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Kit and Kitty

not been ten years under a strong stepmother. Why, how[122] many more times is that young man to lounge up and down the road over there? He is very like the one who comes from somewhere near you, and has taken a fancy to Sally Chalker.” “My dear aunt,” I said, “your delightful conversation has driven him out of my head altogether. It must be Mr. Henderson who drove me over, a sporting man, but a landlord, and a very fashionable fellow. He is waiting for me to go back with him, no doubt, and he will not take the liberty of ringing your bell. I must not keep him any more. Good-bye, dear aunt.” “Do you think that I would let you go without a morsel? We shall have luncheon in about five minutes. Ask your friend to join us if he will oblige me. Oh, I do like a shy man, he is getting so scarce!” <hr class="chap" /></div> <h2>CHAPTER XXI. A TULIP BLOOM.</h2> All Leatherheadians used to admit, and could show good reason for doing so, that my great-aunt Parslow was the cleverest woman, as well as the most respectable in the place. But even her abilities were hardly taxed to find in my friend Sam Henderson any large amount of that element of shyness, with which she had endowed him through the window. His merits were rather inclined to dispense with any bridal veil of modesty, and his charms never mantled themselves in moss, as the coy rose attracts by retiring. But I was pleased to find that he behaved much better than any of his best friends could have hoped; for he dropped all slang, and soared into lofty places among much more nobility than I had ever heard of. And I wondered a little at my aunt’s familiarity with all the great names he was so friendly with; for she never said “No,” but nodded intimately, whenever he presumed that she knew the Earl of something, or even the Duke of anything. I could not resist the conclusion that the Parslows had been in the peerage, and lost it; probably through excess of greatness, and consequent peril to the throne itself. When Sam had told scandals enough of great people, to keep all Ludred in a ferment for a month—though I noticed with surprise his delicacy and deference to the fact (if to no[123] other) that he was speaking in the presence of a maiden lady—he played another card, even more effective; he asked, as the very greatest favour he could think of, the honour of an introduction to the noblest circle of dogs now existing in the kingdom. “Perhaps you will regret it, Mr. Henderson,” Aunt Parslow replied, with a smile and a blush, for she had a very pretty colour still, which had varied with some of his narratives. “My dogs are perfect little wizards and witches. They took to my nephew, because he is a Parslow, and perhaps because he is so innocent. But you have seen so much of the world—” “Yet kept myself quite untainted by it.” He spoke with such gravity that I was obliged to turn away. “Next to the society of accomplished ladies, I enjoy that of horses, and of thorough-bred dogs. With a very long interval between, of course. But I scarcely ever meet an accomplished lady. What a lucky mark I must put to this day! Oh, if I could only show you my little Tim! He can stand on his tail, and sing ‘Rule Britannia,’ and beat time with all his four legs in the air. But compared to your dogs he is nothing but a cur! What beauties! Why, Miss Parslow, I will never trust my eyes again.” “Yes, they are very pretty, and as good as any children, or a great deal better, I might say. Jupiter, don’t growl, sir. Cleopatra, take your teeth out of Mr. Henderson’s boot. Vulcan, and Venus, and Mercury—oh dear!” At a signal from Jupiter, the ancient pug, all the pets had made a rush at the bewildered Sam, and a chorus of yells arose as he was obliged, in self-defence, to kick at them. Then they rallied in a body round the corner of the side-board, snarling and showing their little white teeth, with their bristles erect and their eyes full of fire, bravely encouraging one another for a still fiercer charge at the stranger. And he would have had the worst of it, or killed some of the tiny ones, if I had not spied a light whip in the lobby, and given Master Jupiter a crack on his fat sides, which made him bolt with a howl, and all his army followed suit. “Oh, how shall I punish them? Do forgive me. I never knew them do such a thing before. And I thought them such excellent judges of character! How could I imagine that they would ever fly at you! And they have pulled down the cloth, and broken two decanters that belonged to my dear mother. But that is nothing, Mr. Henderson, compared with[124] the shocking fright they have given you. How can I ever thank you for not killing them?” Then Henderson, with the skill of Hannibal, turned his defeat into victory. “What plucky little chaps they are!” he said; “I did all I could