CHAPTER XVII.
ADVANTAGES.
The game over, Octavia deserted her partner. She walked lightly, and withthe air of a victor, to where Barold was standing. She was smiling, andslightly flushed, and for a moment or so stood fanning herself with a gayJapanese fan.
"Don't you think I am a good teacher?" she asked at length.
"I should say so," replied Barold, without enthusiasm. "I am afraid I amnot a judge."
She waved her fan airily.
"I had a good pupil," she said. Then she held her fan still for a moment,and turned fully toward him. "I have done something you don't like," shesaid. "I knew I had."
Mr. Francis Barold retired within himself at once. In his present moodit really appeared that she was assuming that he was very much interestedindeed.
"I should scarcely take the liberty upon a limited acquaintance," hebegan.
She looked at him steadily, fanning herself with slow, regular movements.
"Yes," she remarked. "You're mad. I knew you were."
He was so evidently disgusted by this observation, that she caught at themeaning of his look, and laughed a little.
"Ah!" she said, "that's an American word, ain't it? It sounds queer toyou. You say 'vexed' instead of 'mad.' Well, then, you are vexed."
"If I have been so clumsy as to appear ill-humored," he said, "I begpardon. Certainly I have no right to exhibit such unusual interest inyour conduct."
He felt that this was rather decidedly to the point, but she did not seemoverpowered at all. She smiled anew.
"Anybody has a right to be mad--I mean vexed," she observed. "I shouldlike to know how people would live if they hadn't. I am mad--I meanvexed--twenty times a day."
"Indeed?" was his sole reply.
"Well," she said, "I think it's real mean in you to be so cool about itwhen you remember what I told you the other day."
"I regret to say I don't remember just now. I hope it was nothing veryserious."
To his astonishment she looked down at her fan, and spoke in a slightlylowered voice:--
"I told you that I wanted to be improved."
It must be confessed that he was mollified. There was a softness in hermanner which amazed him. He was at once embarrassed and delighted. But,at the same time, it would not do to commit himself to too great aseriousness.
"Oh!" he answered, "that was a rather good joke, I thought."
"No, it wasn't," she said, perhaps even half a tone lower. "I wasin earnest."
Then she raised her eyes.
"If you told me when I did any thing wrong, I think it might be a goodthing," she said.
He felt that this was quite possible, and was also struck with the ideathat he might find the task of mentor--so long as he remained entirelynon-committal--rather interesting. Still, he could not afford to descendat once from the elevated stand he had taken.
"I am afraid you would find it rather tiresome," he remarked.
"I am afraid _you_ would," she answered. "You would have to tell me ofthings so often."
"Do you mean seriously to tell me that you would take my advice?" heinquired.
"I mightn't take all of it," was her reply; "but I should takesome--perhaps a great deal."
"Thanks," he remarked. "I scarcely think I should give you a great deal."
She simply smiled."I have never had any advice at all," she said. "I don't know that Ishould have taken it if I had--just as likely as not I shouldn't; but Ihave never had any. Father spoiled me. He gave me all my own way. He saidhe didn't care, so long as I had a good time; and I must say I havegenerally had a good time. I don't see how I could help it--with all myown way, and no one to worry. I wasn't sick, and I could buy any thing Iliked, and all that: so I had a good time. I've read of girls, in books,wishing they had mothers to take care of them. I don't know that I everwished for one particularly. I can take care of myself. I must say, too,that I don't think some mothers are much of an institution. I know girlswho have them, and they are always worrying."
He laughed in spite of himself; and though she had been speaking with theutmost seriousness and _naivete_, she joined him.
When they ceased, she returned suddenly to the charge.
"Now tell me what I have done this afternoon that isn't right," shesaid,--"that Lucia Gaston wouldn't have done, for instance. I saythat, because I shouldn't mind being a little like Lucia Gaston--insome things."
"Lucia ought to feel gratified," he commented.
"She does," she answered. "We had a little talk about it, and she was aspleased as could be. I didn't think of it in that way until I saw herbegin to blush. Guess what she said."
"I am afraid I can't."
"She said she saw so many things to envy in me, that she could scarcelybelieve I wanted to be at all like her."
"It was a very civil speech," said Barold ironically. "I scarcely thoughtLady Theobald had trained her so well."
"She meant it," said Octavia. "You mayn't believe it, but she did. I knowwhen people mean things, and when they don't."
"I wish I did," said Barold.
Octavia turned her attention to her fan.
"Well, I am waiting," she said.
"Waiting?" he repeated.
"To be told of my faults."
"But I scarcely see of what importance my opinion can be."
"It is of some importance to me--just now."
The last two words rendered him really impatient, and, it may be, spurredhim up.
"If we are to take Lucia Gaston as a model," he said, "Lucia Gaston wouldpossibly not have been so complaisant in her demeanor toward our clericalfriend."
"Complaisant!" she exclaimed, opening her lovely eyes. "When I wasactually plunging about the garden, trying to teach him to play. Well, Ishouldn't call that being complaisant."
"Lucia Gaston," he replied, "would not say that she had been 'plunging'about the garden."
She gave herself a moment for reflection.
"That's true," she remarked, when it was over: "she wouldn't. When Icompare myself with the Slowbridge girls, I begin to think I must saysome pretty awful things."
Barold made no reply, which caused her to laugh a little again.
"You daren't tell me," she said. "Now, do I? Well, I don't think I wantto know very particularly. What Lady Theobald thinks will last quite agood while. Complaisant!"
"I am sorry you object to the word," he said.
"Oh, I don't!" she answered. "I like it. It sounds so much more politethan to say I was flirting and being fast."
