; .^.^ /f 4^ L I B RAFLY OF THE UNIVERSITY Of ILLINOIS G8657 V.I \ 4'^ G R E Y M R E: Jl ^torg 4 dlountrg lif^. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 1860. [The ri(jhi o/iranslatim is reserved.} t V. CONTENTS OF THE FIKST VOLUME. ''^ Chap. Page I. The Sistees ...... 1 II. A Walk to Cousin Bessy's. — New Acquaintances 24 III. The Underwood . . . . .57 IV. An Etening Party . . . . . 80 V. A Day at the Grange . . . .105 VI. Attempts at Confidence . . . . 152 v.- VII. Girls' Chatter . . . . .180 ^^VIII. The Fete at Braicely . . . . . 192 Q-i IX. Another Song. — Manoeuvres . . . 223 X, Hints and Suspicions . . . . . 235 vi XI. The Flower Show ..... 250 !^XII. Acting .... . . 275 ^Xin. A Gipsy Tea-Party in Underwood . . 287 ^sXIV. A Declaration in the Dial-Garden . . . 307 GEEYIOEE: A STORY OF COUNTRY LIFE. CHAPTER I. THE SISTERS. C( Look, Hester, is not tliat Agatlia walking by tlie river?" said Katharine Rivers, to her sister. ■: '' Yes," returned Hester ; " shall we ask her to go with us to Fairfield ? " '' I am afraid our errand is not much in her way," said Katharine ; " but it seems strange to leave her walking alone in the same direction as our- selves. We can ask her, at any rate ; but Agatha never appears to take any interest in what we do, and if we talk to her about our new dresses, she will look as if she thought us very frivolous." " I wish she would become more at home with us," said Hester. " Let me see : it must be more than four months since she came to us, and she seems as gloomy as ever." VOL. I. B 2 GREYMORE. '' And her heavy masses of crape cast a shadow over us, as if to reproach us for our slighter mourn- ing. I almost dread putting on coloured dresses; there will seem so much difference between us then, and we ought to be exactly like real sisters, after all." " I am sure mamma would never let her feel that she was not one of us," said Hester, " if only she herself did not appear so determined that our mother should be merely her stepmother. Do you think, Katharine, that Agatha has any real affection for any one of us ? " " I hope so : indeed, I am sure she really does care for all of us; and think how affectionate her heart must actually be, from the way she loved her grandfather and aunt ! When once she is accus- tomed to us, and gives herself up a little more to present things, I feel sure her love will be worth having." " Yes ; no doubt her heart is really warm," said Hester, with, however, some doubt in her tone; *^ but it appears to me so difficult to reach her heart at all ! I feel quite chilled, and I am sure mamma, with all her efforts, feels the same." ^* Don't let us speak any more of Agatha just now," said Katharine ; " we shall join her directly, and I always feel uncomfortable when I meet people just after I have been talking about them." The two girls who had been exchanging these THE SISTEES. 3 remarks, were walking tlirougli some pleasant green fields on a mild spring evening, one of the earliest in May. A little stream, in its windings, occasion- ally neared their path, and again was lost to view behind the clumps of trees which dotted the meadows, and gave to the scenery a somewhat park^ike appear- ance. The general characteristics of the surround- ing country seemed to be fertility and cultivation. The rich pastures and neat hedgerows spoke of agricultural prosperity, whilst the woodland portion of the landscape took off the tameness of aspect which appears to be so frequently the accompaniment of " good land." Though no rugged mountain peaks attracted the gaze, no massive hill-chains skirted the horizon, the country could not exactly be termed flat; gently, swelling hills divided the plain into numerous little valleys, and the whole character of the landscape was slightly undulating. Cottages at intervals peeped out amongst the trees, or were seen, on the side of some sheltered bank ; and the church tower of Fair- field at a little distance, and faint indications of smoke curling upwards in its vicinity, showed that this was no untenanted wild. On the very margin of the stream, the person was walking who had given rise to the conversation between the sisters : — a solitary, tall figure, dressed in mourning so deep that it would have been conspicuous anywhere, and which looked strangely out of place in the smiling landscape. She B 2 4 GREYMORE. was a young woman of perhaps two or three and twenty, though she might have seemed more, from the subdued, fixed expression of her face. Pale and thin, with well-cut, what are commonly called " ari- stocratic " features ; large dark eyes, penetrating, though not bright ; massive bands of black hair de- fininoc the outline of her cheeks ; with a well-formed but not graceful figure, a decided step, and a com- manding air: she might be said to possess many of the elements of beauty and yet to be singularly devoid of attractions. And she was evidently equally careless of them. Her black bonnet was unrelieved bv trimming, and only served to sharpen the outline of her pale face ; her dress was severe to the last degree in its simplicity; and her mantle with its heavy crape folds, hung ungracefully from her shoulders, and, as well as the skirt of her dress, fell in the stiff manner that may be seen in some of the pictures of modern pre-Raphaelites. The two girls who joined her presented together a striking con- trast to her, and individually almost as great a con- trast to each other, though at first they generally struck strangers as being alike. Both were slightly above the middle height, though considerably shorter and smaller than their half-sister, and both had/cwV and clear complexions, but Hester's was the brighter of the two, and her figure somewhat less slight than Katharine's. Both had hazel or brown eyes and brown hair, but Katharine's eyes had more of the THE SISTEKS. 5 hazel, and her hair more of the chesnut tinge than her sister's. The main difference was in expression, which in Katharine's face was much more developed, as perhaj)s her two years of seniority might warrant. As far as mere features and colouring were con- cerned, Hester was undoubtedly the prettiest, but Katharine had some compensating advantages which made her to many equally attractive. Both were young, bright, and happy, and contrasted forcibly enough with the sad-looking Agatha. As they approached her, she started slightly, and then said in a cold, indifferent tone : " I did not know you were out this evening." " We are going to Fairfield to do some shopping," said Katharine ; " we thought perhaps you would come with us." « " I think I will," returned Agatha, after a moment's consideration. " I shall be able to hear whether the man at the book-shop has got the books I wanted. But it is rather late for shopping, is it not ? " " Oh, no ! we often go to Fairfield in the evening, and the lio;ht is P'ood enough to choose white muslin dresses." " Dresses ! are you going to buy dresses ? " in- quired Agatha, rather, however, in a mechanical manner than with an appearance of much interest in the subject. " Yes," returned Katharine, half laughing. " Did you not hear us talking about them this afternoon ? 6 GREYMORE. I am sure Hester and I had a very audible discus- sion on the economy of the question." '' I had forgotten," said Agatha. '^ I suppose you want them for the party you were speaking of at breakfast this morning," she continued, with some effort at being interested. " I did not know it was a grand enough affair to require new dresses." " Oh, it is not grand at all ; only mamma thought we ought to ask the people we met at Uncle James's last night, particularly as the Grovers will soon be going away. We should not have wanted new dresses, had we been out of mourning." " I don't see we want them very particularly as it is," interrupted Hester. " Oh, pray don't commence the discussion again, Hester," said Katharine. " We have worn our black bareges at every place we have been to, and being in mourninof, none of our other dresses will do. Besides, plain white muslin dresses are always useful. I never remember beino; without one be- fore. You know mamma agreed that it was not extravagant." Agatha remained silent, with an expression very like contempt during Katharine's animated defence, and the allusion to the mourning seemed to strike her painfully. Katharine did not notice it, but continued as if to support, to herself, her reasons for having a new dress. '^ Of course, Hester, if we were out of mourning THE SISTERS. 