Chapter VI

“Somewhat vain she was,
Or seemed so; yet it was not vanity,
But fondness, and a kind of radiant joy,
Diffused around her.”

_The Prelude._

Leicester told his sisters of Violet’s request, as they sat at breakfast the next morning, and his heart sank at the excitement it produced. It was just such a scene as he dreaded her eyes should see.

“I shall never leave the house till she calls,” said Henrietta; “I would not miss her for the whole world.”

“No more shall I,” said Jessie, who always repeated Henrietta’s words with some addition of her own; “I shall stand at the window till she comes, that I may be sure to be in the way.”

“It is very good-natured of Miss Osborne,” observed Margaret; “for if she feels like me, to walk into a house where five women are watching for her, must be far from a pleasant prospect.”

“Yes,” said Jessie. “And _I_ think she must have some reason for it. _I_ think she must be in love with John.”

Never before had Leicester had so great a struggle in repressing sharp words to his sisters; but he did repress them, and only said with a smile,

“We all know where Jessie’s thoughts fly to.”

“I am sure Henrietta thinks the same. Don’t you, Henrietta? I know I shall watch her face when I talk about John, and see whether she blushes or not.”

Leicester remained silent. He felt too angry to trust himself to speak; but Margaret answered for him--

“Then I shall turn you out of the room, Jessie, for your bad manners. I am quite ashamed of you.”

“Why,” said Jessie complainingly, “why is Miss Osborne such a very sacred person that I may not look at her if I like.”

“You may look as much as you please, Jessie,” Leicester now said; “I am sure I may trust all my sisters to receive a visitor in a proper way.”

“Of course,” said Jessie, “I never meant to do anything I ought not.”

“At what hour may we expect Miss Osborne?” Marian now asked drily.

“My dear Marian,” Leicester said smiling, after another struggle not to be impatient, “you all speak as if I had announced a visit from the Queen. Miss Osborne merely asked if she might call some day, perhaps to-day, perhaps not till next week. She said nothing about when the visit was to be.”

“I hope it will not be till next week,” said Margaret, “because Jessie will be tired of her seat at the window by that time.”

“I only asked,” said Marian apologetically, “because I should like to have things in order.”

“Your own order will do well enough,” said Leicester rising. “I should not have mentioned the visit, but that I thought it would be more agreeable to you and to Miss Osborne to know that she was expected. I do not dine at home, Henrietta. At what hour shall you want me?--or have you found a better chaperon?”

“A quarter before eleven, if you please. No; Mrs. Grant cannot go to-night.”

“Eleven is quite time enough,” said Margaret laughing; “don’t hurry for Henrietta, John; remember the last time.”

“I remember,” he said smiling also; and nodding kindly, he left the room.

“I think John was very near being very angry with you, Jessie,” observed Henrietta. “I saw him pinch his lips together when you said that about Miss Osborne blushing.”

“And if John had done what he ought,” said Margaret, “he would have ordered Jessie to go out of the room. I felt quite ashamed that my sister could make so ill-bred a speech.”

“But why?” said Jessie. “I don’t see why. I often say those sort of things.”

“Then it shows a great want of tact. I am sure I wish John _would_ be angry sometimes. I think we are enough to provoke a saint; and that John is not provoked, shows that he is greater than any saint that ever was.”

“But all I want to know,” persisted Jessie, “is this. Why may we not talk about Miss Osborne as well as Miss Howard or Lucy Grant? You never scold me when I say I watch Lucy Grant. I am sure you think something particular about Miss Osborne. Do you think John is in love? Do you, Rachel? I wish you would tell me.”

“I don’t know,” replied Rachel slowly; “I only feel, as I did from the first, that I would not for the world say anything about her that it would not please him to hear.”

“Oh! he is in love, I know he is in love!” said Jessie sentimentally. “Well, I will try not to look, but I know I shall. I never shall be able to help it.”

“Then you shall go out of the room,” said Margaret, decidedly. “You had better take care how you behave.”

“I am older than Margaret,” said Jessie, presently, to Henrietta alone; “I can’t think why she is to scold me as she does.”

“Because you let her,” was Henrietta’s answer.

“Don’t you think you shall watch Miss Osborne?” was Jessie’s next question.

“Yes; I am sure I shall.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

“Because I am not quite so great a goose as you are;” and so the conversation dropped.

Violet did not call that day, nor the next, but Henrietta and Jessie were as good as their words. Henrietta remained at home, and Jessie rarely left the window. Margaret, although she laughed at them, was as determined to see Violet as they were; and Marian considered the visit to be to herself, and therefore watched like the rest. The only one who had resolved to be absent was Rachel, and her resolution was overset by a word from her brother. On the evening of the second day, when he came home to dinner, Rachel chanced to be for a moment alone in the drawing-room.

“Has Miss Osborne called?” he inquired; and on receiving Rachel’s negative, involuntarily added, “I hope you will be at home, Rachel.”

And Rachel felt herself bound to be present, and to keep watch with her sisters. It so happened, therefore, that when Mrs. and Miss Osborne called, the five Miss Leicesters received the visit.

Mrs. Osborne had not been thought of, and when she appeared, Marian was satisfied to devote herself to her. Though tiresome, Marian was quiet and inoffensive, and Mrs. Osborne, whose deafness prevented her from enjoying lively conversation, was well pleased to be questioned regarding the shops she frequented, the rent of houses in London, the most healthful and most expensive situations, and such other matters which were subjects of interest to Marian’s mind.

Violet seated herself near Henrietta and Jessie. Her quick eye singled out Rachel at once, as the one like her brother, and the one she should like to know; but Rachel was too like Leicester not to have so placed herself as to be unapproachable.

“Your brother gave me leave to call. I hope you do not mind?” Violet said at once, with her frank cordiality of manner.

“We thank you very much for your visit,” Henrietta replied. “We think it particularly kind,” she added, laughing, “because, as my sister Margaret said, it is a formidable thing to invade the home of five grown up women.”

“Which is Margaret?” inquired Violet; and when Margaret smiled and blushed, continued, “I think you know my cousin, Albert Ellis?”

“I have danced with him two or three times,” she answered; “but we very seldom meet.”

“You go out a great deal, Miss Osborne?” said Henrietta, half inquiringly, half making a statement.

“Do I?” replied Violet, quickly. “Does your brother say so? Does he think me very dissipated?”

“John would never make such uncivil remarks!” exclaimed both Margaret and Rachel in a breath.

“I suppose it was my conscience that made me afraid,” said Violet, laughing. “I know I am rather dissipated, but I cannot bear to be thought so. And after all, mine is not real dissipation; for though I am obliged to go to a great many balls and parties, I never stay after one o’clock.”

“Oh! Miss Osborne,” said Jessie, “but then, what is the use of going? You have only the crowd, and you cannot dance a bit.”

“I do not much care about dancing now. I did for two years, but now I have got tired of it. We go out more because we must now, than because we like it.”

“Do you not care for nice partners?” asked Jessie, in her mawkish way.

Violet drew herself up with stateliness, and Rachel blushed, and longed to divert the conversation. Jessie had no tact, and her sisters knew it.

“I suppose we had all rather dance with a nice person than a nasty one,” Violet replied at last; and then, to put an end to what she considered girl’s conversation, she moved her chair suddenly towards the table, near which Rachel sat, and took up a drawing that lay upon it.

“This is very pretty--is it your doing?” and she looked across at Rachel, determined to be answered.

“Yes. We have been asked to work for a bazaar, and as I cannot work well, I have done a few drawings.”

“Oh! how good of you, and how you make me ashamed! I am so often asked, and I always think it a bore. I like to give, but I cannot slave. Do tell me about your bazaar--and may I see your things?”

Rachel explained that it was a bazaar for the Consumptive Hospital, which was to take place the following week. She opened the table-drawer, near which she sat; then hastily closing it, was about to open another, when Violet sprang forward.

“Pray let me see--are not those your brother’s doing?”

Rachel looked annoyed, but reopened the drawer. Violet examined a multitude of little paper birds and beasts, and then said:

“One or two I have seen before. How clever they are! Are these for your bazaar?”

“Oh, no!” Rachel replied, shaking her head, “John does not know we have got these. He makes them when he is anxious or nervous, or has anything to think of, and we pick them up; but he does not like us to show them.”

“How strange!” Violet said, looking at her with curiosity.

“They say all human beings have peculiarities,” Rachel replied; “this is his.”

“You must let me send you some things for your bazaar,” Violet said, changing the subject. “And now, shall you think me very impertinent if I do not wait to be better acquainted before I ask if either of you would like to drive with us? It would give me so much pleasure.”

She looked at Rachel, but Rachel looked away. The others thanked her with all their hearts, and eagerly accepted her offer.

Violet walked across the room, and kissed her mother’s brow, observing,

“I have asked one of the Miss Leicesters to drive with us, mamma. If you do not mind, I think we have plenty of room for two.”

“Do just as you please, dear,” said Mrs. Osborne, cordially; “I shall be very happy to have them.”

Henrietta and Jessie were the two who usually accepted invitations, and they therefore left the room to put their bonnets on. Violet would have preferred the two others, but she was comparatively indifferent, since all were Leicester’s sisters. She was very happy at having so easily accomplished one of her kind purposes.

“The next time we call, you two must come,” she said, with frank and earnest warmth. “My cousin Albert told me the other day that you had not always a carriage, and I am sure, with this bazaar coming on, you must have things to do. I will call and see on Saturday, if mamma does not mind, and I am sure she will not.”

“Mr. Ellis asked me if we had a carriage,” said Margaret, laughing; “he says he cannot understand how women manage without one. He made very particular inquiries.”

“That is just like Albert,” said Violet, laughing also; “but he is very discreet, and never reveals what he discovers. He would not have told me what he did unless he had thought it necessary for my welfare. When he thinks I am too much spoilt at home, he sometimes brings me to shame by telling me of other people’s wants and wishes. You are not offended with me, I hope, for saying what I did?”

The entrance of Henrietta and Jessie stopped the conversation; and Mrs. Osborne, seeing Violet was ready, rose from her seat.

Finding that her young companions preferred a drive in the park to any shopping, she indulged them in their wishes, ending the drive by a visit to a nursery garden, from whence she sent them home laden with flowers.

The following day she went to the Soho Bazaar, and expended several pounds in small articles for the fancy bazaar the Miss Leicesters had mentioned, and, unable to delay the pleasure she hoped to give, carried her treasures at once to Clarges Street.

Her kindnesses were not always received as they were intended, nor was gratitude always expressed with the warmth she expected; but there was no disappointment here; and in the admiration lavished on her provision for the bazaar, she so plainly detected a degree of envy, that she felt she might bestow her gifts on the young ladies themselves to her heart’s content. Before a week had passed by, she certainly had lavished both gifts and attentions upon them with superabundant profusion.

Violet had not seen Leicester since her acquaintance with his sisters began, but on the Saturday evening he appeared with Albert. There was a small party at Mrs. Osborne’s.

When they entered Violet was engaged in conversation with a young gentleman, whom she classed under the denomination of a boy, and whom she therefore treated with supreme contempt. When Leicester approached she expected the youth to withdraw, but as he by no means considered himself a boy, he pursued his conversation undisturbed. Leicester sat down at a little distance, and Albert stood by Violet.

The young gentleman was making a complaint regarding the impossibility of ever securing Violet for a partner.

“I have asked you to dance four times this week,” he said grumblingly, “and you have always told me you were engaged.”

“Because I was,” Violet replied. “It is your fault, not mine. I have told you that I only stay for two hours, and you time your requests ill.”

“I don’t know what time is right, I am sure. I ask at every time. The last time I asked you as you walked upstairs, and you said you were engaged.”

“So I was. I had been asked to dance the very moment I set my foot in the house. Why didn’t you try again?”

“Because I think you do it on purpose. Now, if I was to ask you to dance the first dance at Lady Vernon’s, on Monday, I dare say you will say you are engaged.”

“I am afraid I am,” Violet said laughing. “It did so happen that I was asked the last thing last night for that very dance.”

“Now, Violet, I call that too bad,” said Albert. “_I_ never would spoil a girl by making so much of her. I think it is a very indiscreet thing to do.”

“It does not make me vain,” she replied lightly; “I care too little about it to be vain. Do you think I am made up of pride and vanity?” she asked laughingly, suddenly pushing back her chair, as she met the serious contemplative gaze of Leicester.

“I believe we all have more vanity than we think,” he replied with a smile.

“Not you, Leicester,” said Albert warmly.

“Do not undertake to answer for me. We know very little of each other or ourselves.”

“And so you think me very vain,” Violet asked gravely, and with not a little annoyance.

“Indeed,” he replied quickly, “I never meant nor had any right to say so. We all are vain, I think, in some form or other; and if you had no vanity in your circumstances, you would be----”--he hesitated, and then calmly added, “something above our common nature.”

“I thought you were going to pay a compliment for once, Leicester,” observed Albert.

“And Mr. Leicester would have fallen immeasurably in my opinion if he had,” said Violet. “I hate compliments.”

“Pitiful, mawkish compliments, I dare say; but I know nobody, Violet, who likes a good word better than you do.”

“Now let us have done,” she said, laughing, but with vexation. “I have been lectured on vanity enough for to-night,” and she pushed her chair still further backwards, as a hint to Albert and the young gentleman that she wished to talk to Mr. Leicester.

“I came here to-night to thank you for your kindness to my sisters,” he said directly, as if anxious to speak.

“There is no need for thanks when one does but please oneself,” she replied quickly. “I told you I should like your sisters, and I do.”

“But it is not only the morose givers one thanks,” Leicester persisted. “You have been very kind to them, and they and I thank you; and now do not think me ungrateful if I add one word of warning.”

“What have you got to say?” she asked, smiling.

“Do not spoil them,” he said gravely.

Violet coloured with mortification, and inquired,

“How do you mean?”

“I feared I should offend you,” he said earnestly, “yet I ventured my word. My sisters are but human, and can be spoiled by kindness, as we all can. If,” and he smiled, “you would be discreet, I should really thank you for giving variety to their life, but I do not like things to be overdone, neither for their sakes nor your own.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she answered at last. “Albert has been telling you that I take things up and lay them down. But I think you might understand that I should never think of either taking up or laying down in this case.”

“I assure you I spoke simply from my own good judgment; and I think, when you consider, you will see the wisdom of what I say. I am an enemy to all that is excessive. Perhaps I make myself appear a very flat, stale, and unprofitable person, but such is the formation of my mind. And now forgive me.”

“No; for I disapprove of, and condemn your wisdom, and I think you will see that you are mistaken in me,” and unwilling to discuss the matter further, Violet began a new subject.