CHAPTER VIII.

GOSSIP AND MISCONCEPTION.

"MOTHER, is it true?" asked Charlie Bland, one afternoon in the following week, as he burst into the dining room, swinging a strapful of books. "Is it true that Mr. Glynne going to marry Aldyth?"

"My dear Charlie!" exclaimed his mother, looking up from her letter-writing in the greatest astonishment. "Whoever told you such a thing?"

"Oh, all the boys are talking about it. Tom Rudkin says he knows it's a fact. And old Glynne is in an awfully jolly temper to-day."

Kitty dropped her novel, and burst into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, you ridiculous creatures!" she exclaimed. "What will you boys conjure up next? You might have known it was not true, Charlie. If Aldyth were engaged, should not we know it as soon as any one at Woodham?"

"Well, I thought it could not be true," he replied, "but Tom Rudkin was so positive."

"Here comes Aldyth," exclaimed Kitty, who was seated in the window. "What fun! I shall ask her what she means by concealing her engagement from us."

Mrs. Bland was looking vexed—too vexed to be amused. Tom Rudkin was Clara Dawtrey's cousin, so it was easy to see in what quarter the report had originated.

"Take care how you tell her, Kitty," she exclaimed, as Kitty rushed to the door. "It will annoy her, I know."

"Talk of an angel, and her wings are heard," said Kitty, laughingly, as she opened the door to her friend.

"You were talking of me? What have you been saying, I wonder?" said Aldyth, as she came in. "Now, Charlie, you must be my friend, and tell me all. What have they been saying about me?"

"That you are engaged to Mr. Glynne," blurted out Charlie.

Aldyth looked amazed for a moment, then her face flushed.

"Oh, Charlie! How can you?" cried Kitty. "We never said that, I'm sure. It was your astonishing piece of news."

"What does he mean?" asked Aldyth, looking from one to the other in embarrassment.

"You must not mind it, Aldyth, dear," said Mrs. Bland, kindly. "I do believe boys are as fond of gossip as old maids. He has just brought us that surprising piece of intelligence from school."

"Tom Rudkin declared it was true," said Charlie, sturdily.

"After that, my declaration that it is not will go for nothing, I am afraid," said Aldyth, trying to laugh off her vexation, which was evidently great. "I wish people would not be so wise concerning me."

"It is most annoying to have such things said," observed Kitty. "Really, Woodham is a most detestable place for gossip."

"Come, come, child!" said her mother. "Don't run down your native place. All little towns are pretty much the same, as far as gossip is concerned."

"Of course it is easy to see who started this report," she added, as Charlie disappeared from the room. "It originated over the way, no doubt."

"That horrid old Tabitha!" exclaimed Kitty. "She is the bane of the town. She ought to have been born a century earlier, when she might have been drowned as a witch! Ne that I should wish her to be drowned: but, you know, there really is something witch-like about her."

Aldyth could not help laughing at Kitty's ideas respecting Miss Rudkin.

"It's Clara Dawtrey's doing," Aldyth said. "She met me the other day walking with Mr. Glynne. That was foundation enough for this fabrication. Oh, dear! I should like to tell her what I think of it. But it would do no good."

"No, no!" said Mrs. Bland. "The best way is to take no notice, and let the report die a natural death."

The talk turned to other matters; but Mrs. Bland could see that throughout her visit, Aldyth's mind was dwelling on the unpleasant fact she had learned. Mrs. Bland was sorry for her, and indignant with Clara Dawtrey. She knew that nothing is more trying for a girl, nothing more prejudicial to her happiness, than to have her name thus coupled with that of a gentleman whose friendship she values.

Two evenings later Kitty came in from attending a meeting of the Woodham Sewing Club in a state of considerable excitement.

"What is the matter, Kitty?" asked her mother, for Kitty's face was crimson, her eyes sparkling, and she burst into the room in a way which showed no respect for the nerves of those who occupied it.

Hilda, who had been dreaming rather than reading as she sat by the fire, looked up with a startled face.

