Under the Mendips: A Tale. Marshall Emma

I could be spared. It might do me good to go, father; I mean, make me all the more useful at home afterwards."

      "What do you expect Mrs. Hannah More to do to you? – cut you into a pattern, as she would cut an old woman's cloak, eh? However, if you wish to go, and any more is said, I'll manage it for you. Perhaps no more will be said; your aunt is just as likely to forget all about it."

      "Yes, I know that," Joyce said, with a little ring of disappointment in her voice.

      "I'll tell you what pattern I would not have you cut into on any account; and that is poor die-away, languishing Charlotte Benson. Poor thing! if she is a specimen of boarding-schools and accomplishments, I would sooner have Jane Watson for a daughter."

      "Charlotte paints flowers very well, father," Joyce said; "and she has worked a figure in Berlin wool of a woman in a red gown feeding chickens; and – "

      They had been jogging along at a very leisurely pace, and the sound of fast-trotting horses made Joyce look back.

      "To the right, father! quick! it's the post-chaise from the Swan."

      The squire pulled up towards the high hedge, and the post-chaise dashed past, the luggage behind, and the two young men lying back in it. The gates of Fair Acres were in sight, and the carriage turned in with an imposing flourish of the post-boy's whip.

      "Look here, Joyce, that is a sign of the times. That poor foolish popinjay of ours is only drifting on with the tide. He has brought another young fellow, I daresay, as idle as himself, to eat my bread and give himself airs. Well, I will put up with it for a week, and then both have notice to quit; nor do I desire to see either of them darken my door again. Melville shall travel if he likes, but it shall be across the water – to America, where, if a little of this nonsense is not knocked out of him, my name is not Arthur Falconer."

      With this outburst of masculine indignation the squire subsided, and then quietly drove round to the stables, while the post-chaise was being unloaded at the front door; and Melville was giving the post-boy as large a "douceur" – or, as we should have it called in these days, a "tip" – as befitted the imitator of the first gentleman in Europe.

      CHAPTER IV.

      THE LADY OF BARLEY WOOD

      There was a mixture of dignity and simplicity in the reception which Mrs. Falconer gave her son's friend which did not fail to strike him.

      "We sup at nine o'clock, sir," she said, "we dine at one, and take tea at five. Thus it is to the first of these meals that I would bid you welcome, as it is close upon eight o'clock now. Will you follow me to your room? – which I hope you will find comfortable."

      "I am sure I shall," said Mr. Arundel, warmly. "It is very good of you, madam, to invite me to Fair Acres."

      These few words had passed in the hall; and the tap of Piers' crutches was heard approaching, while Nip and Pip came bustling about the new-comers, their short tails vibrating as if they were screwed on with a wire!

      "This is our youngest child, sir – Piers," Mrs. Falconer said.

      "Where is Joyce, mother?" Piers asked.

      "Your sister is behind; our chaise passed her close to the gate."

      "Why did not you come with her?" Piers asked, bluntly.

      "Because I was not allowed to do so," Mr. Arundel said, good-temperedly. "I can tell you what you will be glad to hear, that your sister did not forget your sparrow-hawk."

      Melville, who had after all been wrangling with the postboy about his gratuity in a somewhat undignified manner, now came into the hall as his father and Joyce appeared from a door under the wide staircase.

      "Well," said the squire, "you seem holding a counsel here; I hope it is peace, not war. Come, Melville, show your friend to his room."

      Considering how greatly the squire had been annoyed by his son's driving out in the post-chaise, he spoke kindly and pleasantly; but Melville was already assuming his grand airs.

      "Here, Arundel," he said, "I will take you to your room: first door on the left, I suppose?"

      "You will allow me to do as I have done all my life, Melville," said his mother. "I always go with my guests to their chambers, to see they are comfortable. Now, Mr. Arundel."

      To Melville's horror, his mother put the accent on the second syllable. And as she tripped away – for her figure was still light and supple – he whispered: "He won't know who she means. Tell her, pray, not to say Arundel."

      Joyce was indignant about the proceedings of the whole day, and she said:

      "If you think it becoming to correct your mother, do it yourself." Then, going up to her father, she put her hand through his arm. "Come and see the last brood of chickens with me and Piers. They are lovely, dear dad."

      Melville turned away with a satirical smile on his lips, thinking it was impossible to do anything with Joyce: she was content to let things remain as they were.

      Meantime his friend was conducted to the "best room" Mrs. Falconer had to offer – a spacious square room, with a large four-post bed, hung with white dimity, and so high that a pair of steps by which to climb into it did not seem out of place.

      The window was rather small for the size of the room, and the frames thick, but roses and honeysuckle hung their wreaths round it and perfumed the air.

      Mrs. Falconer showed Mr. Arundel the high chest of drawers, and pointed to a hanging-closet, one of the top panels of which was glass, so that it might have a dim light from the room.

      "I hope you will be comfortable," she said; "the sheets are well aired, and so were the mattresses and beds, by the fire. I never trust to servants, but see to those things myself. We sup at nine o'clock; and if you want anything please pull the bell."

      "You are very kind," Mr. Arundel said. "I hope my visit is not inconvenient."

      "Oh, no; the boys are coming home from school to-morrow. Three boys make some difference in a house; but I dare say you will be out a great deal with my son Melville." A scarcely perceptible sigh accompanied the words, and then Mrs. Falconer vanished; on the stairs she met Melville.

      "I say, mother, what have you got for supper? I hope there will be something that Arundel can eat. And, by the bye, mother, his name is Arundel, not Arundel."

      "Oh, is it, indeed! I don't know that it matters what a man is called. As to the supper, there's a round of beef, and a pie, and a baked custard, and plenty of bread and cheese."

      "I wish you could have some made dish to-morrow. Big joints are all very well for a pack of hungry schoolboys."

      Mrs. Falconer did not reply sharply, as she did sometimes. She turned and preceded Melville to his room, which was at the other end of the long passage or corridor, which ran across the house, dividing it into two parts, front and back. Melville followed her, and assumed a careless and indifferent air, throwing himself on the deep window-seat and giving a prolonged yawn.

      A pack of cards lay on the drawers, with a dicebox.

      "We had high words last night, Melville," his mother began; "and I was sorry – "

      "Don't scold or preach any more; I am sick of it. If you'll get my father to let me travel, I'll come back in two years and settle into quite the country-gentleman; but you can't expect a fellow to bury himself here at my age with a set of rustics."

      "I have heard all this before," his mother said, in a sad voice, very unlike her usual sharp tones. "What I want to ask is this: you have brought your friend here without so much as consulting your father or me. I ask a plain question, is he a well-behaved man and fit to be the associate of your sister and young brothers?"

      "Fit to associate with them! His mother is an Honourable, his grandfather was a peer. Fit to associate with us, indeed, who are nothing but a pack of farmers!"

      "So you said last evening. I don't care a fig for lords and ladies; nor princes either, for that matter: but this I say – if your friend teaches my boys to gamble and drink, and is not to be trusted with your sister, but may talk all