Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 December 1874 — "SO UNLADYLIKE.” [ARTICLE]

"SO UNLADYLIKE.”

Of course the London season has its pleasures, and it is very nice to see the Continent; but I am always extremely glad when October comes, and we return home to Hetherington Hall; for the Hall i'shome to me, and Sir Edward and Lady Hetherington are father and mother, despite all legal proofs which tuay be adduced to show that I am only their niece. ' I don’t think that there can be a more delightful habitation under the sun than a well-appointed country house; and the Hall is perfect. I always go all round the place the morning after my arrival, however bad the weather may be; and the dogs bark welcome, and only show a sense of their displeasure at the unkindness of deserting them for six months by putting dirty paws on one’s dress; but they roll in the mud to such an extent during their manifestations of delight that it’s quite impossible to pet them as much as they deserve for being so friendly and forgiving. Jack, the old pony I used to ride when a little girl, cornea cantering up to the side of his paddomt when he sees me; and though it may be apples, I think it’s affection. Of course one’s own horses have being doing duty in town, and are not quite strangers; but they turn round and “whinny,” and seem very glad to see their mistress and to have some apples too, if Jack’s artful demonstrations of attachment have not made it impossible to leave him without giving him all that the little basket contained. The men about the place seem really glad to greet you, and the old women who reside in the neighboring cottages shower blessings upon you to an extent that ought to render yo’u comfortable for the remainder of your life, while-the lodge-keeper’s wife, with maternal pride, produces her last new baby for your inspection—there invariably happens to have been a new one about three weeks before our return to Hetherington. Gentlemen seem to like coming down to the Hall; and, indeed, the place is well supplied with those magnets which attract them. There is excellent shooting, two packs of hounds frequently meet in the neighborhood, and Uncle Edward is popular with every one. Perhaps it may be that the Meadshire air is so good and that there is a chalybeate spring within eight miles of us, or perhaps it may be in some slight measure attributed to the presence of a pleasant set of men; but there is always a considerable number of girls who are “ pleased to accept Lady Hetherington’s kind invitation,” and help me to entertain the party.

Uncle Edward was a soldier; indeed, the first definite recollection I have is of seeing him at the head of his regiment in glittering array—he -was a Hussar — and looking as gallant a gentleman as any of the originals of the portraits which hang in the picture-gallery; and that is the highest praise I can give, ior the old Hetheringtons are the things 1 admire most on earth. I sit for hours and gaze at my special favorite, Sir Harry, who was killed at Naseby, and I feel assured that he 'went down to his death and looked on Cromwell’s troopers with the same frank, insouciant smile with which he now looks down on me—just as I know my own Guy would go and fight if need were; and if ever there was a likeness in this world between a person living now and a person who lived in , the year when the battle of Naseby was fought—for I’m afraid I don’t quite remember when it was—that likeness is between GuyWreyand Sir Harry Hetherington. I wonder whether Sir Harry’s heart was whole when he lightly rode off to fight for his King? I don’t think that those bright eyes of his - would have looked in vain for love if girls’ hearts then were like they are now, or that the smile on his handsome face was of the sort to meet refusal. Ah! as I look the tears come to my eyes to think that he, and so many great-hearted gentlemen like him, should have been sent out of this world, which was so pleasant to them, by traitorous, rebellious villains; and Guy says that some people want to put up a statue to Oliver Cromwell at to perpetuate the * memory of dreadful murder and horrid crime! I know what / would say on the subject if I were Queen! But I have lost Uncle Edward. He has doffed his plumes and gold and glit-

