I Say No

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER XLI. SPEECHIFYING.

  On the Monday, a plowboy from Vale Regis arrived at Monksmoor.

  In respect of himself, he was a person beneath notice. In respect ofhis errand, he was sufficiently important to cast a gloom over thehousehold. The faithless Mirabel had broken his engagement, and theplowboy was the herald of misfortune who brought his apology. To hisgreat disappointment (he wrote) he was detained by the affairs of hisparish. He could only trust to Mr. Wyvil's indulgence to excuse him, andto communicate his sincere sense of regret (on scented note paper) tothe ladies.

  Everybody believed in the affairs of the parish--with the exception ofFrancine. "Mr. Mirabel has made the best excuse he could think of forshortening his visit; and I don't wonder at it," she said, lookingsignificantly at Emily.

  Emily was playing with one of the dogs; exercising him in the trickswhich he had learned. She balanced a morsel of sugar on his nose--andhad no attention to spare for Francine.

  Cecilia, as the mistress of the house, felt it her duty to interfere."That is a strange remark to make," she answered. "Do you mean to saythat we have driven Mr. Mirabel away from us?"

  "I accuse nobody," Francine began with spiteful candor.

  "Now she's going to accuse everybody!" Emily interposed, addressingherself facetiously to the dog.

  "But when girls are bent on fascinating men, whether they like it ornot," Francine proceeded, "men have only one alternative--they must keepout of the way." She looked again at Emily, more pointedly than ever.

  Even gentle Cecilia resented this. "Whom do you refer to?" she saidsharply.

  "My dear!" Emily remonstrated, "need you ask?" She glanced at Francineas she spoke, and then gave the dog his signal. He tossed up the sugar,and caught it in his mouth. His audience applauded him--and so, for thattime, the skirmish ended.

  Among the letters of the next morning's delivery, arrived Alban's reply.Emily's anticipations proved to be correct. The drawing-master's du tieswould not permit him to leave Netherwoods; and he, like Mirabel, senthis apologies. His short letter to Emily contained no further allusionto Miss Jethro; it began and ended on the first page.

  Had he been disappointed by the tone of reserve in which Emily hadwritten to him, under Mr. Wyvil's advice? Or (as Cecilia suggested) hadhis detention at the school so bitterly disappointed him that he was toodisheartened to write at any length? Emily made no attempt to arrive ata conclusion, either one way or the other. She seemed to be in depressedspirits; and she spoke superstitiously, for the first time in Cecilia'sexperience of her.

  "I don't like this reappearance of Miss Jethro," she said. "If themystery about that woman is ever cleared up, it will bring troubleand sorrow to me--and I believe, in his own secret heart, Alban Morristhinks so too."

  "Write, and ask him," Cecilia suggested.

  "He is so kind and so unwilling to distress me," Emily answered, "thathe wouldn't acknowledge it, even if I am right."

  In the middle of the week, the course of private life at Monksmoorsuffered an interruption--due to the parliamentary position of themaster of the house.

  The insatiable appetite for making and hearing speeches, whichrepresents one of the marked peculiarities of the English race(including their cousins in the United States), had seized on Mr.Wyvil's constituents. There was to be a political meeting at the markethall, in the neighboring town; and the member was expected to make anoration, passing in review contemporary events at home and abroad. "Praydon't think of accompanying me," the good man said to his guests. "Thehall is badly ventilated, and the speeches, including my own, will notbe worth hearing."

  This humane warning was ungratefully disregarded. The gentlemen were allinterested in "the objects of the meeting"; and the ladies were firm inthe resolution not to be left at home by themselves. They dressed with aview to the large assembly of spectators before whom they were about toappear; and they outtalked the men on political subjects, all the way tothe town.

  The most delightful of surprises was in store for them, when theyreached the market hall. Among the crowd of ordinary gentlemen, waitingunder the portico until the proceedings began, appeared one person ofdistinction, whose title was "Reverend," and whose name was Mirabel.

  Francine was the first to discover him. She darted up the steps and heldout her hand.

  "This _is_ a pleasure!" she cried. "Have you come here to see--" shewas about to say Me, but, observing the strangers round her, altered theword to Us. "Please give me your arm," she whispered, before her youngfriends had arrived within hearing. "I am so frightened in a crowd!"

  She held fast by Mirabel, and kept a jealous watch on him. Was it onlyher fancy? or did she detect a new charm in his smile when he spoke toEmily?

  Before it was possible to decide, the time for the meeting had arrived.Mr. Wyvil's friends were of course accommodated with seats on theplatform. Francine, still insisting on her claim to Mirabel's arm, gota chair next to him. As she seated herself, she left him free for amoment. In that moment, the infatuated man took an empty chair on theother side of him, and placed it for Emily. He communicated to thathated rival the information which he ought to have reserved forFrancine. "The committee insist," he said, "on my proposing one ofthe Resolutions. I promise not to bore you; mine shall be the shortestspeech delivered at the meeting."

  The proceedings began.