7 I should say nothing about it. Certainly, it is a pity we cannot wear our worked muslins ; but you know you agreed with me, that it would be a pity to alter the coloured trimming just for one night, particularly as we shall only wear mourning a few weeks longer." Here Katharine's conscience warned her that she might be speaking in a way to hurt Agatha's feel- ings. She stopped abruptly and looked towards Agatha, who was now walking on at a little distance. She could not see her face, but she fancied in her very step and gestures she could trace an increased gloom. She was vexed with herself for her thought- lessness and selfishness, in being so occupied with the interest of a new dress, as to forget that her words might be painful to another. Besides, Agatha was a person to whom it was extremely difficult to make* anything like an apology ; it was a great chance that she would allow she had been annoyed, or even appear to have noticed what had been said. Katha- rine, however, could never rest under the idea of having displeased any one, so she resolved to make some sort of indirect acknowledgment of her care- lessness. Going up close to Agatha, and walking along by her side, she said, after a moment or two of silence — '* I am afraid, Agatha, you think me very frivolous for caring so much about my dress ; but when I am interested in anything, however trifling, I forget everything else for the time, and I am often vexed 8 GREYMOKE. with myself afterwards for the things I have said." " Not frivolous," said Agatha, replying to the first part of the speech : " I should not call you frivolous exactly, but inconsistent and inconstant." " Oh ! Agatha, not inconsistent ; at least, only in trifles." " I know nothing of you Avith respect to more important things," said Agatha. " I only mean in your tastes and pursuits. It is inconceivable to me how you can give yourself up one day so completely to one thing, and the next be equally in earnest about something else." " Have you noticed that in Katharine ? " asked Hester. Yes, frequently : you seem surprised, Hester." I fancied you scarcely remarked our ways," said Hester, " and that you would be a long time in find- ing out our peculiarities." Agatha made no reply, except a slight smile, not exactly a pleasant one : an expression of mingled amusement and contempt. It was not calculated to raise the spirits of those who saw it, and the remainder of the walk to Fairfield passed in silence. In compliment to Agatha, whom they still treated somewhat like a visitor, the girls proceeded first to the book-shop, though it was rather out of their way. The errand, however, was a fruitless one ; the London THE SISTERS. 9 parcel was not expected for two clays^ so Agatlia must wait patiently for her books. The business of buying dresses could now be attended to, and the linendraper's shop was imme- diately visited. Marshall's was a very tolerable shop for a country town, and was shining now in the full glory of the new spring fashions. Agatha, who wanted nothing, left her sisters to choose their white muslins, and stood near the door, utterly indifferent to the beguilements of the shop- man, who was seeking to tempt her with elegant mourning parasols, and a choice assortment of black and white muslins. There was not much to be seen in the market-place of Fairfield at any time ; and on this spring evening, it looked remarkably village-like and unbusiness-like. Women, with knitting in their hands, were standing at the doors of their houses, exchanging words with their neighbours ; the shops seemed deserted, most of them being left to the superintendence of some idle apprentice, who w^as either lounging in the background or gossiping in the street, whilst the owners were indulging in a quiet field walk with their wives and children : customers there seemed none, except a few who clustered round the butcher's shop at the corner, and two or three hovering about a vegetable stall held in the open air. A troop of boys and girls were busy flying a kite ; and from a quiet street which turned off close by Marshall's shop, came a murmur of 10 GREYMORE. cliildisli voices and the never-ending tap of sliuttle- cock and battledore. Decidedly Fairfield was bent on pleasure and not business tins fine evening. It may be doubted whether Agatha's observation took in all these sights and sounds as she stood at the shop- door, directing her abstracted gaze straight before her. She was accustomed to them, and could not, besides, imagine that anything in Fairfield would ever be interesting to her. She did, however, observe a figure passing along the main road, chiefly because it struck her as being that of a person she had not seen before. He was a young man of more gentle- manly appearance than the generality of the Fairfield loungers possessed in her estimation, and there was something about his air and manner of walking that roused her curiosity. So much so, that she turned to Hester, who was now approaching the door, and said, " Who is that ? " '' Oh, that is Mr. Wentworth," returned Hester. '' Do you think him good-looking ? " *^ I don't know. He does not look like a Fairfield person; that is the reason I asked: but I am not much w^iser. Who is Mr. Wentworth ? " '^ Surely we told you about him ? We met him at Uncle James's last night, and he is coming to our httle party on Tuesday. He is staying with Mr. Manners, the Coverdale clergyman, reading or some- thing of the sort. He is at the college of which Mr. Manners was a Fellow. If you want to know THE SISTEKS. 11 more about liim, you must ask Katharine, for she was talking to him more than any one else last night." But Agatha's curiosity seemed satisfied, and Katharine having now completed her purchases, they all proceeded homewards. The walk was almost a silent one : Katharine and Hester, who would have had plenty to talk about had they been by themselves, felt restrained before Agatha, and she, on her part, rarely introduced a subject of conversation. It was twilight when they reached their home, which was about a mile and a half from Fairfield by the road, though rather less by the fields: a pleasantly situated house, with large gardens, and a low wooded hill at the back, from which it took its name of Hazel Bank. The house itself was unpre- , tending, but full of substantial comfort, and what newspaper advertisements would call a " suitable residence for a genteel family." Katharine and Hester, after describing their pur- chases to their mother, who always sympathized in their little pleasures or difficulties, repaired to a favourite nook of theirs, a dressing-room window overlooking the garden, and shaded at present by the flowery and fragrant branches of a large lilac tree. Here they were able to discuss at will the subjects which were either too trivial or too confidential to be mentioned before Agatha. She, meanwhile, had retired to her own room 12 GREYMORE. wliere she remained in solitude until she was sum- moned to join the family supper, a social meal in- dulged in by these primitive, early- dining people. Agatha, alone in her chamber, differed in many respects from the Agatha of the family circle : she cast aside the restrained, stoical expression, which seemed habitual to her features, and gave herself up to the abandonment of sorrow. Not that she wept, or gave any audible demonstrations of grief, but she threw herself on her knees before the window-seat, and buried her face in her hands, and a minute or two afterwards looked up with an expression that any one could have interpreted, it said so plainly — "I am lonely and forsaken, and there is no one who cares for me." Yes ! even in her father's house, with friends and kindred anxious to love her, and to be kind to her, Agatha felt solitary and unknown, and mourned over the desolation of her present life ; spending her only happy moments in once more living in the past, and cheating herself into the belief that it was again before her. Mr. Rivers, the father of Agatha, and now a flourishing solicitor in the town of Fairfield, the possessor of Hazel Bank and sundry acres attached to it, had, when a very young man, and before he was established in his profession, spent several months in a dull little northern town, in the neighbourhood of Greymore Priory, the seat of the ancient family of THE SISTERS. 13 Marclimont. As he had good connections, he had ohtained the entree into a circle usually closed to the denizens of the town ; and, owing to some old recol- lections which Mr. Marchmont retained of some re- latives of whom Mr. Rivers himself scarcly knew anything, he became by degrees a frequent guest at the Priory. It was a sombre, old-fashioned place, and everything about it was conducted with an air of stately formality ; but still the younger portion of the family contrived to break through some of the stiff- ness and pomp which surrounded them, and to render it an agreeable sort of house, in which a young man might lounge away his time pleasantly enough. The result of all this lounging and intimacy was that Henry Rivers and the youngest Miss Marchmont, the beauty of the famil^j, fell in love with each other. A story might be written about the difficulties which encompassed this attachment : the proud Marchmont indignation, that an attorney's clerk should aspire to one of the daughters of its noble house — for the " good connections " of Henry Rivers no longer availing him, as a suitor for Eleanor Marchmont's hand, he was merely " the attorney's clerk " — the watching, the waiting, the stolen interviews, the vows, the menaces, the tears, and all the crosses which beset the path of true love. It is enough to say here, that after Eleanor Marchmont had nearly spoiled her eyes with crying ; after the distant rela- tion who had been the first link between Henry 14 GHEYMOKE. Kivers