Matchmaking. ready, and then it was so late that The day passed much in the After tea Miss Ashley was summoned to her mother's room. 'Sit down, Caroline,' said Mrs. Ashley, as her daughter stood impatiently before her. 'I really can't stay, mamma. Mrs. Harewood wishes some of the flowers to be altered in the ballroom, and Mary asked me to help her.' They must manage without you, my dear, for a little.' The tone was so serious that 'You are twenty-six, my dear.' 'Hush, Caroline. I wish to speak 'I beg your pardon, mamma, if you mean Sir Stephen Dashwood. It's the greatest nonsense I ever heard. He does not care for me in the least.' 'He does. But he cannot show it while your manner to him is so cold.' 'He's desperately in love with Miss Barlow, so that settles the question.' 'Impossible! that sort of thing never happened out of a novel!' 'I believe many poor governesses do delude themselves with wild ideas of romantic heroes, but Miss Barlow is very different. going into the world bravely, withShe is out any nonsense in her head, and I think she will be rewarded at once by meeting a sensible man who can see and appreciate the beauty of her character.' Mrs. Ashley was not in the least touched by this outburst. 'I don't believe it, she said. 'Sir Stephen is far too much a man of the world to do anything so foolish.' 'I don't think it foolish. But I really cannot stay any longer. I am sick of Sir Stephen's name.' And Caroline made good her retreat at last. Mrs. Ashley, in wild despair, hurried to Mrs. Harewood's boudoir. 'Oh, my dear Mrs. Harewood, such dreadful news! Caroline tells me Sir Stephen is in love with Miss Barlow.' 'What nonsense!' Mrs. Harewood calmly answered, adding, rather sharply, 'How came she to say anything on such a subject?' Why her manner to him is so cold, I thought it better to speak to her before to-night, and then she said that.' 'The idea is absurd. He has far too much sense even to have thought of anything so ridiculous.' Mrs. Harewood spoke severely, and looked so haughty and unsympathetic that Mrs. Ashley left the ashamed, and not in the least conroom in despair, feeling rather vinced. and one or two favoured young Down stairs Mary, Caroline, Aimée, deed, working hard themselves, in ladies were superintending, and, inthe rearrangement of the flowers lovely the room looked when it Mrs. Harewood had desired. Very prompted by some kindly impulse, was all done, and then Caroline, turned to Aimée and asked, 'What are you going to wear to-night?' My clean white muslin. I have 'And, please-you are so kind- 'Certainly. I'll manage that, and bring them to your room and put them in for you, if you like.' Aimée's thanks were fervent. She did not speak to Sir Stephen either before or during dinner; but the moment she entered the ballroom he came up to her. She really looked very beautiful. The simple white dress suited her quiet style of beauty, and her hair did credit to Miss Ashley, who had felt a little sad, and very much amused, as she wreathed those white roses for her unsuspecting rival. Aimée had seated herself on a sofa by her side now, and Mrs. Ashley, who was close to her daughter, saw with horror that Sir Stephen drew a chair behind the sofa, and half turning his back on Caroline, began to talk to Aimée, and in such a low voice that she could not hear what he said, which was a great aggravation. The first thing he did was to give Aimée a card, saying, 'I am so glad Mary insisted on having cards, to be quite like a "real ball.” Now, may I put my name down?' He held out his hand and took it as he spoke, and when he restored it Aimée was surprised to see how often he had written his name. I 'You do not think it too many, hope?' he asked, as he saw her expression. I did not know if it was right. This is my first ball, you know. Is it right?' she asked, suddenly, looking him full in the face. Quite,' he answered, adding to himself, I will make it so.' 'How little we have seen of each other the last few days!' he continued, after looking round and seeing Miss Ashley was talking to some one. 'I am afraid I have not been of much use to you.' 'I think it is very stupid of gentlemen to shoot all day,' Aimée answered, candidly. 'Not always. But I did think it a horrid bore to-day and yesterday,' he said, in a marked tone that Aimée was too ignorant to appreciate. 'To-morrow, I believe, the ladies are coming out to lunch with us, so that will be a degree better. And, alas! it is my last day, for I find Í must go home on Friday.' This was quite true, but he mentioned it now to see how Aimée would take it. Tears dimmed her eyes for a moment, but she said bravely, ‘I am so sorry: I shall miss you so much.' 'Don't let's think of it now. Tonight, happily, I need not play at whist, so I mean to enjoy myself. Will you come? They are going to begin the first dance.' That night was strange bliss to Aimée. She danced beautifully; and Sir Stephen, who had done the same in his early youth, found he had not forgotten the art. Dance followed dance. Sir Stephen cast all scruples to the wind, and Aimée, childishly trustful in him, made no remonstrance. Of course they were remarked. Mrs. Ashley, before much time had passed, came eagerly to Mrs. Harewood. 'It is just as I told you! He has danced three times with her already!' Who is "he"?' asked Mrs. Harewood, rather provokingly. 