

Garth laughed and made himself comfortable on his old grey plaid at her feet; but he looked a little mischievous.

"So there are limits to your sisterly self-sacrifice after all?" Dora gave a slight shrug.

"Self-sacrifice, without limits and without common-sense, remind one of the Suttee and the car of Juggernaut. When one is speaking generally it is a pity to particularize. At present I have too much on my hands to trouble about my future. There are the girls, and Flo is always in scrapes, and wanting me," finished Dora, in a quiet, matter-of-fact way.

"But Flo is nearly sixteen!"

"Yes, and Beatrix is seventeen. I mean Beatrix to remain at Brussels another year, in spite of papa and nurse; she is young for her age, and is far too shy and unformed to bring out at present; Flo has much more in her. But I did not come over here to talk about the girls and myself," continued Dora frankly; "they are good girls of course, but they are much more trouble than if they had been boys. I wanted a chat with Miss Marriott, and to hear all about this school business. I have had to do with schools all my life, you know," turning to Queenie; "and we have a charming place for our mistress at Crossgill. I have all sorts of ideas in my head, and shall be able to help you," ran on Dora, in a brisk, business-like way that almost took away Queenie's breath.

"You are very kind," she began, hesitatingly, and then she stopped. What business was it of Miss Cunningham's? why need she brook patronage from a girl so little older than herself, and a perfect stranger? But Dora misconstrued her momentary hesitation.

"Oh, you need not mind troubling me, I take interest in all sorts of people and things. Papa calls it interference, but I know better. Most people content themselves with their own little sphere of duty, and don't trouble themselves beyond it, but every one is welcome to my advice or assistance."

An inexplicable smile crossed Garth's face, but he made no remark. A close observer might have said that he was watching the two faces before him, with a view to comparison. Dora made a pretty picture as she leant back in her low basket-chair, with her sunny hair, and the roses fastened in her blue cambric. Queenie looked a little sombre and shadowy beside her in her brown dress. Her eyes were down-cast; she looked disturbed and ill-at-ease; she had lost something of the brightness and independence that were her chief charms.

"I don't like talking about myself and my own affairs," she said, with natural reserve; but somehow it sounded ungracious in her own ears. Miss Cunningham was an old friend of the family; perhaps she was wrong in treating her like a stranger; but Dora was not repulsed by her coldness.

"I dare say you feel a little proud about it; I should in your position," with a patronizing kindness that made Queenie's cheeks burn. "Miss Drake was such a very different person, quite common-place and ordinary. I think she was a small tradesman's daughter. It must be difficult to fit yourself to such a position, to come down to it with dignity." But Queenie would hear no more.

"You talk as though I were somebody, and not a poor governess, Miss Cunningham. I hope it is not beneath a clergyman's daughter to teach the children of honest people. It is not the work, it is the motive that ennobles the worker," cried the girl, turning on her young adviser with burning cheeks, and her eyes suddenly shining. "If I teach the children of the poor, I remember that I am poor myself. I shall not be ashamed of my position, or forget that my mother was a lady. I cannot forget what is due to myself or her, or to Emmie's mother, who brought me up, and made me what I am."

Dora raised her pretty eyebrows in some surprise; this little burst of sentiment perplexed her.

"I did not know you were such an impulsive character, Miss Marriott. You remind me of Flo a little, it is just her way of breaking out when she is lectured; not that I am presuming to lecture you," with an amused look; "I am only offering you advice and assistance. Miss Drake and I used to have long talks, did we not, Langley? and settle all sorts of things. She was a very ordinary person, and a little commonplace, I must confess, but she was always ready to take advice."

"I fear you will not find me quite so submissive as Miss Drake. I am only humble to those whom I know and love, and who love me!" replied Queenie, with a soft unsteady smile. "You are very good, Miss Cunningham; but I do not see how you can help me in this. I have Langley and Cathy, and they trust me a little," finished the girl, with a touching inflexion in her voice; "and for the rest, it is hard uphill work, and I must fight my way alone;" and then, as though to put a stop to the argument, she rose and placed herself by Langley's side.

"I don't understand. I hope she does not think me interfering. Perhaps she does not know that Hepshaw is a sort of second home to me!" returned Dora, in unfeigned perplexity, turning to Garth. Rebuffs were unknown to her; she was far too used to worship to take them kindly; her face changed and clouded a little. "I call it such a pity to show this sort of feeling in such a position. You have all of you made a mistake, Mr. Clayton; she is far above her work."