and the Marchmonts had interceded; and after Henry himself had become established in his career, Mr. Marchmont gave a reluctant consent to the match, and the fair Eleanor, one of the aristo- cratic belles of the county, sank down into an attorney's wife in a provincial town, far away from all her early associates. Whether this love-match would have proved a permanently happy one is doubtful, considering the total change of circum- stances on one side. Happy it most certainly was during the period of its duration, but the trial was brief. About a year after her marriage, and just after Agatha's birth, Mrs. Rivers died. The child had been named after her mother's favourite sister, the eldest Miss Marchmont, who remained unmarried. She had arrived just in timie to close her beloved Eleanor's eyes, and she now insisted on taking the infant away with her. Mr. Rivers, bewildered with his loss and unable to devise any better plan, con- sented, and thus began Agatha's alienation from her natural home. Once estabhshed at Greymore Priory, it became difficult to remove her : the aunt could not part with her, and the grandfather, spite of his long opposi- tion to her mother's marriage, became strongly at- tached to her. New hopes, new duties, new claims, too, gathered round Mr. Rivers himself, and pre- vented his endeavouring so energetically as he might have done to regain possession of his child. Soon THE SISTERS. 15 after his wife's death, he removed to Fairfield, and in about two years married again. This time the .match was one which few could disapprove ; it was in every way equal, and though unattended by any of the romantic circumstances of the former one, it was, on the part of Mr. Rivers, more truly a mar- riage of affection than even that had been. At the time when he formed his first engagement he was very young, flattered by the notice of one so much above him in the social scale, and proud of triumph- ing over the many who worshipped in his " ladye love's " train ; gratified vanity is readily mistaken for love — easily glides into a feeling which resembles it, until a true absorbing affection rises in the heart, and makes the difference felt. The second love in this case was more pure than the first, and many years of happy married life proved that the choice was a wise one. Poor little Agatha, in her far-away northern home, was almost forgotten amongst the smiling faces which now were thronging round her father's table, and by degrees she became completely adopted into the Marchmont family ; even receiving after the death of Mr. Marchmont's last remaining grandson, the name of Marchmont, and being ac- knowledged the heiress of Greymore. It seemed to be her destiny to be separated from the rest of the family, and to stand in a position widely different from theirs. But time brought changes which had been little 16 GREYMORE. foreseen, and, at three-and-twenty, Agatlia March- mont was domesticated beneath lier father's roof, to take for the first time her rightful place as eldest daughter of the house. Her grandfather was dead, and his affairs were discovered to be in a state very different from Avhat had been expected. He had never been an extravagant man himself, and the em- barrassments to which he had subjected himself, to satisfy the needs of a set of wild, reckless sons, had not been generally known : at least not to their full extent. Perhaps he scarcely knew it himself, for he deemed it something almost derogatory to the cha- racter of a high-born gentleman, to trouble himself too much about the petty details of pecuniary affairs : neither, though simple to the last degree in his personal habits and tastes, had he esteemed it neces- sary to alter in any measure the somewhat feudal state which had always been kept up at the Priory. He was a disappointed man; his children had im- poverished him, and sunk into early, unhonoured graves : he survived the last of them, his unmarried daughter Agatha, the only one amongst them who had cast any comfort over his declining years ; and when she, too, was gone, his grandchild was the only remaining tie between him and life. She was to succeed him ; the ancient Priory was to be hers alone, and many times did he entreat her never to part with it, but to keep it in every respect as unchanged as possible. He never realized the THE SISTERS. 17 fact that it would be a profitless inheritance, rather a burdensome responsibility than anything else. Agatha, indeed, would not consider it so, for she was as attached to, and proud of, the Priory as any of the Marchmonts whom she numbered amoncrst her ancestors could have been, and her dearest wish was to continue to live within its venerable walls, its last solitary possessor. But her father, when he had thoroughly examined her affairs, told her this could not be done. The property was deeply mortgaged, and some of it he advised her to sell outriirht to assist in clearing the rest, and to this Agatha gave at length a reluctant consent. With regard to the remainder, the Priory itself and the lands imme- diately adjoining, the best plan was to let the whole, and in time, in the course of long years, perhaps, Mr. Rivers told her, she might hope to possess it clear and unembarrassed, and possibly recover por- tions of the original estate. The small fortune which had been her mother's remained for her own expenditure, and of this she resolved to lay aside yearly the greater portion, to hasten in some degree the redemption of her beloved Greymore lands. Once more to return to Greymore Priory, to live in the seat of her ancestors, to fill the post of last representative of the Marchmont line, was the dar- ling dream of Agatha's life, the one hope that made existence sweet to her, and enabled her to forget or to endure the trials and annoyances of her pre- VOL. I. C 18 GREYMORE. sent circumstances. It may seem unnatural that a daughter sliould thus look with something like dis- gust upon a residence beneath her father's roof, but it must be remembered that all her early associa- tions clustered round another home, and that she had been brought up in the midst of opinions — prejudices, perhaps — which made the sentiments and habits of those amongst wliom she was now thrown distasteful and irksome to her. The cheerful bustle of Hazel Bank jarred upon one accustomed to the dignified stillness and solemn state of Greymore Priory : the young, lively circle, the common interests, the continual chatter, the do- mestic discussions — how different were all these from the quiet, elderly companionship to which she had been used, the uniform unasked attendance, the silent, distant rooms, where no echoes of common life penetrated ! Agatha felt that she had not sufficient space at Hazel Bank; if she shut herself up in her own chamber, the sound of Katharine's practising dis- turbed her studies, and her reveries ; if she wandered into the farthest recesses of the gardens she was not beyond the reach of the children's voices ; if she took a solitary ramble in the fields, she met acquain- tances, detestable Fairfield neighbours ! Here there were no wild, unfrequented moors like those which stretched round Greymore, no sombre, unfrequented pine woods like those which enclosed the Priory THE SISTEES. 19 domains : all was smiling, cultivated landscape, an observant peasantry, friendly, inquisitive society, overlooked pathways. There was no solitude ; there was no seclusion, no wildness, no grandeur, no gloom ! She felt little congeniality with the other members of the household ; there seemed no tie of affection to bind her to these unknown brothers and sisters. Her father was the only person towards whom her heart had really opened, yet with an almost morbid feeling she half endeavoured to close it again. She fancied that he only cared for the love of his younger children, and that any demonstrations of attachment from her, his long absent first-born child, would be unheeded or rejected. That he had married again appeared to her distorted imagination a proof that he had renounced all the memories and associations which should have clung round her mother's name ; appeared, in fact, a virtual casting away of her- self. And her stepmother, his second choice ! Aga- tha had come to Hazel Bank strongly prejudiced against her ; not that she had the vulgar feeling against a stepmother as such, but she was preju- diced, because she had always been accustomed to consider the present Mrs. Rivers a very inferior sort of person to her own mother. With the pride of family which had been insensibly instilled into the daily lessons of her earliest life, it appeared incre- 2 20 GREYMORE. dible and inconceivable to Agatha that a farmer's daughter, bearing the plebeian name of Thorpe, could be a worthy successor of her aristocratic Marchmont mother. That there was any distinction between such people as the Thorpes and the small farmers whom she had been in the habit of noticing conde- scendingly as her grandfather's tenants, Agatha either did not know or did not understand. It had, how- ever, been impossible for her to live three months under the same roof with Mrs. Rivers and retain prejudices against her individually. A sweet, loving temper and a cultivated mind cannot be long mis- understood, and Agatha was not wilfully blind to the excellences of others. Still, though yielding to the gentle influence of her stepmother's disposition, and checking herself in any harsh thought of her, she did not fully understand her, and on many points it seemed doubtful whether the two would ever arrive at any true harmony of feeling. But the Thorpe family ! there was nothing to check her prejudice against its other members, and whatever she might grant to Mrs. Rivers herself, to her connections she would not concede one particle of approach, or relax one iota from her distant, cool, haughty treatment of them. They were people, she said to herself, v\^ith whom she had nothing in com- mon ; the best plan, therefore, was never to advance towards any intimacy with them, beyond what mere civility demanded. All of them in their several THE SISTERS. 