A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
"Yes; Major Delrose took an awful fancy to it, and Mrs. Haughton, dear
thing, took a good deal of trouble in making our arrangements; neither
Miranda or myself are strong."
"Strong! What an odious word to apply to us. It smells of milk and
milk-maids; we would be uninteresting without our pet ailments."
"Excuse me, my child, I know a zephyr could waft us away."
"Pull-backs would be rather in the way of the onward movement of the
zephyr, don't you think?" inquired Vaura, ironically, and glancing at
the figure of the speaker, who with her daughter wore, at the
instigation of Mrs. Haughton (who laughed with her men friends at the
objects they were), skin-tight chamois under-clothing, and with only
one narrow underskirt beneath the dress, express the figure so that
nothing is left to imagination.
"Ah! Miss Vernon, don't be severe; Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, says you
have no pet sins, but if you will only wear tights, I shall send in my
own name for them," she said coaxingly.
"_Merci_! madame," said Vaura lightly, "but Worth has not yet told me
my pleasure in life would be enhanced by the encasing of my body in
tights, so I shall content myself with myself, as you see me."
"I'm so sorry you won't."
"Yes; but I believe I interrupted you; you were saying something about
Mrs. Haughton having kindly smoothed away difficulties in the way of
your wintering in Italy;" this she said roused to interest for her
uncle's sake, "and this Major Delrose, how was he mixed up with Mrs.
Haughton?"
"Oh! yes, Miss Vernon, the dear tights put everything else out of my
head; well, as I was saying, Major Delrose longed to be near the Hall,
and as the Colonel does not take to him, you see he is a little
attentive to Mrs. Haughton, and the dear thing likes him, dear Charles
was just like the Colonel, if men have handsome wives they don't like
men to admire them; so Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, hit upon this plan,
and they both arranged it with us one day they were in, and we were
not strong, I mean we were delicate, so we remain as long as the Major
wants Rose cottage, then we go to London to my sister, Mrs.
Meltonbury, for the season."
"Ah! I understand, quite a friendly arrangement," answered Vaura, a
trifle sarcastically. Here a diversion was caused by the entrance of
the gentlemen.
The fair Miranda raised her sandy head from her mother's knee and
looked languishingly at the priest, who smiled as he took a seat
beside her.
"I am so glad we have you in Rome during our stay," observed Mrs.
Marchmont, gushingly, "you will be such company for Miranda while I am
embroidering; the sweet child was saying she should so much like to go
to you for confession."
"Confessing! who is confessing?" said Sir Dennis, as he entered,
"faith for once I would not say no to playing priest where there is a
lovely penitent to shrive," and he glanced at Vaura and was making for
the sofa beside her, but Lionel with one long step gained their mutual
goal, saying:
"Priest Douglas will not allow you to entrench upon his preserves,
O'Gorman."
"Faith! you wouldn't either," said the Irishman with a side glance at
the sofa.
"But tell me," continued Trevalyon, "confess, reverent Father, dost
thou at confession bestow the gentle kiss of reconciliation?"
"You should not disclose the secrets of the confessional, Robert,"
said Lady Esmondet, coming to his aid.
"No! trust me," answered Robert, and Miss Marchmont hung her head and
blushed.
"It would be a pleasant little _denouement_ when the penitent was a
pretty woman," said Trevalyon laughingly.
"_A propos_ of the confessional, did any of you ever come under the
torture of that modern Inquisition, the 'Confession Book?'" said
Vaura.
"Yes, yes," cried the gentlemen simultaneously.
"Oh! don't denounce them, Miss Vernon," exclaimed Miss Marchmont
pathetically. "I could not exist without mine; it is so interesting to
read aloud from at a picnic, tennis party, or five o'clock tea.
Indeed, my confession book was one of the chief sources of pleasure at
Rose Cottage, wasn't it, mamma?" and she stroked her mother's hand
caressingly.
"It was, Miranda; and Miss Vernon must promise to write down all her
secrets in your book on her return to England; Blanche Tompkins has it
in charge; you will promise to write, Miss Vernon, won't you?" and the
thin lips were pursed into a smile.
"The saints forbid," laughed Vaura, "that I should put the surgical
knife, as it were, to my heart, and lay bare all its latent workings
for the express delectation of five o'clock teas--and women!"
"Oh! do, dear Miss Vernon," said Miss Marchmont coaxingly, "your heart
would be so interesting."
The gentlemen laughed.
"Nearly as much so as the potato bug," said Vaura in an undertone to
Trevalyon; aloud, she said gaily:
"No, I rebel, and most solemnly affirm, that, as you tell me Mrs.
Haughton says I cultivate no pet sins, and as she is your oracle, I
abide by her decision; with no pet sins, what could I say? that, as to
colours, Worth supplies me. That, though I be ostracised by Mrs.
Grundy, I still have the courage left in me to affirm that I don't and
won't climb the dizzy heights or flights, to pour incense on that
shrine alone. And that, were I on the rack, I should gasp forth that
the woman who invented torture-books has not my heart-felt love."
"Hear! hear!" said O'Gormon, clapping his hands, "'when found, make a
note on,' Miss Marchmont, and you have Miss Vernon's confession."
"Yes now I should never have thought of that; you Irish think like
lightning; let me see if I can recall what Miss Vernon said," and the
sandy locks are thrown backwards as the blue eyes dwell on the painted
ceiling.
"But, Miss Marchmont," said Trevalyon, in pretended earnest, "it would
be unorthodox, and spoil your book, unless you extract a promise from
Miss Vernon, only to pour incense at the feet of the brilliant Earl."