ter now; but he cannot get rid of his soldierly bearing, and looks as gallant in his gray shooting jacket as he used to do in uniform. He has a great gray mustache, and just the smallest sliave of whisker on his cheek. Of course he is a little different from the old Hetlieringtons, who wore large wigs and were closely shaven, but it is the old face,; and though his eyes seem as if they could look through the wall, they are as kind and gentle and tender as a" child’s, and are, indeed, the reflex of his heart. If I had been intrusted with the duty ot issuing invitations, I could not, on the whole, have made a better selection than Aunt Hetherington’s; but I wasn’t satisfied a bit, for there was one wanting — the scrap of leaven which would have leavened the whole party. You see, I couldn’t very well say, “ Please ask Guy Wrey to come down, because I shan’t be happy unless he does,” for it would have seemed so excessively bold; and, besides, Guy hadn’t saia anything, or done anything—except be most provoking. Let me briefly introduce him. He was an artist—if he was anything—by profession; but he had written the most, beautiful book, and 1 liked it so greatly" that I wanted to see him very much; and when I met him, and he was introduced to me, I extended my liking to the author. Now if a man is always leaning over the rails in the Row at the hour when a girl takes her morning canter; if, when gazing from the altitude of her box at the opera, she invariably sees his light brown head in a stall below; if, at picture-gal-leries, flower shows, morning concerts, etc., she is as certain to meet him as she is in the evening at different houses —he means something, and meaning something ought to say it. Of course, if Mr. Wrey chose to — Dear old Guy, I’m forgetting myself, and continuing the old strain of thought which, as I may now admit, so frequently oppressed me. • Well, the guests invited to Hetherington had, with few exceptions, appeared. There were a few Celebrities, and a general background of well-dressed young men, with what I heard Capt. Aymer describe as “ a very fair show of young women;” but he was not there. Luckily, I had so much to do in acting as Aunt Hetherington’s aide-de-camp, and going round to neighboring friends, that I managed to avoid thinking very much about unpleasant things. Certainly croquet is not an exercise calculated to induce oblivion. Some people like it, 1 suppose, but personally I hold it in abhorrence; and therefore when, going to spend an afternoon at Oakleigh House, I was.induced to take a mallet, I prepared myself for suffering, feeling sure that the game played, with a number of comparative strangers, would not be sufficiently exciting to make one forget disagreeable subjects. “Will you. join this set, dear Miss Hetherington?” gushed Lucy Faulkner. “ Is’nt it delightful to have such charming weather? I feared my poor croquet things were all put by for months.” I did not catch the name of the partner to whom she introduced me, and bowed, really without looking into his face; but directly I caught sight of his boots I knew it was Guy , for I should know the least bit of him anywhere. You may guess how quickly I looked up into his face then! “Ka—Miss Hetherington!” “Gu—Mr. Wrey!” I said, only just checking myself in time, for he was Guy always when I thought of him, though of course I never called him so. I did not tell him how surprised I was to see him, because I could not, for he had said something about going abroad when last I had seen him in town; and I did not like to confess, even to myself, how pleased I was, or by how many degrees my satisfaction was increased when he presently said that he had seen Sir Edward, who had asked him to stay at the Hall, and that he was coming next week. The whole aspect of the lawn changed at once, and I was obliged to confess that I had been very unjust to croquet, which was an exceedingly interesting game. But I was not quite contented, or pleased either. Guy was everything that is polite and kind, but I did not think he was acting qufte fairly with me; for although he had never said or hinted anything about liking me, I felt quite certain that he did. More than once in town I hdd caught his eyes fixed on me witlttsofin a sad expression that I had happy for twenty-four hours afterward; and on this afternoon he had more than half said “ Kate” when he saw me. No! I was not satisfied about it a bit,-Tor if I had not thought that lie liked me first I should never have dreamed of liking him. However, 1 consoled myself as we drove home with the reflection that he would perhaps be more agreeable at the Hall. Tuesday came, and he came too, and soon settled down comfortably, finding several men he knew. He was, as usual, most kind; and on learning my admiration for Sir Harry’s picture promised to make me a little copy of- it, and passed nearly all his time in the gallery, hardly ever shooting or riding with the riding parties.

I strolled out one day across the lawn, and on to the long grass terrace which runs at the bottom of the grounds. At one end of it there is an old summerhouse, the sides of which are made, according to tradition, of an old oaken bedstead in which Queen Elizabeth slept one night at Hetherington. This was a very favorite resort of mine, and I went in to be alone and think of Guy and his unkindness and indifference. not at all nice to speak about such things; but after the chances I had refused-last season of brilliant establishments, all for Guy, it was hard that' he didn’t seem to care, in spite of all the little things which had made me think that he did care. I don’t like saying it a bit; but when a girl actually has a coronet laid at her feet—and a handsome, good-tempered wearer there too—it’s a pity she should refuse them because she is stupid j enough to think that some one else likes I her. s I was just beginning to wonder whether I any of the by-gone Hetherington women I had felt such a dis agreeable twitching at * the comers of their mouth without abso

