The Hoyden, Margaret Wolfe Hungerford [best ereader manga txt] 📗

his.

"What a little flirt!" says she contemptuously.

"Oh no! a mere child," returns he.

"Miss Bolton! What an answer!" Gower is now at the height of his enjoyment. "And after last night, too; you _must_ remember what you said to me last night."

"Last night?" She is staring at him with a small surprised face--a delightful little face, as sweet as early spring. "What did I say to you last night?"

"And have you forgotten?" Mr. Gower has thrown tragedy into his voice. _"Already?_ Do you mean to tell me that you don't recollect saying to me that you preferred me to all the rest of my sex?"

"I _never_ said that!" says Tita, with emphasis; "never! never! Why should I say that?"

She looks at Gower as if demanding an answer.

"I'm not good at conundrums," says he. "Ask me another."

"No; I won't," says she_. "Why?"_

Upon this Mr. Gower rolls himself over in the rug, and covers his head. It is plain that answers are not to be got out of _him_.

"Did I say that?" says Tita, appealing to Sir Maurice.

"I hope not," returns he, laughing. "Certainly I did not hear it."

"And certainly he didn't either," says Tita with decision.

"After that," says Gower, unrolling himself, "I shall retire from public life; I shall give myself up to"--he pauses and looks round; a favourite ladies' paper is lying on the ground near him--"to literature."

He turns over on his side, and apparently becomes engrosses in it.

"Have you been playing, Maurice?" asks Mrs. Bethune presently.

Her tone is cold. That little speech of his to Tita, uttered some time ago, "I hope not," had angered her.

"No," returns he as coldly.

He is on one of his uncertain moods with regard to her. Distrust, disbelief, a sense of hopelessness--all are troubling him.

"What a shame, Sir Maurice!" says Mrs. Chichester, leaning forward. As I have hinted, she would have flirted with a broomstick. "And you, who are our champion player."

"I'll play now if you will play with me," says Sir Maurice gallantly.

"A safe answer," looking at him with a pout, and through half-closed lids. She finds that sort of glance effective sometimes. "You know I don't play."

"Not _that_ game," says Mr. Gower, who never can resist a thrust.

"I thought you were reading your paper," says Mrs. Chichester sharply. "Come, what's in it? I don't believe," scornfully, "you are reading it at all."

"I am, however," says Mr. Gower. "These ladies' papers are so full of information. I'm quite enthralled just now. I've got on to the Exchange and Mart business, and it's too exciting for _words_. Just listen to this: 'Two dozen old tooth-brushes (in _good_ preservation) would be exchanged for a gold bangle (_unscratched_). Would not be sent on approval (mind, it must not be set _scratched!_ good old toothbrushes!) without deposit of ten shillings. Address, 'Chizzler, office of this paper.'"

"It isn't true. I don't believe a word of it," says Tita, making a snatch at the paper.

"My dear girl, why not? Two dozen old toothbrushes. _Old_ toothbrushes, you notice. Everything old now goes for a large sum, except," thoughtfully, "aunts."

He casts a lingering glance round, but providentially Miss Gower has disappeared.

"But toothbrushes! Show me that paper."

"Do you, then, disbelieve in my word?"

"Nobody could want a toothbrush."

"Some people want them awfully," says Mr. Gower. "Haven't you noticed?"

But here Sir Maurice sees it his duty to interfere.

"Miss Bolton, will you play this next set with me?" says he, coming up to Tita.

"Oh, I should _love_ it!" cries she. "You are so good a player. Do get us some decent people to play against, though; I hate a weak game."

"Well, come, we'll try and manage it," says he, amused at her enthusiasm.

They move away together.


CHAPTER VI.

HOW GAMES WERE PLAYED, "OF SORTS"; AND HOW TITA WAS MUCH HARRIED, BUT HOW SHE BORE HERSELF VALIANTLY, AND HOW, NOT KNOWING OF HER VICTORIES, SHE WON ALL THROUGH.


There had been no question about it; it had been a walk-over. Even Lord Eshurst and Miss Staines, who are considered quite crack people at tennis in this part of the county, had not had a chance. Tita had been everywhere; she seemed to fly. Every ball caught, and every ball so well planted. Rylton had scarcely been in it, though a good player. That little thing was here and there and everywhere, yet Rylton could not say she poached. Whatever she did, however, she _won_.

She does not throw up her cap this time--perhaps she had seen a little of that laughter before--but she claps her hands joyfully, and pats Rylton's arm afterwards in a _bon camarade_ fashion that seems to amuse him. And is she tired? There is no sense of fatigue, certainly, in the way she runs up the slope again, and flings herself gracefully upon the rug beside Mr. Gower. Mr. Gower has not stirred from that rug since. He seldom stirs. Perhaps he would not be quite so stout if he did.

"You won your game?" says Margaret Knollys, bending towards Tita, with a smile.

Old Lady Eshurst is smiling at her, too.

"Oh yes; how could I help it? Sir Maurice"--with a glance at the latter as he climbs the slope in turn--"plays like an angel."

"Oh no; it is you who do that," says he, laughing.

"Are you an angel, Miss Bolton?" asks Mrs. Bethune, who is standing next Rylton.