"Oh certainly, thank you, Capt. Trevalyon; pardon me, Miss Vernon,"
cried the owner of the torture-book, in great dismay, "excuse me, but
everyone contributing to my book, must admire the dear Earl more than
anyone departed or with us (Gladstone after, if you wish); of course,"
she added apologetically, "one does not care to remember he has Jewish
blood, yet against that fact is, that he has never eaten pork, such a
nasty, vulgar meat."
"Remember, Miranda sweet, that Miss Vernon, having spent so much of
her life in France, cannot perhaps know that it is the fashion to
worship the Earl."
"From Earl Beaconsfield to music is a long look, but let us take it,"
said Lady Esmondet; "Miss Marchmont, will you sing for us?"
As Miranda asked Rev. Robert what it should be, Vaura said in an
undertone to Trevalyon:
"I do admire the clever Earl immensely, and not only because it is the
decree of the god of fashion."
"I wish we had the evening to ourselves," he murmured, "what do you
think of the Irishman?"
"He is lavish of the superlative degree; is good-hearted as his race;
and for the time being, feels intensely," she answered.
Miss Marchmont, now asking her mother to join her in the duet, "Come
where my love lies dreaming," they glided arm in arm to the piano, and
now Miss Marchmont implored of some one to come where her love lay
dreaming, in a shrill treble, while her mother repeated the request in
a very fair alto.
O'Gormon challenged Vaura to a game at chess.
Lionel fell into a brown study of his future plans to undo the
mischief done by a woman's tongue. The poor fellow often glanced at
Vaura in all her loveliness, and a pain came to his heart as he
looked, for he thought of how he was leaving her, not knowing if she
loved him, and with other men about her; and of how, with the torture
that he might lose her weighing him down, he was going out from her
alone to find Sister Magdalen, and see if she would openly reveal all.
She had been reticent and guarded for years, and he was not in a mood
to hope much.
But now he hears the clear voice of Vaura cry, "checkmate," and
O'Gormon leads her to the piano.
Vaura gave them a gem of Mozart's, then some gay opera airs, then, in
response to their pleading for some song, gave "Il Bacio," in her full
rich tones.
Sir Dennis stood by the piano and looked his admiration.
"You seem fond of music, Sir Dennis," said the fair musician, as she
leisurely turned over the music with him in search for a song from
"Traviata."
"Fond of it! I adore it, and sometimes the musician."
"A double tax on your powers of adoring," said Vaura, gaily, as Sir
Dennis placed the song before her, but though her notes were clear and
sweet as a bird's, her heart was sad at the thought of the parting
between Lionel and herself, and just now she had no sympathy with the
free-from-care spirit of the song "Gaily Thro' Life I Wander."
During the song Capt. Trevalyon was summoned from the room. It is a
telegram, and runs thus:
"THE LANGHAM HOTEL,
"LONDON, England, Dec. 24th.
"My father cannot live, and wishes to see you. Physician says come at
once." JUDITH TREVALYON.
"Capt. Trevalyon,
"Villa Iberia, Rome, Italy."
"Sims, this telegram calls me to England. You say there is an express
at midnight. It is now 10.30, go at once and take some necessary
refreshment; pack my luggage, leaving out my travelling gear; get your
own box, and have them conveyed to the depot, express them through to
London, to the Langham, and be ready to leave with me by the midnight
train; and don't forget Mars."
"Yes sir; and what time, sir, shall I order the trap to take you to
the _depot_, sir?"
"At 11.30 sharp, Sims."
"Yes, sir."
Captain Trevalyon hurried back to the salons just as Vaura finished
her song. He made his way to Lady Esmondet, in order to get a word in
her ear, as Sir Dennis monopolised Vaura; but Mrs. Marchmont was full
of a new folding screen Mrs. Haughton had ordered from London.
"The dear thing wanted something novel, so had the three 'Graces'
painted on a sky-blue plush ground, suspended in the air; over them
(as it were) hangs an open umbrella in rose-pink; oh! it's too lovely
for anything, Lady Esmondet; you will be entranced when you see it,
Captain Trevalyon," and she folded her hands and turned her pale blue
eyes upwards.
To Captain Trevalyon's relief, Vaura asked him to sing something, and
seeing it was hopeless just now, to have a word with Lady Esmondet, he
hoped when his song was over and their glass of champagne drank, there
would be a general exodus ere it was time for him to leave; so he
moved towards the piano, and playing his own accompaniment, sang one
of Moore's melodies, "Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour."
Vaura sat at a small table near the piano. Sir Dennis, with the
sanguineness of his race, thought she was interested in his chit-chat
and in a book of Italian views, but her thoughts were with Lionel, for
she caught his eye, and "minds run in grooves," and he knew that she
under stood, his silent farewell; she felt her heart ache, and would
have risen and gone to him, but "men may suffer and women may weep,"
but the conventionalities must be attended to, or the mighty god,
society, stares and frowns; and so Lionel sung parting words to the
woman he loved, and to his friend; and surely Moore would have been
moved to tears had he heard the depth of feeling thrown into his
words. When he was singing, the silver chimes softly rang eleven
o'clock, so knowing he had no time to lose, he quietly left the room.
Vaura's heart throbbed quickly for she thought, "he has gone."
But the Marchmonts, much to her relief and Lady Esmondet, saying they
must "really tear themselves away," a rather prolonged leave-taking
took place between Reverend Robert Douglas and Miss Marchmont, into