21 ways were equally distasteful to lier. And there were so many of them ! countless cousins perpetually rising up and coming to pay visits to the members of the family who were settled near Fairfield. The clanishness of the Thorpes was most offensive to Agatha ; she did not ask herself how it would have been had their name been Vavasour or Howard, and the head of the family had resided in a lordly castle, instead of simple, plebeian Meadow Grange. This last was a substantial, spacious farm-house, well, nay, almost tastefully, furnished, but still, ac- cording to Agatha, only a farm-house. It had been the birth-place and early home of Mrs. Rivers, and her eldest brother was now the owner of the house and property. He and his wife were kind, unpre- tending, practical people, having an only child, Philip Thorpe, of whom more presently. The Grange family, at any rate the father and mother, were scarcely so obnoxious to Agatha as another branch of Thorpes living in Fairfield. Mr. James Thorpe, Mrs. Rivers's youngest brother, many years younger than herself, was a solicitor in partnership with Mr. Rivers. He had married a young wife, who was, in every respect, a contrast to Mrs. Thorpe of the Grange. Vain, supercilious, and worldly, with the manners of a pretty woman spoiled by flattery and conceit, was Mrs. James Thorpe. No wonder that Agatha could not bear her, but still it was hardly fair to lay her individual sins upon the Thorpe 22 GREYMORE. family collectively, to wliicli she did not actually belong. Not only was Mrs. James Tliorpe herself un- endurable and an undesirable associate, but she had several sisters who took it in tui'ns to pay her interminable visits ; and who were, in Agatha's es- timation, equally frivolous and vulgar-minded, and even more silly. Besides this string of connections, there was an antique Miss Thorpe living at the outskirts of Fair- field, whom the Rivers' girls used to call Cousin Bessy ; and a number of stray relatives from more distant parts of the country, who were in the habit of dropping in dm'ing their journeys from one place to another, or congregating at the Grange and Hazel Bank when anything unusual, a race, a steeple-chase, or a cattle show, was going on at Fairfield. Mrs. Thorpe of the Grange, too, had a number of nieces, one or other of whom, was frequently staying with her, so that Agatha was not altogether mistaken in considering Fairfield a species of Thorpe colony. But her own brothers and sisters — at least, one might think she would have found companionship amongst them. It was not so : not one in the rather numerous family harmonized with her tone of mind, and indeed, except Katharine and Hester, none of them were old enough to be exactly companions for her. The third girl, Caroline, was at school in London, and the youngest, Fanny, was a mere THE SISTERS. 23 child, Katharine's pupil ; the rest were bojs. Henry, the eldest, who was about eighteen, and was in his father's office, fancied himself a man, it is true, but the other two were school-boys ; one at a large public school, the younger living at home and going to school at Fairfield. Agatha felt little interest in these half brothers and sisters ; their ways were not like her ways, and even with Katharine and Hester, who were well-educated, intelligent girls, she could not bring herself to converse with frankness and sympathy. They were too young for her, she fancied. Katha- rine, it is true, was nineteen, but Agatha at twenty- tlu*ee felt very old indeed. She said to herself sometimes that the days of her youth were over ; and it did indeed appear as if the elasticity of . spirit and buoyancy of hope attending them had left her for ever. So Katharine and Hester talked and laughed, and pursued their studies and amusements together, and took their walks and rides, and paid their visits; whilst Agatha daily withdrew more and more from them, and only rarely intruded her presence upon them, seeming, when she did so, to cast a gloomy shadow across their path. 24 GREYMORE. CHAPTER IL A WALK TO COUSIN BESSY'S. — NEW ACQUAINTANCES. Katharine was sitting at work hj tlie favourite dressing-room window the next afternoon. Heaps of white muslin half-buried her in the low window seat, and her active little fingers seemed to fly along the snowy breadths. An open book lay on a table near, but at present Katharine's attention appeared to be concentrated on her work ; or rather, perhaps, her mind was as busy weaving its own thoughts as her finders were hemmino; her flounces. Many an hour of happy thought had Katharine spent at this same window — many that would bo remembered in after years when this dear flimiliar work would rise before her eyes, among the images of things gone for ever. It was not a particularly pretty room, but it had the charm of early association, and had been the chosen retreat of Katharine and Hester for years. Though called a dressing-room, it scarcely deserved NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 25 the name. It belonged to all the girls alike, and was not attached to any particular room, or used for the actual purpose of dressing. A tall cheval glass, before which the girls paraded when they had new dresses or were going out to parties, and a wardrobe containing their gala costumes, were the only articles in the room at all connected with its designation. The rest of the furniture was simple, old-fashioned, and ill-matched; an amalgamation of things too shabby or too ancient to be placed else- where. A very easy arm-chair covered with faded leather, a dark mahogany bureau, black with the polish of a past generation, where Fanny kept her treasures, and in whose deep lower drawer her sisters placed their largest drawings ; a small round table, with a raised rim, which creaked if any one leant against it, and some hanging book-shelves painted green, were the most conspicuous articles in the room. But it had a cheery bright look about it; drawings of various degrees of excellence were sus- pended from the walls by narrow red ribbons, a vase of flowers stood on the round table; and, better than all, through the wide open window, the balmy May breeze was blowing fresh from the per- fume of the lilacs, whose blossoms nearly touched Katharine's head where she sat. Agatha Marchmont was not a frequent visitor to this dressing-room ; she generally secluded her- self during the hours that the rest of the family 26 GEEYMORE. dispersed to their various pursuits, in lier own room, wliicli was one of the best and largest in the house, for in some way or other it usually happened that she was treated rather as a visitor than a daughter of the family. This afternoon, however, finding herself in difficulties about some kind of garment she was making for an old woman, one of her protegees, for Agatha did work sometimes, though chiefly as a matter of self-denial and charity, she repaired to the dressing-room in search of Katharine or Hester, both of whom she fully admitted to be much more clever with their fincrers than she was. Katharine started as Agatha entered, roused per- haps from some pretty day-dream she had been indulging. She was ready, however, in a moment to lend her assistance; and, having smoothed Agatha's present difficulty, and explained her future course, she returned to her own occupation. She had ex- pected that Agatha would leave the room, but she did not do so; she took a chair, and sat down at the other side of the window, and pursued her work in silence. But at last, as Katharine pushed away, with a half-exclamation of satisfaction, one of the apparently interminable lengths of muslin, prepara- tory to taking up another, she said — " What are you making, Katharine, with all that muslin ? " " Only the dress I bought yesterday," answered Katharine, with a smile. