Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (8 page)

 
          
           
Edward stopped to speak to the gardener, and Miss Muir went up the steps alone.
The long hall was lined with portraits, and pacing slowly down it she examined
them with interest. One caught her eye, and, pausing before it, she scrutinized
it carefully.
A young, beautiful, but very haughty female
face.
Miss Muir suspected at once who it was, and gave a decided nod, as
if she saw and caught at some unexpected chance. A soft rustle behind her made
her look around, and, seeing Lucia, she bowed, half turned, as if for another
glance at the picture, and said, as if involuntarily, "How beautiful it
is! May I ask if it is an ancestor, Miss Beaufort?"

 
          
           
"It is the likeness of my mother" was the reply, given with a
softened voice and eyes that looked up tenderly.

 
          
           
"Ah, I might have known, from the resemblance, but I scarcely saw you last
night. Excuse my freedom, but Lady Sydney treated me as a friend, and I forget
my position. Allow me."

 
          
           
As she spoke, Miss Muir stooped to return the handkerchief which had fallen
from Lucia's hand, and did so with a humble mien which touched the other's
heart; for, though a proud, it was also a very generous one.

 
          
           
"Thank you. Are you better, this morning?" she said, graciously. And
having received an affirmative reply, she added, as she walked on, "I will
show you to the breakfast room, as Bella is not here. It is a very informal
meal with us, for my aunt is never down and my cousins are very irregular in
their hours. You can always have yours when you like, without waiting for us if
you are an early riser."

 
          
           
Bella and Edward appeared before the others were seated, and Miss Muir quietly
ate her breakfast, feeling well satisfied with her hour's work. Ned recounted
her exploit with Hector, Bella delivered her mother's thanks for the flowers,
and Lucia more than once recalled, with pardonable vanity, that the governess
had compared her to her lovely mother, expressing by a look as much admiration
for the living likeness as for the painted one. All kindly did their best to
make the pale girl feel at home, and their cordial manner seemed to warm and
draw her out; for soon she put off her sad, meek air and entertained them with
gay anecdotes of her life in Paris, her travels in Russia when governess in
Prince Jermadoff's family, and all manner of witty stories that kept them
interested and merry long after the meal was over. In the middle of an
absorbing adventure,
Coventry
came in, nodded lazily, lifted his brows, as if surprised at seeing the
governess there, and began his breakfast as if the ennui of another day had
already taken possession of him. Miss Muir stopped short, and no entreaties
could induce her to go on.

 
          
           
"Another time I will finish it, if you like.
Now Miss
Bella and I should be at our books."
And she left the room,
followed by her pupil, taking no notice of the young master of the house,
beyond a graceful bow in answer to his careless nod.

 
          
           
"Merciful creature!
she
goes when I come, and does not make life unendurable by moping about before my
eyes. Does she belong to the moral, the melancholy, the romantic, or the
dashing class, Ned?" said Gerald, lounging over his coffee as he did over
everything he attempted.

 
          
           
"To none of them; she is a capital little woman. I wish you had seen her
tame Hector this morning." And Edward repeated his story.

 
          
           
"Not a bad move on her part," said
Coventry
in reply. "She must be an observing as
well as an energetic young person, to discover your chief weakness and attack
it so soon. First tame the horse, and then the master. It will be amusing to
watch the game, only I shall be under the painful necessity of checkmating you
both, if it gets serious."

 
          
           
"You needn't exert yourself, old fellow, on my account. If I was not above
thinking ill of an inoffensive girl, I should say you were the prize best worth
winning, and advise you to take care of your own heart, if you've got one,
which I rather doubt."

 
          
           
"I often doubt it, myself; but I fancy the little Scotchwoman will not be
able to satisfy either of us upon that point. How does your highness like
her?" asked
Coventry
of his cousin, who sat near him.

 
          
           
"Better than I thought I should. She is well-bred, unassuming, and very
entertaining when she likes. She has told us some of the wittiest stories I've
heard for a long time. Didn't our laughter wake you?" replied Lucia.

 
          
           
"Yes. Now atone for it by amusing me with a repetition of these witty
tales."

 
          
           
"That is impossible; her accent and manner are half the charm," said
Ned. "I wish you had kept away ten minutes longer, for your appearance
spoilt the best story of all."

 
          
           
"Why didn't she go on?" asked
Coventry
, with a ray of curiosity.

 
          
           
"You forget that she overheard us last night, and must feel that you
consider her a bore. She has pride, and no woman forgets speeches like those
you made," answered Lucia.

 
          
           
"Or forgives them, either, I believe. Well, I must be resigned to languish
under her displeasure then. On
Sydney
's account I take a slight interest in her;
not that I expect to learn anything from her, for a woman with a mouth like
that never confides or confesses anything. But I have a fancy to see what
captivated him; for captivated he was, beyond a doubt, and by no lady whom he
met in society. Did you ever hear anything of it, Ned?" asked Gerald.