lutely crying, when I heard voices near my summer-house. I did not rise, thinking they would pass by; but instead of that the speakers seated themselves on a low, dwarf, ivy-colored wall which bounded the terrace. One of them was Guy; and I was glad to notice that he spoke in a very melancholy tone, and seemed unhappy. “ I wish I could persuade you to stay, old fellow,” said Capt. Aymer, who was his companion. “ Going now is like leaving the theater at the end of the opening farce, or bolting away from tire grand stand after the preliminary canter. There’s the ball at the Crawfords’ on Wednesday, shooting at the Earl’s on Friday, and next week Hetherington gives a dance; the hounds meet here, and there’s the county ball, and all sorts of things.” “I must go!” said Guy, firmly. “Cupid’s dart has—you don’t like chaff ? Ah, that’s one of the symptoms of the complaint. I can’t think why you go moping about like a jolly old lunatic. You haven’t said anything to her, have you?” “ Not a word; and have tried hard not to let her guess anything,” Guy answered. “You don’t expect her to propose to you, do you?” Capt. Aymer asked. I felt sure they must be talking of me. “ Why don’t you speak?”- “ Because I’m a poor beggar with barely £3OO a year, and she’s a girl with something over £2,000. She, her people, every one, would think 1 wanted her money. No! I’d rather lose her altogether than have her think me a mercenary brute. She may marry Lord Charteris if she likes; though,” he said, with a sob in his voice, which brought the tears to my eyes, “ I don’t think he’ll love her as I do.” I wiped away two tears, and got rid somehow of a great, big, sympathetic sob which threatened to betray my hid-ing-place. I ought, of course, not to have remained without letting them know: only I did, and rising quietly I looked through the diamond-shaped wood-work covered with ivy in the direction from which the voices came. Guy —dear, handsome Guy! —was sitting on the low wall, resting his arms on his knees, looking at the ground. Capt. Aymer had chosen a seat where he could lean back, and was slowly -blowing the smoke from his cigar into the air. “I am not a poet, old fellow,” continued the Captain. “ With the exception of a version of ‘How doth the little busy bee’—which I have reason to believe is incorrect —and the chorus to one or two convivial songs, I only know four lines of poetry. I came across them in a book I saw at a man’s rooms once, and they struck me as being so true that I bought a copy of the book and learned them. They are to the effect that —“-“-“Heetftrer-fearsbis fate too MUCK Or his deserts are small. That dares not put it to the touch, , To gain or lose it all.' “ Now, old fellow, it’s absurd to suppose that your deserts are small; so the only thing left to suppose is that you fear your fate too much. So, to paraphrase the poet, “ ‘ Why not put it to the touch? Go in and win it all. 1 ” • Guy didn’t say anything, only shook his silly head. As if I cared for money!I loved Guy—l may say so now—and hated my money if it was to be a barrier between us: at least if he was so loaded with a weight of silly, stupid, mistaken pride that he could not leap the barrier. “ Seriously, Guy,” Capt. Aymer went on, “ take my adv ice and speak. Heth erington is a gentleman, and won’t suspect you of unworthy motives, and I’m quite sure that the girl won’t. As for money, you have your profession to help you.” “No, Aymer. It was foolish of me to come to the neighborhood at all, and doubly, trebly foolish to come here. I dare not speak, and all I can do to repair the error of my coming is to go at once and leave her, bless "her darling little face!” he said, very slowly and softly; and then he rose to his feet. “I shall forget it all some day. I shall forget it, I tell you!”he cried; and there was such passionate energy in his voice that his companion looked at him with "surprise. “There, Aymer, give .me a cigar; why shouldn’t a man smoke?” Capt. Aymer produced a cigar-case, and Guy lit a cigar; and linking his arm in, his friend’s they strolled off across the lawn.