He had gone straight to her, but she had not forgiven his playing with the girl at all, and a sense of hatred towards Tita is warming her breast.

"I don't know," says Tita, with a slight grimace. It is not the answer expected. Marian had expected to see her shy, confused; Tita, on the contrary, is looking at her with calm, inquiring eyes. "Do you?" asks she.

"I have not gone into it," says Mrs. Bethune, with as distinct a sneer as she can allow herself.

Mr. Gower laughs.

"You're good at games," says he to Tita.

He might have meant her powers at tennis, he might have meant _anything_.

"That last game you are thinking of?"

"Decidedly, the last game," says Gower, who laughs again immoderately.

"I don't see what there is to laugh at," says Miss Bolton, with some indignation. "'They laugh who win,' is an old proverb. But _you_ didn't win; you weren't in it."

"I expect I never shall be," says Gower. "Yet lookers-on have their advantage ascribed to them by a pitiful Providence. They see most of the game."

"It is I who should laugh," says Tita, who has not been following him. _"I_ won--we"--looking, with an honest desire to be just to all people, at Sir Maurice--_"we_ won."

"No, no; leave it in the singular," says Maurice, making her a little gesture of self-depreciation.

"You seem very active," says Margaret kindly. "I watched you at golf yesterday. You liked it?"

"Yes; there is so little else to like," says Tita, looking at her, "except my horses and my dogs."

"A horse is the best companion of all," says Mr. Woodleigh, his eyes bent on her charming little face.

"I'm not sure, the dogs are so kind, so affectionate; they _want_ one so," says Tita. "And yet a horse--oh, I _do_ love my last mount--a brown mare! She's lying up now."

"You ride, then?" says Sir Maurice.

"Ride! you bet!" says Tita. She rolls over on the rug, and, resting on her elbows, looks up at him; Lady Rylton watching, shudders. "I've been in the saddle all my life. Just before I came here I had a real good run--my uncle's groom had one horse, I had the other; it was over the downs. _I_ won."

She rests her chin upon her hands.

Lady Rylton's face pales with horror. A race with a groom!

"Your uncle must give you good mounts," says Mr. Woodleigh.

"It is all he _does_ give me," says the girl, with a pout. "Yes; I may ride, but that is all. I never _see_ anybody--there is nobody to see; my uncle knows nobody."

Lady Rylton makes an effort. It is growing _too_ dreadful. She turns to Mrs. Chichester.

"Why don't you play?" asks she.

"Tennis? I hate it; it destroys one's clothes so," says Mrs. Chichester. "And those shoes, they are terrible. If I knew any girls--I never do know them, as a rule--I should beg of them not to play tennis; it is destruction so far as feet go."

"Fancy riding so much as that!" says Mr. Woodleigh, who, with Sir Maurice and the others, has been listening to Tita's stories of hunts and rides gone and done. "Why, how _long_ have you been hunting?"

"Ever since I was thirteen," says Tita.

"Why, that is about your age now, isn't it?" says Gower.

"We lived at Oakdean then," goes on Tita, taking, very properly, no notice of him, "and my father liked me to ride. My cousin was with us there, and he taught me. I rode a great deal before"--she pauses, and her lips quiver; she is evidently thinking of some grief that has entered into her young life and saddened it--"before I went to live with my uncle."

"It was your cousin who taught you to ride, then? Is he a son of the--the uncle with whom you now live?" asks Sir Maurice, who is rather ashamed of exhibiting such interest in her.

"No, no, indeed! He is a son of my aunt's--my father's sister. She married a man in Birmingham--a sugar merchant. I did love Uncle Joe," says Tita warmly.

"No wonder!" says Mrs. Bethune. "I wish _I_ had an uncle a sugar merchant. It does sound sweet."

"I'm not sure that _you _would think my uncle Joe sweet!" says Miss Bolton thoughtfully. "He wasn't good to look at. He had the biggest mouth that ever _I_ saw, and his nose was little and turned up, but I loved him. I love him now, even when he is gone. And one _does_ forget, you know! He said such good things to people, and"--covering her little face with her hands, and bursting into an irrepressible laugh--"he told such funny stories!"

Lady Rylton makes a sudden movement.

"Dear Lady Eshurst, wouldn't you like to come and see the houses?" asks she.

"I am afraid I must be going home," says old Lady Eshurst. "It is very late; you must forgive my staying so long, but your little friend--by-the-bye, is she a friend or relation?"

"A friend!" says Lady Rylton sharply.

"Well, she is so entertaining that I could not bear to go away sooner."

"Yes--yes; she is very charming," says Lady Rylton, as she hurries Lady Eshurst down the steps that lead to the path below.

Good heavens! If she should hear some of Uncle Joe's funny stories! She takes Lady Eshurst visibly in tow, and walks her out of hearing.

"What a good seat you must have!" says Mr. Woodleigh presently, who has been dwelling on what Tita has said about her riding.

"Oh, pretty well! Everyone should ride," says Tita indifferently. "I despise a man who can't conquer a horse. I," laughing, "never saw the horse that _I_ couldn't conquer."

"You? Look at your hands!" says Gower, laughing.

"Well, what's the matter with them?" says she. "My cousin, when