A Red Wallflower

'It is not true with you?'

'No, certainly not.'

'Your smile says more than your words. What a smile! My dear, I envy you. And yet I do not. You have got to wake up from all that. You are seventeen, eighteen – nineteen, is it? – and you have not found out yet that the world is hollow and your doll stuffed with sawdust.'

'But the world is not all.'

'Isn't it? What is?'

'The Lord said, "He that believeth on me hath everlasting life."'

'Everlasting life! In the next world! Oh yes, my dear, but I was speaking of life now.'

'Does not everlasting life begin now?' said Esther, with another of those rare smiles. They were so rare and so beautiful that Betty had come to watch for them, – arch, bright, above all happy, and full of a kind of loving power. 'The Lord said "hath"; He did not say will "have."'

'Miss Gainsborough, you talk riddles.'

'I am sorry,' said Esther; 'I do not mean to do that. I am speaking the simplest truth. We were made to be happy in the love of God; and as we were made for that, nothing less will do.'

'Are you happy? My dear, I need not ask; your face speaks for you. I believe that pricked me on to ask the question with which we began, in pure envy. I see you are happy. But confess honestly now, honestly, and quite between ourselves, confess there is some delightful lover somewhere, who provokes those smiles, with which no doubt you reward him?'

Esther's grey eyes opened unmistakeably at her hostess while she was speaking, and then a light colour rose on her cheek, and then she laughed.

'I neither have, nor ever expect to have, anything of the kind,' she said. And then she was no longer to be detained, but took leave, and went away.

'She is a little too certain about the lover,' remarked Miss Frere.

'That looks as if there were already one, in petto.'

'She is poor,' said Mrs. Chatsworth. 'She has not much chance. I believe she supports herself and her father – he is old or invalid or something – by teaching; perhaps they have a little something to help her out. But I fancy she sees very little society. I never meet her anywhere. The lady in whose house she was educated is a very warm friend of hers, and she introduced her to me. So I get her to come here sometimes for a little change.'

Betty went home with a great many thoughts in her mind, which kept her half the night awake. Jealousy perhaps pricked her the most. Not that Pitt loved this girl; about that Betty was not sure; but how he would love her if he could see her! How anybody would, especially a man of refined nature and truth of character, who requires the same in those connected with him. What a pure creature this was! and then, she was not only tender, but strong. The look on her face, the lines of her lips, told surely of self-control, self-denial, and habitual patience. People do not look so, who have all they need of this world's goods, and have always dipped their hands into full money bags. No; Esther had something to bear, and something to do, both of which called for and called out that strength and sweetness; and yet she was so happy! – happy after Pitt's fashion. And this was the girl he had been looking to find. Betty could deserve well of him by letting him know where to find her! But then, all would be lost, and Betty's life a failure indeed. She could not face it. And besides, as things were, they were quite safe for the other two. The childish friendship had faded out; would start up again, no doubt, if it had a chance; but there was no need that it should. Pitt was at least heart-whole, if not memory-free; and as for Esther, she had just declared a lover to be a possibility nowhere within the range of her horizon. Esther would not lose anything by not seeing Pitt any more. But then, would she lose nothing? The girl teaching to support herself and her father, alone and poor, what would it be to her life if Pitt suddenly came into it, with his strong hand and genial temper and plenty of means? What would it be to Betty's life, if he went out of it? She turned and tossed, she battled and struggled with thoughts; but the end was, she went on to Washington without ever paying Esther a visit, or letting her know that her old friend was looking for her.

CHAPTER XL

LONDON

The winter passed. In the spring Betty received a letter from Mrs.

Dallas, part of which ran as follows: —

'My husband and I have a new plan on foot; we have been meditating it all winter, so it ought to be ripe now. We are going over to spend the summer in England. My son talked of making us a visit again this year, and we decided it was better we should go to him. Time is nothing to us, and to him it is something; for although he will have no need to practise in any profession, I agree with him and Mr. Dallas in thinking that it is good a young man should have a profession; and, at any rate, what has been begun had better be finished. So, some time in May we think to leave Seaforth, on our way to London. Dear Betty, will you take pity on an old woman and go with us, to give us the brightness of your youth? Don't you want to see London? and I presume by this time Pitt has qualified himself to be a good cicerone. Besides, we shall not be fixed in London. We will go to see whatever you would most like to see in the kingdom; perhaps run up to Scotland. Of course what I want to see is my boy; but other things would naturally have an attraction for you. Do not say no; it would be a great disappointment to me. Meet us in New York about the middle of May. Mr. Dallas wishes to go as soon as the spring storms are over. I have another reason for making this journey; I wish to keep Pitt from coming over to America.'