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 27 '^But you don't usually make your own dresses, I suppose ? " *^ Oh, no ; only Hester and I are so poor just now, and mamma said she would not pay a dress- maker's bill for us, but Sarah Jones might come and make our dresses ; and we must help her our- selves, or she would not get them done in time." "And so you really trouble yourselves to work all day at that muslin hemming, that you may be seen on Tuesday evening in different dresses from those you have been wearing the last few months ? " Katharine slightly coloured. " You think me silly, Agatha, I know ; but really, there is no more hardship in hemming flounces than in working embroidery or crochet, as I should very likely be doing at this moment if I had not my dress to make. Besides, we do not spend the whole day at this kind of work; we did everything as usual this morning, and it is only reading a little less for a few days that makes any difference." Agatha made no further remark, and the sisters relapsed into silence. After some time the patter- ing of Fanny's little feet was heard on the landing outside, and presently she burst into the room. '' Katharine, mamma says, have you the book that has to go to Mr. Rushton to-night? — because if you have you must finish it in half an hour, for Bob is going into the town." " Yes. Tell mamma I will send it down in time," 28 GllEYMORE. answered Katharine, and Fanny departed. "Will you give me that book which is on the table near you ? " she continued, turning to Agatha. Agatha took up the Revieiu, and gave it to Katha- rine, glancing, as she did so, at the open page. It was the middle of a critique or essay upon a me- taphysical work, and Agatha had read it herself the day before. She was not exactly surprised, for she knew that Katharine read grave books, but still there was to her mind an incongruity between study- ing metaphysics and hemming flounces, and she could not imagine the same person taking an absorbing in- terest in both. She watched Katharine as she read, and admitted that her attention seemed fully engaged. Perhaps she turned the pages rather more rapidly than Agatha would have done, but from the way she occasionally referred to them again, apparently comparing difl'erent passages, it was evident that she was reading with thought, and not merely skimming. Before the expiration of the half-hour, she had fin- ished the article, marked with her pencil the back of the book, and carried it down-stairs. When she returned she took up her third flounce, and soon appeared more intent upon the width of the hem than anything else in the world. " Do you like the article you have just been read- ing ? " asked Agatha, after a few minutes. " Yes, I hke it, but I don't quite agree with it," an- swered Katharine. " You have read it, 1 suppose ? " NEW ACQUAINTANCES. ' 29 Agatha replied In the affirmative, and then ensued some discussion of the subject. Agatha did not agree with Katharine's notions ; nay, some of tliem rather shocked her prejudices ; but she could not help beino; a little interested nevertheless, and was rather glad that she had introduced a subject which lay beyond the region of small-talk, to which she and her sisters usually confined themselves. In the midst of a somewhat v/ild, theoretical doc- trine which Katharine was enunciatinor with 2:reat earnestness, Hester entered, exclaiming — " Oh ! Katharine, have you finished those flounces ? Sarah Jones wants them, and you must come and see if the body of my dress fits." " By and by," returned Katharine. " You can take these two flounces now, and I will come when I have finished the other." " Why, you have not been so quick as usual ; I thought they would have been ready." " So they wonld, but for that Review ; you know I was called away in the midst of it this morning, and I was obliged to finish it just now, as it had to be sent on, but I shall soon be ready. Stay : mind and tell Sarah not to let the flounces hano; over each other ; she must leave a little space between. What were v/e saying ? " she added, turning to Agatha, as Hester vanished with the flounces. " I am sure I don't know," said Agatha, with a smile which was rather contemptuous. '' I should 30 . GREYMOKE. think the current of your thoughts must have entirely changed, from the minute directions you have been giving about your dress." Katharine made no reply; she felt that Agatha was despising her, and though she could have given plenty of good reasons why attention to her wardrobe and appearance was not incompatible with intel- lectual pursuits, she thought she could not do so without assuming a tone of superiority, which she wished to avoid towards Agatha. Besides, in this particular case, she could not help acknowledging to herself, that she had been a little more eager about the dress for Tuesday evening than was al- together necessary, or free from vanity. Silently, therefore, she finished her work, and then retired with it, to the distant region where Sarah Jones held her reign over the usual dress-making litter of shreds and patches. Agatha mused meanwhile upon the inconsistencies of her sister's character ; with her own strongly con- centrative nature, it was difficult to comprehend how another could take a lively interest in so many and so various things, and she came to the conclusion that with so much versatility, there could be no real earnestness about anything. And the possibility of friendship or sympathy with any but an earnest cha- racter did not enter Agatha's mind. No ; she did not think that she and Katharine could ever be friends. Her meditations were interrupted by a summons NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 31 to tea. It was brought by little Fanny, who rushed into the room, expecting to find Katharine and Hes- ter, and exclaiming — " Girls ! why don't you come ? Mamma says you are never in the way at tea-time ; " but the sight of her grave eldest sister checked Fanny's importance, and saying, in a tone which was meekness itself — " Oh, Agatha, please, will you come to tea ? " she hur- ried away to seek the others in some different quarter. Agatha considered Fanny very much spoiled by the rest of the family and not half so deferential towards her elders as she ought to have been, but still the exception made in her own case did not quite please her. She could have been kind, she thought, to Fanny, and even made a sort of pet of her, but she had not the knack of finding her way to Fanny's heart, and was too much disposed to treat her as a complete child and talk down to her ; whereas Fanny, a quick little thing of eight or nine years old, had been too much in the habit of associa- ting with her elder sisters, and hearing their conver- sations, to approve of any such mode of treatment. Tea at Hazel Bank was rather an important affair, but still it had none of the stiffness of a regular meal. Papa dropped in from his office in the town sometimes during its progress, more fre- quently he did not arrive till the rest had finished. Willie came in from school, hungry of course, but not always willing to wait till tea was carried into 32 GREYMORE. the drawing-room, but hurrying off to the cricket- field or some favourite haunt, after seizing a cup of milk and abstracting a hunch of bread or a tea- cake from the kitchen. Henry was at the tea- despising stage of existence, but still he occasionally presented himself, bringing with him some friend or other, with whom he was going to have a fishing ramble. The girls, of course, made their appear- ance with more regularity, though there certainly was some foundation for the assertion of their mother reported by Fanny, that they never w^ere "in the way at tea-time." Agatha, when she entered the room, found Mrs. Rivers alone, the tea-tray was on the table, but no one behind it, for this was Katharine's post. Presently she appeared, and commenced her tea- making operations with the vivacity which com- monly attended her proceedings. *^ Those tiresome, engrossing dresses have kept you, I suppose," said Mrs. Rivers, with a smile in reply to Katharine's remark that she did not think it had been so late ; " and Hester, too, who is gene- rallv the punctual one ; really, Kate, you must not make her as bad as yourself." Hester entered at this moment, to account for her own delay, and was followed by Fanny. A conver- sation now ensued, in which Agatha took little share ; she had not learned to appreciate the trifles which make so much of the charm and comfort of NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 33 domestic life, and she could not be interested in liearino; that Willie's stockinets were wearing out, and that Katharine, who was shopper in ordinary to the family, must buy him some new ones the next time she went to Fairfield, or that Cousin Bessy had not yet seen the last Illustrated London News, ''And neither of you has been to see her for several days," added Mrs. Rivers, to Katharine and Hester ; " one of you might as well take her the paper this evening." " May I take it, mamma ? " asked Fanny. " No, child ; it is too far for you to go alone ; you shall have a little walk with papa and me." "Hester, will you mind," began Katharine, but Hester already understood her meaning, and said — " I will go, mamma. Cousin Bessy has a crochet- book of mine, and I want it back again." " Very well ; only if you go alone, you must go early. I don't like your walking after it begins to get dark." " See ! " exclaimed Fanny, who was sitting oppo- site the window ; " papa is coming, and there is cousin