to put them in a rage, on purpose to test their breeding. Perhaps you saw me flash this pin at them. If anything drives a small dog wild, it is to catch him in the eyes with a large carbuncle. But I got the worst of it, and serve me right. I only hope I may not have hurt any of the darlings.” “You are magnanimity itself, my dear sir;” Aunt Parslow glanced shyly at his very good trousers, which would never be quite so good again; “the main point is whether you are hurt. Even a very little dog, you know—.” “Miss Parslow, a dog, unless really rabid, is not a quarter so venomous as a cat. If I had been attacked like that by cats, I could not have dared to show a bit of mercy, even if they had been prime favourites of yours.” “Oh, I cannot bear cats. I am so glad you draw that most just distinction. Dogs are so noble and generous, so candid and loving, and chivalrous. They showed that, even when they did their best to bite you. But a cat is so stealthy, and crawling, and crafty, and I might even say bloodthirsty. Next to my dogs, I love my birds, the dear little things that come and sing, even in the—not by any means an elegant expression—of winter. Not a robin could live here, until I had my doggies. But that sounds like the front-door bell! Kit, would you oblige me by just seeing who it is? Jenny and Biddy are engaged, I know. What a very strange thing, if it should be Miss Chalker! Of course, you never heard of our belle Chalker, Mr. Henderson.” “Madam, it appears to me that you are all belles here.” Sam bowed as he spoke, and contrived to convey me a wink as I left the room, which told me that the very strange thing had been brought to pass by post, or possibly by telegram. When I opened the door, I saw a very pretty girl, but no more to be compared with my darling Kitty, than a tulip with a lily of the valley. Although it was close upon winter now, she had a striped parasol, which I detest; and her velvet hat (turned down over one ear, and turned up at the other) had two kingfisher’s wings stuck crosswise, and between them a gorgeous topaz humming-bird. You might look at my Kitty fifty times; and if any one asked you how she was dressed, you[125] would have to say, “I have not the least idea,” if you happened not to be a woman. But this young lady’s attire compelled attention, and perhaps deserved it. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said very nicely, and giving me a smile which made two dimples; “but I thought that Miss Parslow might he disengaged. I thought I would look in, as I was going down the town. But I will not intrude, if she has visitors.” She made some difficulty about coming in, as if she were not bent upon doing so; but I told her, with a look, which she feigned not to understand, that I should never be forgiven if I allowed her to depart. Then the lady of the house came out, and brought her in, and introduced her to both visitors. “Oh, I know Mr. Henderson, a great friend of my father’s; I am so glad that he knows you, Aunt Parslow. I am sure he admires your lovely view.” Now, this was not exactly to my liking. What right had she to call my Aunt Parslow hers? If I ever met any one free from petty jealousy, I believe it is the one I see while shaving. But ever since Sam Henderson came in at my aunt’s door, I, who had been getting on so well till then, seemed to be no better than a nobody. He had made himself the hero of the hour, and played first fiddle, and forced his way into her best graces, by working on her vanity, and social yearnings, and family pride, till I quite expected that he would declare himself to be a Parslow, and entitled to the silver teapot. And now here was this girl, who had made up her mind, as I could see plainly, to be Mrs. Sam ere long, daring to address my wealthy relative as her own Aunt Parslow! “Kit, you don’t look very well,” said the lady of the house, after much chatter had been indulged in; “a little change will do you good perhaps. I suppose you are always up an apple-tree at home. Would you like to come with me through my long garden, and give me your advice about one or two things? The view up the valley is very lovely, and so perfectly rustic. Jenny will have tea ready, when we come back.” To this we all agreed with great pleasure, and my aunt contrived to let Sam and his Sally fall behind, quite out of our sight among the trees and shrubs, while she took my arm, and let me carry her camp-stool. Jupiter alone of the dogs came with us, for she scarcely went even to church without him; and he certainly was a clever and amusing fellow, full of information, and yet always adding to it. He looked at me with[126] great respect, and not a shadow of resentment for the very solid whack I had bestowed upon him. His black muzzle, big forehead, large deep eyes, crow’s feet of experience, and furrows of philosophy, were relieved of their