Betty's heart made a bound as she read this letter, and went on with faster beats than usual after she had folded it up. A voyage, and London, and Pitt Dallas for a showman! What could be more alluring in its temptation and promise? Going about in London with him to guide and explain things – could opportunity be more favourable to finish the work which last summer left undone? Betty's heart jumped at it; she knew she would say yes to Mrs. Dallas; she could say nothing but yes; and yet, questions did come up to her. Would it not be putting herself unduly forward? would it not look as though she went on purpose to see – not London but somebody in London? That would be the very truth, Betty confessed to herself, with a pang of shame and humiliation; the pang was keen, yet it did not change her resolution. What if? Nobody knew, she argued, and nobody would have cause to suspect. There was reason enough, ostensible, why she should go to England with Mrs. Dallas; if she refused to visit all the old ladies who had sons, her social limits would be restricted indeed. But Mrs. Dallas herself; would not she understand? Mrs. Dallas understood enough already, Betty said to herself defiantly; they were allies in this cause. It was very miserable that it should be so; however, not now to be undone or set aside. Lightly she had gone into Mrs. Dallas's proposition last summer; if it had grown to be life and death earnest with her, there was no need Mrs. Dallas should know that. It was life and death earnest, and she must go to London. It was a capital plan. To have met Pitt Dallas again at Seaforth and again spent weeks in his mother's house while he was there, would have been too obvious; this was better every way. Of course she could not refuse such an invitation; such a chance of seeing something of the world; she who had always been too poor to travel. Pitt could not find any matter of surprise nor any ground for criticism in her doing that. And it would give her all the opportunity she wished for.

Here, most inopportunely, came before her the image of Esther. How those two would suit each other! How infallibly Pitt would be devoted to her if he could see her! But Betty said to herself that she had a better right. They did not know each other; he was nothing to Esther, Esther was nothing to him. She set her teeth, and wrote to Mrs. Dallas that she would be delighted to go.

And then, having made her choice, she put away thought. All through the voyage she was a most delightful companion. A little stifled excitement, like forcing heat in a greenhouse, made all her social qualities blossom out in unwonted brilliancy. She was entertaining, bright, gay, witty, graceful; she was the admiration and delight of the whole company on board; and Mrs. Dallas thought to herself with proud satisfaction that Pitt could find nothing better than that, nor more attractive, and that she need wish nothing better than that at the head of her son's household and by his side. That Pitt could withstand such enchantment was impossible. She was doing the very best thing she could do in coming to England and in bringing Betty with her.

Having meditated this journey for months, Mr. Dallas had made all his preparations. Rooms had been engaged in a pleasant part of the city, and there, very soon after landing, the little party found themselves comfortably established and quite at home.

'Nothing like England!' Mr. Dallas grumbled with satisfaction. 'You couldn't do this in New York; they understand nothing about it, and they are too stupid to learn. I believe there isn't a lodging-house in all the little Dutch city over there; you could not find a single house where they let lodgings in the English fashion.'

'Mr. Dallas, it is not a Dutch city!'

'Half Dutch, and that's enough. Have you let Pitt know we are here, wife?'

Mrs. Dallas had done that; but the evening passed away, nevertheless, without any news of him. They made themselves very comfortable; had an excellent dinner, and went to rest in rooms pleasant and well appointed; but Betty was in a state of feverish excitement which would not let her be a moment at ease. Now she was here, she almost was ready to wish herself back again. How would Pitt look at her? how would he receive her? and yet, what affair was it of his, if his mother brought a young friend with her, to enjoy the journey and make it agreeable? It was nothing to Pitt; and yet, if it were nothing to him, Betty would want to take passage in the next packetship sailing for New York or Boston. She drew her breath short, until she could see him.

He came about the middle of the next morning. Mr. Dallas had gone out, and the two ladies were alone, in a high state of expectancy; joyous on one part, most anxious and painful on the other. The first sight of him calmed Betty's heart-beating; at the same time it gave her a great thrill of pain. Pitt was himself so frank and so quiet, she said to herself, there was no occasion for her to fear anything in his thoughts; his greeting of her was entirely cordial and friendly. He was neither surprised nor displeased to see her. At the same time, while this was certainly comforting, Pitt looked too composedly happy for Betty's peace of mind. Apparently he needed neither her nor anybody; – 'Do men ever?' said Betty to herself bitterly. And besides, there was in his face and manner a nobleness and a pureness which at one blow drove home, as it were, the impressions of the last year. Such a look she had never seen on any face in her life; except– yes, there was one exception, and the thought sent another pang of pain through her. But women do not show what they feel; and Pitt, if he noticed Miss Frere at all, saw nothing but the well-bred quiet which always belonged to Betty's demeanour. He was busy with his mother.

'This is a pleasure, to have you here!' he was saying heartily.

'I thought we should have seen you last night. My letter was in time.

Didn't you get it?'

'It went to my chambers in the Temple; and I was not there.'

'Where were you?'

'At Kensington.'

'At Kensington! With Mr. Strahan.'

'Not with Mr. Strahan,' said Pitt gravely. 'I have been with him a great deal these last weeks. You got my letter in which I told you he was ill?'

'Yes, and that you were nursing him.'

'Then you did not get my letter telling of the end of his illness?

You left home before it arrived.'

'You do not mean that uncle Strahan is dead?'

'It is a month ago, and more. But there is nothing to regret, mother.

He died perfectly happy.'

Mrs. Dallas passed over this sentence, which she did not like, and asked abruptly, —

'Then what were you doing at Kensington?'

'There was business. I have been obliged to give some time to it. You will be as much surprised as I was, to learn that my old uncle has left all he had in the world to me.'

'To you!' Mrs. Dallas did not utter a scream of delight, or embrace her son, or do anything that many women would have done in honour of the occasion; but her head took a little loftier set upon her shoulders, and in her cheeks rose a very pretty rosy flush.

'I am not surprised in the least,' she said. 'I do not see how he could have done anything else; but I did not know the old gentleman had so much sense, for all that. Is the property large?'