Philip with him : we know who Philip comes to see," she added, mischievously, half apart to Katharine, whom she was professing to help with the cups and saucers. " Hush, you silly child ! " said Katharine, in a slightly annoyed tone, and with a blush that was rather angry than pleased. VOL. I. . D 34 GREYMORE. No one else noticed the child's speech, Agatha probably did not hear it, and Mrs. Rivers pretended not to do so, though a slight smile betrayed that she was not quite unconscious of it. As for Hester she had too intimate an understanding with Katharine, ever to remark upon any words which might annoy her. Meantime the gentlemen had walked through the hall-door, which generally stood open in summer, and their voices were heard outside the drawing- room. Fanny busily buttered the cold dry toast, which her papa liked, and Katharine began to put sugar and cream in his cup. She was so busy when Philip Thorpe came in, that she could not shake hands. Philip found a seat by Agatha, not, perhaps, the place he would have chosen, for the greeting between the two was of the most distant character. Philip was a Thorpe, objectionable on that score, and objectionable also in his individual capacity. Agatha began to calculate how much longer the tea-things would remain upon the table, in other words, how soon it would be possible for her to make her escape. Mr. Rivers meanwhile was taking the lead in the conversation, the girls were almost silent, and Philip, after his first greetings, seldom spoke. Assuredly Agatha could not lay to his charge the common Thorpe failings — a fondness for talking, an un- measured eagerness about their own trifling con- cerns, and an inveterate curiosity about those of NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 35 others, but she disliked him nevertheless. He was not frivolous, certainly, but he was uncultivated and unpolished. And yet, to impartial observers, nature had done great things for Philip Thorpe. A tall, muscular frame, devoid of grace, it is true, but still, with an appearance of careless ease about it which forbade its being thoroughly awkward; a bronzed face, with regular, firmly cut features of somewhat massive type ; a brow, far from deficient in intellect, though so shaded by heavy curly black locks, as to be almost lowering; light blue eyes, rather wanting in expression to cursory observers, but capable of sending forth beneath their thick, bushy, yet well-defined brows, those sudden gleams of pleasure, anger, and even fierceness, which seem peculiarly to belong to eyes of that mild and tender^ colour. All these traits, had they been united with the bearing of a man of the world, or a carefully drilled soldier, would have made Philip Thorpe pass for a remarkably magnificent specimen of a man ; but his slouching walk, his indifferent demeanour, and his excessively country air, detracted in a great measure from his personal advantages. He had been brought up at home, and his education had only been such as was within daily reach of Meadow Grange ; and this, from no parsimony or intended neglect on the part of his parents ; but they could not bear to part with an only child ; and as for learn- ing, they said to themselves, had not Mr. Hardinge, D 2 36 GKEYMORE. the head-master of Fairfield grammar-school, been a wrangler of his year at Cambridge ? Of what use to send Philip far away from home to a great public school, when he could get sufficient Latin and Greek at Fairfield to make him a clergyman ? What ob- ject to go further in search of instruction, when he was to be a farmer like his father and his grand- father before him ? All this was true in itself, but the result of Philip's education was not very satisfactory either to himself or others. His father did not find that he took suffi- cient interest in farming and country affairs, in spite of his having been constantly kept in the midst of such pursuits ; neither did he appear likely to sup- port the Thorpe character in the sporting line. He could neither bring down the birds as his ancestors had done, nor give himself up with their reckless enthu- siasm to the hunt, performing the wild feats of horse- manship which were current in the family legends. His mother was a little dissatisfied and disappointed that he w^as not rather more of a fine gentleman ; not a lady's man — that was a character she professed to abhor — ^but she would willingly have seen him a little more dashing, a little more talkative, a little more conspicuous in society. It was provoking to see that mere boy, Henry Rivers, offering his arm to stranger ladies, and paying them attentions with more ease smd nonchalance than Philip displayed even towards his aunt and cousins. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 37 She blamed him sometimes for his shyness, and PhiKp replied merely by a vague smile. He was not shy, but he would as soon have thought of imita- ting a mountebank, as Henry Rivers. If his parents were not satisfied with the effect of their system, he was still less so himself He felt awkward and ignorant : true he had mastered a tolerable quantity of Greek and Latin under Mr. Hardinge's care, but the bent of his mind was not towards classical studies. He knew that he was not stupid; he felt that he might become something much better than he was, but no one had found the key to his intellect, and he groped in the dark for some outlet to the powers he dimly suspected within him. It is sometimes a misfortune to be what people call " provided for " in the world. Philip Thorpe's lot was marked down before him, and many a strug- gling student might have envied it ; he would suc- ceed to his father's property and employ himself in taking care of it : be, in short, a gentleman farmer, without too much hard work, yet sufficient regular occupation, and in spite of " bad times," lead a pro- sperous, comfortable life. So thought his acquain- tances, and envied him. Philip thought somewhat differently himself, but he was not in the habit of expressing his thoughts, and he w^as, besides, too good a son, and too much bound by the family-woven web of domestic care o. 8 GREYMOEE. and love to grieve his parents by a dissatisfaction wliicli seemed likely to lead to no results. So Philip brooded silently, and attended fairs, and talked about crops, and wondered v^^hether it would ever be pos- sible to break his bondage, and emerge into a freer and more active life — a life which would make him feel really to live, and not to vegetate. Poor Philip Thorpe ! another web, too, was binding him now, making him at times forget his struggles against the earlier one. If only Katharine Rivers would look kindly on him and his love, he could have almost forgotten that any world existed outside Meadow Grange, and have been content to spend his energies on turnips and " short horns." But this is a long digression, and by this time tea must be over. As Fanny rang the bell, Hester rose from the table, saying it was time to start on her walk. Katharine rose hastilv at the same moment, and fol- lowed her out of the room. '^ You going too, Katharine ! " exclaimed Mrs. Rivers. " I thought Hester was going alone." "I think I may as well walk with her," said Katharine, and vanished. Philip looked wistfully after her, and then turned his attention to the win- dow, from which he could see the girls the moment they left the house, and perhaps make a bold stroke to follow them. He was undisturbed in his watch- ing, for Agatha had disappeared, and Mr. and Mrs. Rivers were talking to each other, but Philip Thorpe NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 39 miglit wait till midnight without seeing the two light figures he expected move down the garden walk. "Let us go out by the school-room door," said Katharine to Hester, as they were putting on their bonnets. " We can cross the green lane into the fields." " Yes," said Hester ; " but I don't think it is any shorter than going round by the gate." " No, perhaps not," returned Katharine, " but Phi- lip Thorpe might take it into his head to accompany us, and it is much pleasanter by ourselves; don't you think so ? " " Of course it is," said Hester quietly, half smiling, as she pulled out the bows of her bonnet strings. Through the school-room, across the corner of the grass-plot, past the end of the yard, and into the green lane — these movements were rapidly accom- plished, and the girls were soon walking in the fields where we first met them. They did not talk much this evening ; Katharine was thinking more seriously than she generally did of her cousin Philip and his attachment. She knew he liked her, though he had never expressly told her so : but it seemed to be an almost understood thing in the family, and her young companions constantly teased her about his devotion. She had been rather gratified at being so teased ; it flattered her self-love, and Katharine was not free from vanity. She liked to be praised and admired, and Philip's silent appreciation of her merits and her attractions 40 GREYMORE. had hitherto been rather a source of pleasure than annoyance to her, but now she began to view it in a graver light, and to wonder where it was to end. Some time or other, she supposed, she must put a stop to Philip's pretensions, and Katharine, with all her faults, was not a heartless coquette, to delight in wounding the feelings of another. She foresaw, too, if that day came, a host of difficulties to be encoun- tered : Philip was a favourite with her father and mo- ther, and she knew her uncle and aunt Thorpe would never forgive her for paining him. As for loving him, that possibility did not enter Katharine's head ; he did not suit her in any respect, and she was puz- zled to account for the fact of his liking her, there seemed so little in common between them. Her con- science rather smote her for looks and words which, in a moment of elated vanity, she might have be- stowed upon Philip, and on which he might have built unfounded hopes ; still, upon the whole, she could not greatly blame herself for her actions : her demeanour had generally been entirely cousinly, and of late rather cold than otherwise. But Philip's unspoken love hung about her like a dead weight, and she would have given much to shake it off at once and for ever. As they approached the town and cousin Bessy's house, she roused herself from her abstraction, and began talking to Hester, re- collecting, in sudden alarm, the newspaper they were to have brought with them. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 41 " I have the paper," answered Hester, laughing, and showing it. " You know it was my business, not yours ; you did not intend coming at first." " True, I had forgotten," returned Katharine, the image of Philip Thorpe, with his moody brows, as she had quitted the room, flashing across her remem- brance. They had now reached cousin Bessy's door ; the house, a small cottage-looking place, stood at the outskirts of the town, divided from the high- road leading to the street by a narrow slip of garden enclosed by a green paling. At the other side ot the road stretched the meadows which led to Ilazel Bank. After their usual warning tap at the door, the girls entered the house, and walked through the narrow and somewhat dark passage to the parlour. No cousin Bessy was there, but they were certain she could not be far distant, or the chain at the door, her usual precaution against visionary vagabonds and ruffians, would have barred their entrance. If a room may be taken as an index of the owner's character, cousin Bessy's must have been of a very mixed description; and a stranger would perhaps have been rather puzzled to form an idea of her, from the arrano-ement of her furniture and knick- knacks. One thing was certain, an old-maidish preciseness could not be laid to her charge. There was indeed no decided want of order visible, but a glance at the open work-basket, with its medley of 42 GREYMORE. contents, unfinished bits of work, old letters, stray keys, half-used unrolled skeins of silk and wool, scraps of flannel, partially-mended stockings, &c., would have sufiiced to show, that no painful and oppressive degree of tidiness existed in cousin Bessy's personal economy. The room itself was of tolerable size, nearly square, with a bow-window, which afforded from one of its sides a perfect view of the doings of the street, which commenced just beyond the house. Two or three flower-pots graced the window seat, and a canary sang in the middle, the cage being suspended im- mediately over the flowers. In cousin Bessy's mind there was a good deal of romance connected with her bird and her flower-pots, and she felt almost young in the morning when she attended to them. The furniture was plain, but dark and bright, like all old mahogany that has been tolerably cared for, and there was one state easy-chair, covered with gay chintz and a smart antimacassar, which cousin Bessy reserved for her choicest friends. Her own customary seat was a rather uncomfortable-looking chair, which stood between the work-table and the window. The carpet was somewhat faded, but bore traces of having at one time exhibited a brilliant collection of flowers, and devices of remarkable shapes and co- ours. It was evidently still prized, as in many par ts it was covered with a drugget, much newer and brighter NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 43 than the carpet itself. Before the fire-place, lay a worked hearth-rug, an old-fashioned, worsted-work production, with a formal pattern of cubes and dia- monds, in which a tawny brow^n was the predominant colour. This hearth-rug was Katharine's aversion, and she had once made a rash promise to work another if it were removed; but coushi Bessy was faithful to early attachments, and would not part with it ; and when Katharine had gained some in- sight into the story of the rug, had heard of a party of sisters working together long years ago in a favourite secret retreat, some shabby old attic where no one interfered with their girlish labours and girl- ish talk, she learnt to look with a more favourable eye upon the tawny brown, the faded yellows, and the dingy greens. There were specimens of more modern handi- work among the knick-knacks of the room ; various kinds of mats, upon which rested strange shells and bits of stone, valuable only from association ; a vase of fresh wax-flowers standing amidst antique lavender baskets and card-board boxes ; and one or two water-colour drawings, bright and unfaded, suspended from the wall amidst brown-tinted, yellow-margined engravings of older date. Above the chimney-piece hung a print of Sir Robert Peel, who had at one time been cousin Bessy's ideal of a statesman, she being, in her peculiar way, something of a politi- cian ; and though the picture had been placed there 44 GREYMORE. before the time wlien lie became, in agricultural parlance, " a traitor to his cause," and cousin Bessy had since heard him inveighed against by her Pro- tectionist friends, she had been faithful to her old predilection, and to her principles of "men, not measures," and had refused to displace him. An- other picture, also a favourite of hers, hung opposite the window, and represented the Queen with the Prince of Wales in her arms, and the Princess Royal by her side. In this picture her faith was imbounded, and she even fancied the Queen's like- ness was true, from her remembrance of her as she had seen her when Princess Victoria at the age of fourteen ; allowing, of course, as she said, for the lapse of time. The chimney-piece was further decorated with a pair of wonderful card-racks, resembling ladders, formed of bits of pasteboard bound with ribbon, and disclosing to view sundry envelopes, thus mak- ing public the most of Miss Elizabeth Thorpe's correspondence. A few visiting cards were stuck in at intervals, some of them of no very modern date ; for cards were seldom left at cousin Bessy's, and were therefore treated with great respect and consideration. Katharine and Hester had seen all the contents of this room too frequently to notice those which have just been described, and they employed them- selves alternately in looking out of the window. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 45 and examining what progress cousin Bessy had made in the piece of crochet she was working from Hester's book. They did not wait long before she entered the room, giving ^ little start of surprise and pleasure at seeing them. " Oh, my dears ! and I have been keeping you waiting all this time, what a pity ! I wonder Phoebe did not hear you come in ; I was just looking at the currant-trees. Jacob Jackson has been ixarden- ing for me to-day, and the trees are all nailed up and tidy now. But come, sit down and tell me all the news." And cousin Bessy seated herself as she spoke on her accustomed chair, with its straiojht back and horsehair cushion, and the girls sat down on the little couch opposite. Miss Elizabeth Thorpe was what is generally called " a lady of a certain age ; " which age was, however, in her case very uncertain, for her friends declared she had looked just the same for twenty years, and as she had at no period of her life looked very young, it seemed probable that at no period would she look very old. In " point of fact " she was between fifty and sixty, but in point of feeling and temperament, she might have been six-and-twenty ; nay, a girl of sixteen could scarcely in some re- spects have exceeded her in freshness and eagerness. This youthfulness of disposition of course made 46 GllEYMORE. her a favourite among the junior members of her acquaintance ; her own contemporaries scarcely ap- preciated her so much, and there were not a few to whom her eagerness was folly, and her interest in youthful pursuits, affectation. Want of judgment, too, was a frequent charge brought against her, and " Poor Bessy ! she means well, but she knows no- thing of the world ! " was a speech often made by her sage compeers. Little recked cousin Bessy of the one charge or the other. Had she heard them, indeed, she would indignantly have refuted them, without the remotest suspicion that there was any truth in them. She was rather proud than otherwise of knowing the world, and fond of telling her young friends that they did not know it ; but somehow it usually hap- pened that they smiled, and refused to believe her wiser than themselves. She was fond of a little romance in her way, and deeply interested in love affairs and mysteries. Perhaps her feelings were fresher in this respect, from having had little per- sonal experience. No one would imagine from look- ing at cousin Bessy that she was a subject for a romantic story, and yet it was not impossible that she might have woven, out of slight materials, a history for herself; all the more fascinating, from the mystery surrounding it remaining unbroken, and never arrivincr at the actual denoument of com- mon life. In appearance, cousin Bessy was rather A'EW ACQUAINTANCES. 