"Were you flirting?" he inquired coldly.
He objected to her ready serenity very much.
She looked a little puzzled.
"You are very like aunt Belinda," she said.
He drew himself up. He did not think there was any point of resemblanceat all between Miss Belinda and himself.
She went on, without observing his movement.
"You think every thing means something, or is of some importance. Yousaid that just as aunt Belinda says, 'What will they think?' It neveroccurs to me that they'll think at all. Gracious! Why should they?"
"You will find they do," he said.
"Well," she said, glancing at the group gathered under the laburnum-tree,"just now aunt Belinda thinks we had better go over to her; so, supposewe do it? At any rate, I found out that I was too complaisant to Mr.Poppleton."
When the party separated for the afternoon, Barold took Lucia home, andMr. Burmistone and the curate walked down the street together.
Mr. Poppleton was indeed most agreeably exhilarated. His expressivelittle countenance beamed with delight.
"What a very charming person Miss Bassett is!" he exclaimed, after theyhad left the gate. "What a very charming person indeed!"
"Very charming," said Mr. Burmistone with much seriousness. "Aprettier young person I certainly have never seen; and those wonderfulgowns of hers"--
"Oh!" interrupted Mr. Poppleton, with natural confusion, "I--referred toMiss Belind
a Bassett; though, really, what you say is very true. MissOctavia Bassett--indeed--I think--in fact, Miss Octavia Bassett is_quite_, one might almost say even _more_, charming than her aunt."
"Yes," admitted Mr. Burmistone; "perhaps one might. She is less ripe, itis true; but that is an objection time will remove."
"There is such a delightful gayety in her manner!" said Mr. Poppleton;"such an ingenuous frankness! such a--a--such spirit! It quite carries meaway with it,--quite."
He walked a few steps, thinking over this delightful gayety and ingenuousfrankness; and then burst out afresh,--
"And what a remarkable life she has had too! She actually told me, that,once in her childhood, she lived for months in a gold-diggers' camp,--theonly woman there. She says the men were kind to her, and made a pet ofher. She has known the most extraordinary people."
In the mean time Francis Barold returned Lucia to Lady Theobald's safekeeping. Having done so, he made his adieus, and left the two tothemselves. Her ladyship was, it must be confessed, a little at a loss toexplain to herself what she saw, or fancied she saw, in the manner andappearance of her young relative. She was persuaded that she had neverseen Lucia look as she looked this afternoon. She had a brighter color inher cheeks than usual, her pretty figure seemed more erect, her eyes hada spirit in them which was quite new. She had chatted and laughed gaylywith Francis Barold, as she approached the house; and after his departureshe moved to and fro with a freedom not habitual to her.
"He has been making himself agreeable to her," said my lady, with grimpleasure. "He can do it if he chooses; and he is just the man to please agirl,--good-looking, and with a fine, domineering air."
"How did you enjoy yourself?" she asked.
"Very much," said Lucia; "never more, thank you."
"Oh!" ejaculated my lady. "And which of her smart New York gowns did MissOctavia Bassett wear?"
They were at the dinner-table; and, instead of looking down at her soup,Lucia looked quietly and steadily across the table at her grandmother.
"She wore a very pretty one," she said: "it was pale fawn-color, andfitted her like a glove. She made me feel very old-fashioned andbadly dressed."
Lady Theobald laid down her spoon.
"She made you feel old-fashioned and badly dressed,--you!"
"Yes," responded Lucia: "she always does. I wonder what she thinks of thethings we wear in Slowbridge." And she even went to the length of smilinga little.
"What _she_ thinks of what is worn in Slowbridge!" Lady Theobaldejaculated. "She! may I ask what weight the opinion of a young woman fromAmerica--from Nevada--is supposed to have in Slowbridge?"
Lucia took a spoonful of soup in a leisurely manner.
"I don't think it is supposed to have any; but--but I don't think sheminds that. I feel as if I shouldn't if I were in her place. I havealways thought her very lucky."
"You have thought her lucky!" cried my lady. "You have envied a Nevadayoung woman, who dresses like an actress, and loads herself with jewelslike a barbarian? A girl whose conduct toward men is of a characterto--to chill one's blood!"
"They admire her," said Lucia simply, "more than they admire LydiaEgerton, and more than they admire me."
"Do _you_ admire her?" demanded my lady.
"Yes, grandmamma," replied Lucia courageously. "I think I do."
Never had my lady been so astounded in her life. For a moment she couldscarcely speak. When she recovered herself she pointed to the door.
"Go to your room," she commanded. "This is American freedom of speech, Isuppose. Go to your room."
Lucia rose obediently. She could not help wondering what her ladyship'scourse would be if she had the hardihood to disregard her order. Shereally looked quite capable of carrying it out forcibly herself. When thegirl stood at her bedroom window, a few minutes later, her cheeks wereburning and her hands trembling.
"I am afraid it was very badly done," she said to herself. "I am sure itwas; but--but it will be a kind of practice. I was in such a hurry to tryif I were equal to it, that I didn't seem to balance things quiterightly. I ought to have waited until I had more reason to speak out.Perhaps there wasn't enough reason then, and I was more aggressive than Iought to have been. Octavia is never aggressive. I wonder if I was at allpert. I don't think Octavia ever means to be pert. I felt a little as ifI meant to be pert. I must learn to balance myself, and only be cool andfrank."
Then she looked out of the window, and reflected a little.
"I was not so very brave, after all," she said, rather reluctantly. "Ididn't tell her Mr. Burmistone was there. I daren't have done that. I amafraid I _am_ sly--that sounds sly, I am sure."
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