'Sir Stephen Dashwood, of course.' "Oh! And "she"?" Why, of course, Miss Barlow.' "Three times already! that is rather strong.' And with a laugh she turned to some one else. However, she kept her eye on them, and was relieved to see Sir Stephen dancing with Miss Ashley. That did not last long, and she saw him dancing again and again with Aimée. Then at last they went to supper together, and Mrs. Harewood thought it was quite time to put a stop to it. As soon as Aimée returned to her neighbourhood, she went to her, and said, 'Aimée, my dear, you must not dance any more with Sir Stephen Dashwood. You need not blush so much; I dare say you did not know it was wrong to make yourself so conspicuous.' 'But,' faltered Aimée, 'I am engaged to him for several more dances.' 'You must make some excuse. You cannot dance with him any more. Don't look so wretched, poor child; of course you knew no better, and I shall speak to him tomorrow.' This promise did not console Aimée in the least, and she stood, naturally wishing that the floor would open and swallow her and her confusion. She could not fly to take refuge in her room, for in the doorway she saw Sir Stephen, and she dare not pass him. So she stayed where she was, trying hard not to cry, and shrinking as much as she could behind a stand of flowers. She heard a glorious valse begin, and her heart beat fast as she wondered whether he would find her, and what he would say. Mrs. Harewood must be right, but how could Sir Stephen be wrong? While pondering over this dilemma, she heard his well-known voice. 'I have found you at last! Our valse is half over. Why, what's the matter?' For a moment Aimée could not speak: then she gasped out, Mrs. Harewood said I was not to dance with you any more. She said it was wrong. I am very sorry.' 'Aimée, my darling! Wrong! I was wrong to expose you to this! I ought to have spoken sooner. Don't you know how I love you? Don't you know that my one wish is that you should be my wife?' At this moment Sir Stephen was nearly knocked down by a couple of very energetic dancers; and while he was receiving abject apologies, Mrs. Harewood, who had seen him find Aimée, came up, and in a sweet but decided voice begged he would dance with a certain hideous young lady of high rank, who had been much neglected during the evening. Sir Stephen could but comply, and Aimée, seizing her opportunity, made her way down the room, seeing no one, hearing no one, and then flying, as if for her life, up the staircase and through the passages to her room, when she locked the door and threw herself on the sofa, crying bitterly. What could it mean? Did Sir Stephen mean that he wished to marry her? She wiped away her tears, and tried to think seriously. She liked him very much, certainly very much, but he was so old, and she had never thought of the possibility of such a thing; indeed, poor child, she had never thought of marrying any one, save in a vague childish way, and the last year or two she had resolutely looked forward to a long life of governessing. It might be possible he meant nothing after all, she thought at last. She would write and tell her mother. And soothed by this thought she fell asleep. She was roused by the great noise made by the rest of the world in coming up-stairs, and wisely went to bed without tormenting herself by more thought over her difficulties. The next morning the sun was shining brightly when she woke, and Mary Harewood stood by her side in the freshest of morning dresses. Aimée sprang up in alarm, asking what time it was. 'Eleven. I was down in time this morning. I can always get up after a dance.' 'What shall I do?' Aimée asked, in terror, for at home it was a crime of the first magnitude to be late for breakfast. 'Do? why get up. Lots of people are not down yet. Only make haste if you want to lunch with the gentlemen. They are gone ages ago, and we are to start at half-past twelve.' V. Mrs. Harewood had kept her word as to speaking to Sir Stephen. As she was going up-stairs that night she met him, and said, 'I want to speak to you. I know you keep early hours, so can you come to my boudoir before breakfast?' 'Certainly. I should like to speak to you at once, but I suppose it would be too much to ask?' 'I am afraid I must ask you to wait a few hours. I am only sorry the time is so short,' Mrs. Harewood said, laughing. I really cannot keep awake any longer, so au revoir,' and she passed on. Sir Stephen went to his room rather unhappy. He was not as conceited as most men, who think they have only to ask and have, and he really feared very much that unworldly little Aimée might refuse him. So next morning found him in the boudoir, very doubtful and miserable, and angry with himself Matchmaking. or the position he found himself in. Mrs. Harewood did not keep him waiting long, and rushed into her subject at once, saying, in the way she was so fond of, half-jest, halfearnest, 'I am very angry with you for the disgraceful way you flirted with Miss Barlow last night.' 'And I am very angry with you for speaking to her on the subject,' Sir Stephen answered, in the same tone. 'What! She told you! However, Really, Sir it is all the same. Stephen, it was very wrong of you. I do not much mind people flirting with girls who know what it's worth, but it is not fair on poor little Aimée, and I must beg you will behave differently to her in future.' 'I hope to do so,' he answered, with a smile, and then a sigh. Mrs. Harewood looked perplexed. 