"Oh, nothing," said Kitty, calming down as she saw the surprise she was causing; "nothing, except that I have had it out with Clara Dawtrey, and prevented her from telling any more stories about Aldyth."

"Kitty!" exclaimed Hilda. "Have you? Oh, do tell us!"

"Well, Clara, if you please, was at the meeting to-night. It is not often she troubles herself to attend. She was helping Mrs. Rayner to give out the work, and Miss Phipps was there too. The girls had gone, and we were putting things away when I saw their heads all close together, and heard Aldyth's name. Miss Clara did not mean me to hear, but I caught a word or two, and I spoke out at once, and said there was not an atom of truth in the report that Aldyth was engaged to Mr. Glynne. I looked straight at Clara, and said that I believed the report had originated with her; would she kindly tell me from whom she had received the information? You should have seen how taken aback she looked! She turned as red as possible, and could only say she was sure she thought it was true, or she would not have repeated it.

"'As an intimate friend of Aldyth's, I can assure you,' I said, 'that she is engaged to no one, and it is preposterous that such a thing should be said. I shall be obliged if you will contradict it, if you hear it again.'"

"Oh, Kitty!" exclaimed Hilda, with admiration in her tones; but Mrs. Bland looked uneasy.

"I do not wonder that you spoke so, Kitty," she said, "but I doubt, my dear, if it were wise."

"Oh, I do not believe in letting people say just what they like," replied Kitty. "Anyhow, I've killed that rumour; but I dare say a fresh one will be started, for Miss Phipps began to say that she had always understood Aldyth was to marry her cousin."

"Poor Aldyth!" exclaimed Mrs. Bland, whilst Hilda hastily took up her book, to hide the hot colour that was mounting in her cheeks. "Why will people talk about her so?"

"Mother, do you think that Aldyth will marry Guy?" asked Kitty.

"My dear, how can I say whom she will marry? I am no oracle. But I am sure that nothing would better please Stephen Lorraine. And in many respects it would be a good thing for Aldyth."

"Yes, of course," said Kitty, in a comfortable, matter-of-fact tone, "she would be the mistress of Wyndham; she would have plenty of money, and could keep as many horses as she liked; but still I cannot fancy that Aldyth would care to marry Guy."

Kitty quitted the room as she spoke. Hilda bent over her book, apparently absorbed in its pages, but it was long ere the unwonted colour in her cheeks faded.

Needless to say, Kitty's encounter with Clara Dawtrey did not tend to soften the feelings with which that young lady regarded the Blands and their friend.

A few days later, Clara, who occasionally called on Mrs. Greenwood, although the banker's wife did not admit her into the inner circle of her friends, entered that lady's drawing room to find John Glynne there talking to her. Clara was delighted to meet him thus; and immediately began to display all the coquettish airs and graces by which she believed that she rendered herself charming to gentlemen.

Mr. Glynne would have retired after a few minutes, but as he rose, the servant appeared, carrying the tea-tray, and Mrs. Greenwood would not hear of his going before he had taken a cup of tea. Just then other visitors were announced, who engaged Mrs. Greenwood's attention, and Glynne found himself drawn into a talk with Miss Dawtrey. They were seated within the bow-window which commanded the High Street.

Clara, talking rapidly, looked up at her companion with what she believed to be an arch glance, when she perceived that he was paying little attention to what she said. His eyes did not meet hers; they were looking beyond her, down into the street. Clara turned quickly to see what was interesting him there. Her chagrin did not lessen when she saw that Aldyth Lorraine was riding past, accompanied by her cousin. The girl-rider looked trim and graceful in her dark blue habit and little felt hat with white plume.

"Aldyth Lorraine looks well on horseback," remarked Clara, studying Mr. Glynne's countenance with an intentness of which he became uncomfortably aware. "Some people call her pretty. Do you think she is pretty?"

"Really, Miss Dawtrey, that is hardly a fair question," he replied, laughingly. "Is not a gentleman bound to admire every young lady he meets?"