"There you are wrong," replied Garth warmly. Dora had risen, and he had followed her, and they were standing by the little gate looking down the plane-tree walk. Some children were planting flowers on a newly-made grave; some one was practising on the organ; through the open door they could hear snatches of Bach's Passion music. "Believe me, you are wrong; Miss Marriott's a fine creature. She thinks nothing beneath her, and would work herself to death for that little sister of hers. You are both good creatures; I wonder why you persist in misunderstanding each other?" he continued in an aggrieved voice, and with a man's usual blindness in such cases. "I am disappointed that you do not care more for Langley's _protégée_, Miss Dora."

"Oh, as to that, I like her well enough," she returned, a little coolly; "she is in good style and lady-like, only far too impulsive for my taste. She reminds me of Flo, and you know I always find Flo rather troublesome."

"I know your conduct to your sisters is perfectly admirable," was the answer. "You have been a mother to them in every sense of the word. Why Flo perfectly adores you, Dora."

"I am used to being adored," she returned quietly. It had not escaped her notice that he had gone back to his old habit, and called her Dora; she rather liked it than otherwise. It was very pleasant lingering by the little gate in the sunset. She was quite aware how pretty a picture she made, with her uncovered hair, and the roses in the blue cambric. Garth, tall and dark, and in his grey working suit, made a splendid foil to her.

"Shall we take a turn on the terrace?" he asked in a low voice, unlatching the little gate as he spoke; but Dora shook her head. It would be very pleasant wandering there in the sunset with Garth Clayton; but then there were the girls, and Flo not sixteen yet. Things were progressing certainly, but perhaps, under the circumstances, it would not be wise to expedite matters. Her sisters must be introduced into society, and Beatrix must be trained to take her position at Crossgill Vicarage before she could turn her attentions to such things. There must be no loitering in the sunset just now; men were impressionable, and well, perhaps Garth's manner was a little different to-day; he certainly looked a little disconsolate over her refusal.

"I shall gather you some roses before you go; you won't refuse them I hope, Dora," he returned, somewhat discontentedly.

"Yes, you may gather me some; but you must not call me Dora, please. It is a great pity, but we are not children now, and people will talk."

"Let them talk," returned Garth, now really provoked. He was very proud, and this repulse did not suit him. The sunset was inviting, and the shining little head beside him seemed to draw him with golden meshes. He was half serious and half jesting, but the mood and the hour had a certain sweetness not to be lightly lost; but if she chose to repulse him, well, it had not gone very far, and on the whole he preferred his freedom; but here Dora was looking at him pathetically with her blue eyes.

"Are you cross with me? one cannot always please one's self. Papa will want me; and one has so many duties," sighed the young diplomatist, "and cannot choose one's pleasures," looking at him slyly, but with a certain softness.

"No; you are very good. I suppose I am like other men, and want my own way. Do you think if you had more to do with me that you could cure me, Dora?"

"Hush, here comes Miss Marriott," she returned, laying her hand warningly on his arm. It was a very pretty hand, and showed well on the grey coat-sleeve. He had called her Dora again, but she did not again rebuke him; somehow his tenacity did not displease her. "He will be troublesome by-and-bye, but I think I shall be able to manage him," she thought, as she turned with a somewhat heightened color to the new-comer.

Queenie came between them as they fell apart; she was not thinking of them just now, but of something that she had schooled herself to say.

"I told Langley that I must come after you, and she said that I was right. I wanted to say, Miss Cunningham, that I was wrong just now. I ought to have thanked you more for your interest and what you said to me; you meant it kindly, very kindly, I am sure." Queenie spoke in rather a measured voice, as though she were repeating a lesson; but Dora received the apology very graciously.

"I thought you would think better of it, only you were so impulsive, and missed my meaning. People always take my advice in the end, they find it answers. They know that I take interest and want to help them."

"Yes; and I ought not to reject any well-meant kindness," returned Queenie, with still more effort, as she noticed Garth's keen survey of them both.

"I am glad that you have decided that we are to be friends and not enemies," replied Dora calmly, but half-amused by what she termed an exaggeration of feeling. "I know I shall get on with you better than with Miss Drake. She was such a very ordinary person, and dressed so very oddly."

"There is no comparison between Miss Marriott and Miss Drake," interposed Garth, a little sharply. "Let every one stand on their own merits."

"You are perfectly right," was the composed answer. "I am only glad that we all understand each other so well. I shall come and see you in your cottage, Miss Marriott, and then I am sure we shall become friends."

Queenie did not answer, but a rebellious flush rose to her cheek. She had come between them, and was still standing there on the little path. The children had planted their flowers and had gone home. The music had ceased, and the organist had closed the church. "Let us go back to the house and to Langley," observed Miss Cunningham a little impatiently, when the silence had lasted a moment. But as the girls walked back to the house side by side Garth did not accompany them. He was gathering roses.