47 tall, thin, and angular ; a face plain, but bright with intelligence, and a pair of dark little twinkling eyes, that could laugh or weep on the shortest no- tice. She was rather smart in her dress, and made an attempt at being fashionable, though not trying any very absurd juvenilities. Her attire was no more old-maidish than her work-basket ; indeed, she scorned extreme precision as not consistent with good taste ; a favourite phrase of hers being, '' The more careless, the more genteel." " And so you are very gay just now," commenced cousin Bessy, after receiving satisfactory reports of the health of the family. " I heard of your party at Mrs. James's the other night; she asked me to drink tea yesterday, and I heard all about it. Miss Arabella Grover was so tired with dancing she could scarcely speak." " I never knew dancing tired people's tongues," said Katharine. " No ; but you know% tired altogether, so that she was good for nothing." " It was only a quiet party after all," said Katha- rine ; " and we had very little dancing." " Ah ! we all know what a racket she is, don't we, Hester ? " said cousin Bessy. "Oh, but really Kate is right this time," said Hester ; " I am sure Arabella's fatigue must have been a little imaginary." " She seemed rather out of love with parties, my 48 GllEYMOKE. dear ; arid talked of wasting life in crowded rooms, and the pure pleasures of the country." Katharine laughed. " Oh, I know Arabella so well ! She must have been vexed about something, or she would not have talked in that Wdj, And Lucy — was she in the dumps too ? " " No, indeed ; Lucy was lively enough, and she told me a little tale about you, miss : flirting again with the first new person that comes." " Nay," said Katharine, " I am sure she could tell you nothing particular about me. I behaved most properly, and did not dance above twice with the same person all the evening." " Ah ! but who offered to play so many quad- rilles and polkas? — and who sat behind the piano and talked all the time ? Poor Philip ! I wonder what he thought of it ! " "I don't see what Philip has to do with the matter," said Katharine, rather hastily ; " and really, cousin Bessy, I did not think you would listen to Lucy Grover's silly stories. According to her, and some others, one cannot speak to a gentleman with- out all sorts of things being fancied." " See how she is firing up about it, Hester ! " said cousin Bessy, mischievously. " No, I am not angry," said Katharine ; " only it vexes me to see how all this kind of thing spoils society. Who can converse with any freedom if a NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 49 report is immediately raised, and everything set down to flirtation ? Fortunately for me, I forget these disagreeable remarks when I go into society again, and I defy Lucy and all of them to spoil my pleasure." " Oh, Katharine ! " said Hester, " you forget how often you tease people yourself, and on very slight grounds, I am sure." " But I only tease stupid young men, who cannot talk about anything, and they like it, and it does no harm ; it is quite different to making remarks behind a person's back." " Well," said cousin Bessy, " let us talk about something else. I suppose now we have done with that nonsense, you don't mind telling me what Mr. Wentworth is like. I heard a great deal in his praise from Miss Grover, but not so much from Mrs. James." " Oh ! he is gentlemanly and agreeable, and a great improvement upon our usual run of gentlemen." And, Hester, what do you think of him." Why, I hardly spoke to him ; but he is good- looking, I think, and rather satirical, I should fancy ; at least, I know I should feel afraid of talking with him : but what did Lucy say ? " " She said he was a fascinating person, and had the most wonderful eyes in the world ; and Miss Arabella said he was interesting, and looked like a person who had a secret sorrow." VOL. I. E 50 GREYMORE. " What rubbish ! '* exclaimed Katharine, and Hester laughed ; " but what did Sophia think ? " " Oh ! Mrs. James said Lucy and Arabella were silly to talk in that flighty manner, and there she was right enough ; and then she said something about preferring people who were solid, which made me fancy she thought this gentleman frivolous and light; and she said you could never depend upon strangers, ' here to-day and gone to-morrow ' sort of people. And Mr. Wentworth was quite a ball- room man, ready to make himself agreeable to any girl who encouraged him, the newer the better; and she hoped her sisters knew better than to be caught by such flimsy " " Upon my word! " interrupted Katharine; "Sophia seems to have made good use of her time, and he is just the kind of person who would have caught her fancy if only he had Poor Mr. Wentworth ! he little knows how people sit in judgment upon him ! " " He does not seem a person to care much if he did know," said Hester, quietly ; " besides, the good opinions of some people might counterbalance the bad ones of others. But, cousin Bessy, I was nearly forgetting, have you finished with that crochet-book of mine ? If you can let me have it for a few days you shall have it back again. Aunt Thorpe wants me to make her some doyleys, and the patterns are in that book. She is rather in a hurry, or I would not have asked you." NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 51 (S Oh, my dear, pray take it ! The truth is, I don't exactly get on with that last pattern, and I think I shall give it up. Lucy Grover is going to teach me to make some new antimacassars, so I shall not do any more crochet just at present." " Well, then," said Katharine, " now you have settled that, it is time for us to go, I think. Mamma does not like us to be oat late." " Surely, you are not going yet ! I have scarcely had a word with you, and I want to hear about your gaiety." " What gaiety ? " asked Katharine, laughing. " It seems to me you have heard everything at uncle James's." " I mean the gaiety that is to come, my love — ^your party at home." « " Oh, it will not be much of a party ; we shall dance a little, and have as much music as we can muster." " And you are to have Mr, Manners and Mr. Wentworth ? " " Yes ; you know we always ask Mr. Manners, though he is not much use at a party." " And will Miss Marchmont make her appearance, and make herself agreeable, I wonder ! " " Really, cousin Bessy, I wish you would call her Agatha ; don't make her seem to belong to us even less than " ** My dear, I never can think of her as anything E 2 iiNivFRsrrt OF tUitW® 52 GREYMOEE. but Miss Marchmont, and I feci as if it would be a liberty to call her Agatha. I know, of course, you consider her as a sister, and it is very pretty of you, I am sure, to take to her so much, but really I can- not get on with her. I pitied her very much at first, and of course it is very sad for her ; but still, with a nice home, and friends about her, I think she ought to exert herself a little, and not look dismal enough to frighten one. But you have not told me, does she mean to show herself on Tuesday ? " " I have not heard her mention it," said Katharine. "But I know mamma expects her to appear," added Hester. " And so she ought, my love. To be sure, at first, one could not expect her to enter into any amusement or company, but by this time she ought to mix with her family and friends, and not shut herself up in such a way. I assure you, my dears, it looks bad in the eves of the world, indeed it does : I hear things sometimes, and I know what people a|-e ready to say in such cases." " I dare say you do," returned Katharine ; " but I do not see that any one is to blame. Agatha, natu- rally, cannot care for us at present ; all her feelings are wrapped up in the friends she has lost. We seem like strangers to her, but by and by, it will be dif- ferent, I hope, and in the meantime we can under- stand and make allowances, and the remarks other people choose to make need not affect us." NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 53 " Very i^rettj, my dear, and very right. I am sure all that kindness can do will be done by all of you ; but if I were your mother, I should try a little of a different plan. I should insist upon Miss Marchmont appearing more like other people, and before the world, at least, seeming to belong to you, and not secluding herself, or wandering about the country like a ghost, or a mourner in a play. But your mother is too gentle and easy ! I know she would not think of interferin