  Among the earlier speakers not one was inspired by a feeling of mercyfor the audience. The chairman reveled in words. The mover and seconderof the first Resolution (not having so much as the ghost of an idea totrouble either of them), poured out language in flowing and overflowingstreams, like water from a perpetual spring. The heat exhaled by thecrowded audience was already becoming insufferable. Cries of "Sitdown!" assailed the orator of the moment. The chairman was obliged tointerfere. A man at the back of the hall roared out, "Ventilation!"and broke a window with his stick. He was rewarded with three rounds ofcheers; and was ironically invited to mount the platform and take thechair.

  Under these embarrassing circumstances, Mirabel rose to speak.

  He secured silence, at the outset, by a humorous allusion to the prolixspeaker who had preceded him. "Look at the clock, gentlemen," he said;"and limit my speech to an interval of ten minutes." The applause whichfollowed was heard, through the broken window, in the street. The boysamong the mob outside intercepted the flow of air by climbing on eachother's shoulders and looking in at the meeting, through the gaps leftby the shattered glass. Having proposed his Resolution with discreetbrevity of speech, Mirabel courted popularity on the plan adopted by thelate Lord Palmerston in the House of Commons--he told stories, andmade jokes, adapted to the intelligence of the dullest people whowere listening to him. The charm of his voice and manner completed hissuccess. Punctually at the tenth minute, he sat down amid cries of "Goon." Francine was the first to take his hand, and to express admirationmutely by pressing it. He returned the pressure--but he looked at thewrong lady--the lady on the other side.

  Although she made no complaint, he instantly saw that Emily was overcomeby the heat. Her lips were white, and her eyes were closing. "Let metake you out," he said, "or you will faint."

  Francine started to her feet to follow them. The lower order of theaudience, eager for amusement, put their own humorous construction onthe young lady's action. They roared with laughter. "Let the parson andhis sweetheart be," they called out; "two's company, miss, and threeisn't." Mr. Wyvil interposed his authority and rebuked them. A ladyseated behind Francine interfered to good purpose by giving her a chair,which placed her out of sight of the audience. Order was restored--andthe proceedings were resumed.

  On the conclusion of the meeting, Mirabel and Emily were found waitingfor their friends at the door. Mr. Wyvil innocently added fuel to thefire that was burning in Francine. He insisted that Mirabel shouldreturn to Monksmoor, and offered him a seat in the carriage at Emily'sside.

  Later in the evening, when they all met at dinner, there appeared achange in Miss de Sor which sur
prised everybody but Mirabel. She was gayand good-humored, and especially amiable and attentive to Emily--who satopposite to her at the table. "What did you and Mr. Mirabel talk aboutwhile you were away from us?" she asked innocently. "Politics?"

  Emily readily adopted Francine's friendly tone. "Would you have talkedpolitics, in my place?" she asked gayly.

  "In your place, I should have had the most delightful of companions,"Francine rejoined; "I wish I had been overcome by the heat too!"

  Mirabel--attentively observing her--acknowledged the compliment by abow, and left Emily to continue the conversation. In perfect good faithshe owned to having led Mirabel to talk of himself. She had heard fromCecilia that his early life had been devoted to various occupations,and she was interested in knowing how circumstances had led him intodevoting himself to the Church. Francine listened with the outwardappearance of implicit belief, and with the inward conviction that Emilywas deliberately deceiving her. When the little narrative was at an end,she was more agreeable than ever. She admired Emily's dress, and sherivaled Cecilia in enjoyment of the good things on the table; sheentertained Mirabel with humorous anecdotes of the priests at St.Domingo, and was so interested in the manufacture of violins, ancientand modern, that Mr. Wyvil promised to show her his famous collection ofinstruments, after dinner. Her overflowing amiability included evenpoor Miss Darnaway and the absent brothers and sisters. She heard withflattering sympathy, how they had been ill and had got well again; whatamusing tricks they played, what alarming accidents happened to them,and how remarkably clever they were--"including, I do assure you, dearMiss de Sor, the baby only ten months old." When the ladies rose toretire, Francine was, socially speaking, the heroine of the evening.

  While the violins were in course of exhibition, Mirabel found anopportunity of speaking to Emily, unobserved.

  "Have you said, or done, anything to offend Miss de Sor?" he asked.

  "Nothing whatever!" Emily declared, startled by the question. "Whatmakes you think I have offended her?"

  "I have been trying to find a reason for the change in her," Mirabelanswered--"especially the change toward yourself."

  "Well?"

  "Well--she means mischief."

  "Mischief of what sort?"

  "Of a sort which may expose her to discovery--unless she disarmssuspicion at the outset. That is (as I believe) exactly what she hasbeen doing this evening. I needn't warn you to be on your guard."

  All the next day Emily was on the watch for events--and nothinghappened. Not the slightest appearance of jealousy betrayed itself inFrancine. She made no attempt to attract to herself the attentions ofMirabel; and she showed no hostility to Emily, either by word, look, ormanner.

  ........

  The day after, an event occurred at Netherwoods. Alban Morris receivedan anonymous letter, addressed to him in these terms:

  "A certain young lady, in whom you are supposed to be interested, isforgetting you in your absence. If you are not mean enough to allowyourself to be supplanted by another man, join the party at Monksmoorbefore it is too late."