 
          
           
"I'm not fond of scandal or gossip, and never listen to either." With
which remark Edward left the room.

 
          
           
Lucia was called out by the housekeeper a moment after, and
Coventry
left to the society most wearisome to him,
namely his own. As he entered, he had caught a part of the story which Miss
Muir had been telling, and it had excited his curiosity so much that he found
himself wondering what the end could be and wishing that he might hear it.

 
          
           
What the deuce did she run away for, when I came in?
he
thought. If she
is
amusing, she must
make herself useful; for
it's
intensely dull, I own,
here, in spite of Lucia. Hey, what's that?

 
          
           
It was a rich, sweet voice, singing a brilliant Italian air, and singing it
with an expression that made the music doubly delicious. Stepping out of the
French window,
Coventry
strolled along the sunny terrace, enjoying the song with the relish of
a connoisseur. Others followed, and still he walked and listened, forgetful of
weariness or tune. As one exquisite air ended, he involuntarily applauded. Miss
Muir's face appeared for an instant, then vanished, and no more music followed,
though
Coventry
lingered, hoping to hear the voice again.
For music was the one thing of which he never wearied, and neither Lucia nor
Bella possessed skill enough to charm him. For an hour he loitered on the
terrace or the lawn, basking in the sunshine, too indolent to seek occupation
or society. At length Bella came out, hat in hand, and nearly stumbled over her
brother, who lay on the grass.

 
          
           
"You lazy man, have you been dawdling here all this time?" she said,
looking down at him.

 
          
           
"No, I've been very busy. Come and tell me how you've got on with the
little dragon."

 
          
           
"Can't stop.
She bade me take a run after my
French, so that I might be ready for my drawing, and so I must."

 
          
           
"It's too warm to run. Sit down and amuse your deserted brother, who has
had no society but bees and lizards for an hour."

 
          
           
He drew her down as he spoke, and Bella obeyed; for, in spite of his indolence,
he was one to
whom
all submitted without dreaming of
refusal.

 
          
           
"What have you been doing? Muddling your poor little brains with all
manner of elegant rubbish?"

 
          
           
"No, I've been enjoying myself immensely. Jean is
so
interesting, so kind and clever. She didn't bore me with stupid
grammar, but just talked to me in such pretty French that I got on capitally,
and like it as I never expected to, after Lucia's dull way of teaching
it."

 
          
           
"What did you talk about?"

 
          
           
"Oh, all manner of things.
She asked questions,
and I answered, and she corrected me."

 
          
           
"Questions about our affairs, I suppose?"

 
          
           
"Not one. She
don't
care two sous for us or our
affairs. I thought she might like to know what sort of people we were, so I
told her about Papa's sudden death, Uncle John, and you, and Ned; but in the
midst of it she said, in her quiet way, 'You are getting too confidential, my
dear. It is not best to talk too freely of one's affairs to strangers. Let us
speak of something else.'"

 
          
           
"What were you talking of when she said that,
Bell
?"

 
          
           
"You."

 
          
           
"Ah, then no wonder she was bored."

 
          
           
"She was tired of my chatter, and didn't hear half I said; for she was
busy sketching something for me to copy, and thinking of something more
interesting than the Coventrys."

 
          
           
"How do you know?"

 
          
           
"By the expression of her face.
Did you like her
music, Gerald?"

 
          
           
"Yes. Was she angry when I clapped?"

 
          
           
"She looked surprised, then rather proud, and shut the piano at once,
though I begged her to go on. Isn't Jean a pretty name?"

 
          
           
"Not bad; but why don't you call her Miss Muir?"

 
          
           
"She begged me not. She hates it, and loves to be called Jean, alone. I've
imagined such a nice little romance about her, and someday I shall tell her,
for I'm sure she has had a love trouble."

 
          
           
"Don't get such nonsense into your head, but follow Miss Muir's well-bred
example and don't be curious about other people's affairs. Ask her to sing
tonight; it amuses me."

 
          
           
"She won't come down, I think. We've planned to read and work in my
boudoir, which is to be our study now. Mamma will stay in her room, so you and
Lucia can have the drawing room all to yourselves."

 
          
           
"Thank you. What will Ned do?"

 
          
           
"He will amuse Mamma, he says. Dear old Ned! I wish you'd stir about and
get him his commission. He is so impatient to be doing something and yet so
proud he won't ask again, after you have neglected it so many times and refused
Uncle's help."

 
          
           
"I'll attend to it very soon; don't worry me, child. He will do very well
for a time, quietly here with us."