Guy loved mri, as I had felt quite cer- J tain that he did; but the pleasure which j hearing this gave me vanished when I j thought of his resolution of silence. It i was worse than not being loved at all. j But what could I do—except be very! miserable? I searched in /vain for a ! little crumb of comfort, but it was not to j be found in the sufrimer-house; so I re- ! turned to the hall, determined to go and look at Sir Harry, my usual comforter, and see if I could not draw some consolation out of him. I entered the long gallery, and was rather surprised to see Guy there standing at his easel before the picture. He turned on hearing my footstep and taking the picture at which he was working from its resting-place leaned it against the wall, showing me Sir Harry nearly finished. I was -just on the point of forgetting myself and saying: “I hope you are not really going!” or something of that sort, only I remembered just in time that to do so would have been to betray that I had overheard the conversation; so I duly admired the copy, whieh was really worthy of admiration. “ May I see that picture, please, Mr. Wrey?” I asked presently, pointing to the one he had put down, for he had removed it hastily, as if he did not wish riae to see it, so I naturally* wanted to very much. t “It’s nothing; it’s a sketch only so You see, Miss Hetherington, I have not given you a full length of Sir Ha&y, as it would have made the picture larger j than I thought you would care about.” “Yes, I see, thank you; it is a very nice size now. Is that a copy from any-, thing here?” I inquired; for I was determined to see it and Guy appeared determined that I should not. “ No; an unfinished sketch—a simple

study. I have omitted the background, you will notice, as I supposed it was only the face you wanted, Miss Hetherington,” Guy continued. “ It’s beautiful! I can’t tell you how pleased lam with it. But please do let me see that, Mr. Wrey.” There was no escape for him; so very unwillingly, he placed it on the easel. I recognized the subject at once. It represented a scene from Tennyson’s Maud, she and her lover meeting, when “The sunset burn’d On the bjossom’d gable ends At the head of the village street” (I wonder how many times I’ve read it sinee?); and the reason that Guy had been so reluctant to let me see it was because the two figures were exact portraitures of himself and me. I don’t think that he was very comfortable as I stood gazing at it for a long time. “ What is it called?” I asked at length. Of course Guy knew that I must have recognized the likenesses, and perhaps he took courage from my not being displeased ; at any rate his resolution of not ietting me guess anything vanished as he quoted the lines which his picture illustrated. There was a look in his eyes which made my heart beat quickly as he said, very softly: “‘ If Maud were all that she seem'd, And her smiles were all that I dream'd, Then the world were not so bitter kata smile could make it sweet.' ” He turned' 'big. -face from me as he spoke, but not before I had seen an expression of suffering upon it which I could not bear should remain. As a well-brought-up young lady, it was without doubt my duty to say, “ It’s sweetly pretty, I’m sure!” or, “ I can’t think how you do it!” or else to make a remark about the weather and go on my way; but I did neither because I loved Guy and he loved me, and I did not want us both to be unhappy and miserable. So I put my hand on his arm and when he turned to me looked him straight in the eyes and said, “ Isn’t there something in the poem a little farther on about ‘a man’s own stupid pride?”’ The smile on Sir Harry’s face seemed to heighten as he looked .down on me in Guy’s arms and seemed to encourage me to tell Guy what he wanted so much to know. My cousin Tom, who is at .school at Harchester, says that if any boy has been doing wrong and no one else can find out who it is, they tell the mathematical master, who is so wonderfully clever that he simply puts down on a scrap of paper, “ Let x= —,” works out a little sum in algebra (I think it is), and in two minutes the culprit “ comes out in the answer.” Uncle Edward seems to find things out in an equally extraordinary manner without having recourse l 'x?' which I always supposed had something to do with beer. I thought I had better tell him everything at once, so I went to his study as soon as luncheon was over. » “What is it, my little girl?” he inquired. I rarely entered his special fortress, so he knew that I had something to saj'. “I want to be married, please, Uncle Edward,” I answered, looking down very modestly, but still glimpsing at his face. It went very grave. “ Have you heard from Lord Charteris?” he asked. “ No, Uncle Edward, it is not he. It’s Guy— Guy Wrey!” and then I told him all about it quite from the beginning. I’m 3ure I’m not in the habit of crying, but I had commenced during the morning with Guy in the picture gallery and finished up now on Uncle Edward’s shoulder. He took it beautifully, and said a lot of kind things about not standing in the way of my happiness if I was quite sure about being fond of Guy; and it seemed that he had been an old friend of Guy’s father, which impressed him favorably about the son. So I left the study as*liappy as it was possible to be. It is all settled now, and in a very short space of time Kate Hetherington will no longer exist. Guy is very jubilant just at present, for a picture of his has been a great success, and he has sold it for £6OO, and is busy calculatingliow much he can make a year by an impossible amount of industry, which I certainly shall not allow him 'to undergo. My prospect of happiness is very bright, though it is certainly most deplorable and unfortunate that it should have been brought about by conduct which of course all right-minded people can only term “So Unladylike!”