austerity, every now and then, by the gentle waggery of his corkscrew tail. “Now I will show you as lovely a piece of rich English landscape as ever you saw;” the old lady said, as we turned a grassy corner. “I have often thought of having a bower made here; but perhaps that would tend to Cockneyfy it. Let me have the stool, Kit, and you sit on that stump. The view from the house is very beautiful, but this beats it, because it shows another bend, and perhaps the very prettiest bend of all the valley. You ought to be here in May, Kit, when the lilacs and laburnums, and the wild-broom, and the apple-blossom, and the soft green of the trees along the winding river—don’t talk to me of Devonshire after that. I have never been there; but I won’t believe it.” I admired the view, which was very nice indeed, and very prettily varied in its way. At the same time, I could not help thinking that some of the broad reaches of the Thames, and the long spread of meadows with the slanting sun, and the cattle too sleek to care a flip for flies, and the trees, and the islands and the glassy quiet—such as we have round our way—were much more likely to do a man good (which must be the thing they were made for) than all the sharp turns of a pretty little stream which our river receives without knowing it. “You are right, my dear nephew,” replied my dear aunt, when I had expressed opinions not exactly as above; “it is indeed a large and noble sight. But I fear that those two young people behind us will be looking all the time at one another, and perhaps never know that they are in a valley. Mr. Henderson is a very pleasant young man, so far as I can judge, and a clever one, likely to make his own way in the world, with the help of all the very great friends he has. But is he to be thoroughly depended on? Has he the strict principle, and downright honesty, and love of domestic life, without which no marriage can be truly happy? I have a great regard for young Miss Chalker; and though her father belongs to another grade of life, and one with which I have but little sympathy, I believe him to be a very upright man, and his heart is bound up with his only child. She has no mother, you must understand; and I will not lend myself to anything, for which I could not answer to her father and myself.” [127] My aunt fixed her keen grey eyes upon me, and her white hair added to their force and truth. For the first time I felt that I had acted rashly, and by no means rightly in the matter, as she put it. And that she put it sensibly, and honestly, and kindly, was too evident for my self-content. I should not have yielded to Sam’s overtures, or at any rate, I should not have involved her in the case, without being far more sure than I was at present of his good qualities. I answered as truthfully as I could, which is the only right thing to do, however it may end. And I felt that the end might be my disgrace with her. “Aunt Parslow, I know very little of Sam Henderson. That is to say, I have known him from a boy, but never been intimate with him. In our village he is considered rather ‘fast.’ But we are a very steady-going lot; and any one who deals at all with racing matters, is sure to get that reputation with us. I have never heard anything against his honesty; if I had, I should not be with him, until it was disproved. I think that he is really attached to Miss Chalker; but whether he would be a good husband for her, is a great deal more than I can say. You ladies are the best judges of such matters. If you can give him a good word, do. But it must depend entirely on your own judgment. For as I said before, I do not know him at all thoroughly.” “I am not very sanguine about it,” said my aunt, whose eyes had never left mine, while I spoke; “and I shall take good care that, if they meet again here, it shall be with her father’s knowledge. There is one thing to be said, that they both belong to the same class in life, and are likely therefore to understand one another’s ways. The same cannot be said of you, my dear; and your love is a much more romantic affair, and likely, I fear, to run no smooth course. There I will help you all I can, and my advice will be of great service to you. Also if you want a little money, you know where to come for it. And that reminds me that you may want some now. Your Uncle Orchardson is a man, I believe, of great integrity and fine principle; but I know that he objects very strongly to parting with any of the means God has given him. If you are obliged to run away with your Kitty, to save her from an old reprobate,—and it may come to that, though I dislike such things—what does your uncle propose to do for you? He ought to do something handsome.” “And so he will, something very handsome. He has <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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