'I don't know what you mean. There is no need for you to speak to her at all. Indeed if you were not going away to-morrow, I think I should send her to the nursery with the children.' 'I hope to stay a little longer, if you will all let me.' 'I shall be most happy, only you must promise not to flirt with Aimée. 'I promise that solemnly. Dear Mrs. Harewood sprang from her 'Yes.' 'But you don't know her!' It does not take long to know some people. The look in her eyes is almost enough. And to see that little darling meaning to go out into the world so bravely!' He stopped abruptly, and then went on, I will spare you a rhapsody. My mind is quite made up. If she refuses me, which I honestly think very likely, I shall of course go away to-morrow, and the subject need never be mentioned again; unless there is then. 'No, stop, please. It would be charming for Aimée, but have you thought enough about yourself. Lady Dashwood 'Is only too anxious to see me married to any one, and there is no one I need consider but her. I know I am too old for Aimée, but if she will have me, I shall try to prevent her ever finding it out.' 'It is ridiculous! She is only seventeen.' 'We could wait for a year or two, if she will have me, as I said before.' 'She would be mad to refuse you! Why they have hardly anything to live on!' 'Pardon me, Mrs. Harewood,' Stephen, with a answered Sir slightly scornful accent, 'you look at the subject from a worldly point of view; I am sure Miss Barlow would allow nothing of that sort to weigh with her.' Mrs. Harewood only looked incredulous. 'I beg you will not mention the subject to her, or any one, till I have her answer.' She is a dear Certainly not. little thing, only you must pardon me for not thinking her quite good enough for you.' And so they went to breakfast very good friends. Sir Stephen of course looked in vain for Aimée that morning, and if she could have had her own way he would not have seen her at luncheon. She felt so shy that she begged to be left at home, but Mrs. Harewood told her to go so peremptorily that she dared not refuse. She spent the long drive in perplexed thought, and naturally plexed enough could come to no conclusion, only she was inclined to think somehow it must be nonsense. She could not help blushing as Sir Stephen came forward to help her out of the waggonette, and out so quickly to avoid him, sprung Matchmaking. that she nearly fell. Her one idea now was to keep out of his way, and by joining Miss Ashley in the walk through the woods quite succeeded for the moment. At luncheon he almost managed Afterwards the ladies were to walk at once. Sir Stephen, in alarm, walked across to Aimée. You are coming with us?' Thank you. rather go home.' I think I would Please come.' 'Thank you very much, but in- 'Pray go, if you prefer it,' he answered, very gravely; 'let me take your cloak.' And with a stern, set face, he followed her to the carriage in silence. Aimée felt very miserable, and could hardly answer the old ladies' well-meaning attempts at conversation. Arrived at Birchleigh she went to her room and spent her time in tears, and trying to finish her letter to her mother. Sir Stephen was very surly all the afternoon, shot atrociously, and felt savage at being waylaid by Mrs. Harewood, as he passed her boudoir. 'I want to speak to you.' 'There is nothing to speak about,' he answered, shortly, and, it must be confessed, rudely. 'Do you mean she has refused you?' 'As good as; she would not let me speak to her.' Mrs. Harewood laughed. foolish you men are! I saw her 'How avoiding you. If she had wished to refuse you she would have made an opportunity and got it over. It's quite true, I believe, that men cannot understand the shyness of true love. If a girl is really and proanything rather than show it.' perly in love I think she would do But I spoke to her last night.' 'She may think it too good to be true! Now if you will be rational and wait here, I will send for her, and I know it will be all right.' Sir Stephen hesitated. You will not prepare her.' No, you tiresome man! I shall only say I want her to come here.' Very well. But if she refuses me I shall be very angry with you, for I am quite resigned to my fate.' 'So it seems,' Mrs. Harewood answered, satirically. down and be patient for a few 'Now sit minutes, and I will send for her.' No Aimée was distressed at the prospect of having to face Mrs. Harewood so soon, but she could not refuse, and with a beating heart she knocked at the boudoir door. one answered, and she went in. The room was almost dark after the brilliantly-lighted hall. The one lamp was shaded, and only cast a pink radiance over Mrs. Harewood's writing-table, while the firelight failed to reach the face of a man sitting at the other side of the room. She thought it was Mr. Harewood, and walked to the fire, expecting him to speak to her, but started back as Sir Stephen Dashwood got up, only saying, 'Aimée,' in rather a husky voice. Her impulse was to run away, but she found she could not move. They stood silent together for a moment, then he began in a low voice 'Your manner to me to-day has made me very unhappy. Perhaps you did not understand me last night?' He paused, but she did not speak, and he added, very quietly, 'Will you be my wife?' Still no answer. 'Aimée, speak to me. If you do Aimée, what does this mean?' |