Confidence

“Mrs. Vivian does n’t think so,” said Bernard, who had just perceived this lady, seated under a tree with a book, over the top of which she was observing her pretty protege. Blanche looked toward her and gave her a little nod and a smile. Then chattering on to the young men—

“She ‘s awfully careful. I never saw any one so careful. But I suppose she is right. She promised my mother she would be tremendously particular; but I don’t know what she thinks I would do.”

“That is n’t flattering to me,” said Captain Lovelock. “Mrs. Vivian does n’t approve of me—she wishes me in Jamaica. What does she think me capable of?”

“And me, now?” Bernard asked. “She likes me least of all, and I, on my side, think she ‘s so nice.”

“Can’t say I ‘m very sweet on her,” said the Captain. “She strikes me as feline.”

Blanche Evers gave a little cry of horror.

“Stop, sir, this instant! I won’t have you talk that way about a lady who has been so kind to me.”

“She is n’t so kind to you. She would like to lock you up where I can never see you.”

“I ‘m sure I should n’t mind that!” cried the young girl, with a little laugh and a toss of her head. “Mrs. Vivian has the most perfect character—that ‘s why my mother wanted me to come with her. And if she promised my mother she would be careful, is n’t she right to keep her promise? She ‘s a great deal more careful than mamma ever was, and that ‘s just what mamma wanted. She would never take the trouble herself. And then she was always scolding me. Mrs. Vivian never scolds me. She only watches me, but I don’t mind that.”

“I wish she would watch you a little less and scold you a little more,” said Captain Lovelock.

“I have no doubt you wish a great many horrid things,” his companion rejoined, with delightful asperity.

“Ah, unfortunately I never have anything I wish!” sighed Lovelock.

“Your wishes must be comprehensive,” said Bernard. “It seems to me you have a good deal.”

The Englishman gave a shrug.

“It ‘s less than you might think. She is watching us more furiously than ever,” he added, in a moment, looking at Mrs. Vivian. “Mr. Gordon Wright is the only man she likes. She is awfully fond of Mr. Gordon Wright.”

“Ah, Mrs. Vivian shows her wisdom!” said Bernard.

“He is certainly very handsome,” murmured Blanche Evers, glancing several times, with a very pretty aggressiveness, at Captain Lovelock. “I must say I like Mr. Gordon Wright. Why in the world did you come here without him?” she went on, addressing herself to Bernard. “You two are so awfully inseparable. I don’t think I ever saw you alone before.”

“Oh, I have often seen Mr. Gordon Wright alone,” said Captain Lovelock—“that is, alone with Miss Vivian. That ‘s what the old lady likes; she can’t have too much of that.”

The young girl, poised for an instant in one of her pretty attitudes, looked at him from head to foot.

“Well, I call that scandalous! Do you mean that she wants to make a match?”

“I mean that the young man has six thousand a year.”

“It ‘s no matter what he has—six thousand a year is n’t much! And we don’t do things in that way in our country. We have n’t those horrid match-making arrangements that you have in your dreadful country. American mothers are not like English mothers.”

“Oh, any one can see, of course,” said Captain Lovelock, “that Mr. Gordon Wright is dying of love for Miss Vivian.”

“I can’t see it!” cried Blanche.

“He dies easier than I, eh?”

“I wish you would die!” said Blanche. “At any rate, Angela is not dying of love for Mr. Wright.”

“Well, she will marry him all the same,” Lovelock declared.

Blanche Evers glanced at Bernard.

“Why don’t you contradict that?” she asked. “Why don’t you speak up for your friend?”

“I am quite ready to speak for my friend,” said Bernard, “but I am not ready to speak for Miss Vivian.”

“Well, I am,” Blanche declared. “She won’t marry him.”

“If she does n’t, I ‘ll eat my hat!” said Captain Lovelock. “What do you mean,” he went on, “by saying that in America a pretty girl’s mother does n’t care for a young fellow’s property?”

“Well, they don’t—we consider that dreadful. Why don’t you say so, Mr. Longueville?” Blanche demanded. “I never saw any one take things so quietly. Have n’t you got any patriotism?”

“My patriotism is modified by an indisposition to generalize,” said Bernard, laughing. “On this point permit me not to generalize. I am interested in the particular case—in ascertaining whether Mrs. Vivian thinks very often of Gordon Wright’s income.”

Miss Evers gave a little toss of disgust.

“If you are so awfully impartial, you had better go and ask her.”

“That ‘s a good idea—I think I will go and ask her,” said Bernard.

Captain Lovelock returned to his argument.

“Do you mean to say that your mother would be indifferent to the fact that I have n’t a shilling in the world?”

“Indifferent?” Blanche demanded. “Oh no, she would be sorry for you. She is very charitable—she would give you a shilling!”

“She would n’t let you marry me,” said Lovelock.

“She would n’t have much trouble to prevent it!” cried the young girl.

Bernard had had enough of this intellectual fencing.

“Yes, I will go and ask Mrs. Vivian,” he repeated. And he left his companions to resume their walk.

CHAPTER X

It had seemed to him a good idea to interrogate Mrs. Vivian; but there are a great many good ideas that are never put into execution. As he approached her with a smile and a salutation, and, with the air of asking leave to take a liberty, seated himself in the empty chair beside her, he felt a humorous relish of her own probable dismay which relaxed the investigating impulse. His impulse was now simply to prove to her that he was the most unobjectionable fellow in the world—a proposition which resolved itself into several ingenious observations upon the weather, the music, the charms and the drawbacks of Baden, the merits of the volume that she held in her lap. If Mrs. Vivian should be annoyed, should be fluttered, Bernard would feel very sorry for her; there was nothing in the world that he respected more than the moral consciousness of a little Boston woman whose view of life was serious and whose imagination was subject to alarms. He held it to be a temple of delicacy, where one should walk on tiptoe, and he wished to exhibit to Mrs. Vivian the possible lightness of his own step. She herself was incapable of being rude or ungracious, and now that she was fairly confronted with the plausible object of her mistrust, she composed herself to her usual attitude of refined liberality. Her book was a volume of Victor Cousin.

“You must have an extraordinary power of abstracting your mind,” Bernard said to her, observing it. “Studying philosophy at the Baden Kursaal strikes me as a real intellectual feat.”

“Don’t you think we need a little philosophy here?”

“By all means—what we bring with us. But I should n’t attempt the use of the text-book on the spot.”

“You should n’t speak of yourself as if you were not clever,” said Mrs. Vivian. “Every one says you are so very clever.”