"Oh, that's rubbish," she said. "You can't admire ugly girls. Now, I call Guy Lorraine a very handsome fellow; you don't think so, of course; you men are so jealous of each other; but he is. He ought to have a pretty wife. Of course you know—" She paused, and looked at him significantly.

"Please do not take my knowledge for granted," he said, his heart beating more quickly as he spoke; "do you mean that Miss Aldyth will marry her cousin?"

"Oh, hush!" she said, putting her finger to her lips with a warning look, and then glancing at the other visitors. "I would not have said anything about it, but I made sure you knew."

"But surely—if they are engaged—Is it an engagement?"

"That is an awkward question, Mr. Glynne," said Clara, dropping her eyes. "I do not wish to tell you a story, and I am not at liberty to answer in the affirmative. Though really it is absurd to make a secret of it, for every one at Woodham has known since they were children that Guy and Aldyth were intended for each other. My great-aunt, Miss Rudkin, is in Mr. Stephen Lorraine's confidence, and he has told her that he looks forward to their union. But pray do not repeat what I have said; I should not have told you."

"It is safe with me," he said, quietly.

He was on his guard, and could maintain an air of indifference.

"There has been an absurd fuss lately," said Clara, in a carefully subdued tone, "because a rumour arose that Aldyth was engaged to another gentleman. I understand that she has been most indignant about it, and the Blands call it a preposterous idea. Aldyth is very proud; I suppose it does not please her that her name should be coupled with that of any one save her cousin."

"Naturally," said John Glynne, rising to put down his cup. His tone was cold and hard. With all his self-control, he could not help the colour rising in his face as Miss Dawtrey spoke.

It was impossible that in such a place as Woodham, he should fail to hear what people were saying about him and Miss Aldyth Lorraine. It had annoyed him almost as much as it had annoyed her; but his vexation was entirely on her account. He could not blame himself: He had done nothing that could give colour to such an assertion. He was certain that Clara Dawtrey meant to annoy him by her words. She could not have supposed that he was unaware that it was his name that people had linked to that of Aldyth. But for that he cared not. What stung him in her words was their suggestion that some disdain of him had mingled with Aldyth's indignation. He took his departure hastily, and went back to his lodgings in a depressed frame of mind.

His little sitting room, with its hard, horsehair furniture, its brilliantly coloured pictures, its quaint decorations of seaweed and shells, had never seemed so distasteful and unhomelike as it did to-night. His landlady's shoes had never creaked so horribly as when she was laying on the table his evening meal; the conversational efforts she made in her nasal monotone had never been so tiresome.

So Aldyth Lorraine was to marry her cousin! For he did not for a moment imagine that he was mistaken in the inference he had drawn from Miss Dawtrey's words. Well, it was not surprising, and yet he was surprised. They were so different. What he had seen of Guy Lorraine had led him to regard him with a sort of good-natured contempt. A fine human animal, he had thought him, a clever sportsman, and not without good qualities, but empty-headed and primed with the self-conceit that often accompanies a vacant mind. Aldyth Lorraine, with her intellectual tastes, her delicate perceptions, her exquisite refinement of mind, to share the life of such a man! What had they in common, except their horsemanship and their love of out-of-door life—in Guy's case it could scarcely be termed "love of Nature?"

Having taken his supper hastily and with little appetite, Glynne plunged into work, and tried to banish these thoughts from his mind. After all, it was no concern of his whom Aldyth might choose to marry. And yet—and yet—one thing had been made clear to him by the talk of the gossips—the fact that had he been in a position to contemplate marriage, Aldyth was the girl he would desire to win. Was she making a free choice in the matter? he asked himself with a sudden thrill.

He remembered how she had said, "I am peculiarly bound to defer to Uncle Stephen's wishes." Could it be that she was being forced into this marriage? No; impossible! She was not the woman to marry under compulsion. The words must have referred to her engagement. They were a confirmation of what Miss Dawtrey had said. Glynne's spirits sank lower as he thought this. Vainly he tried to absorb himself in his work; thoughts of Aldyth would come between him and it, and mingling with them came to mind scraps of "Locksley Hall."

"He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse."