The thought struck her that with servants like this woman, it would be
easy to feel herself a mistress. She had heard from the Dranes a great
deal about their famous cook, and she was glad of the opportunity to look
upon this learned professor of kitchen lore.

"What would she have said to my tall raspberry tarts?" involuntarily
thought the girl.

But it was when La Fleur had gone to Mrs. Drane's room, and Cicely,
wildly delighted when informed who had come to see them, had run to meet
the dear old woman, that Miriam pondered most seriously upon this visit
from a cook. She had not known anything of the ties between families and
old family servants. At school, servants had been no more than machines;
she was nothing to them, and they were nothing to her; and now she felt
that the ignorance of these ties was one of the deprivations of her life.
That old woman upstairs had not lived very long with the Dranes, and yet
she regarded them with a positive affection. Miriam knew this from what
she had heard. If they were in trouble, and needed her, she would come to
them and serve them wherever they were. This she had told them often. How
different was such a woman from Phoebe or Molly Tooney! How happy would
she be if there had been such a one in her mother's family, and were she
with her now!

"But I have only Ralph," thought Miriam; "no one else in the world."
Ralph was good,--no human being could be better; but he was only one
person, and knew nothing of many things she wanted to know, and could not
help her in many ways in which she needed to be helped.

With a feeling that from certain points of view she was rather solitary
and somewhat forsaken, she went to look for her brother. It would be
better to talk to what she had than to think about what she had not.

As she walked toward the barn and pasture fields, Ralph came up from the
cornfield by the woods on the other side of the house. As he went in he
met Mrs. Drane and La Fleur, who had just come downstairs. Cicely had
already retired to her work. At the sight of the gentleman, who, she was
informed, was the master of the house, La Fleur bowed her head, cast down
her eyes, smiled and courtesied.

Mrs. Drane drew Ralph aside.

"That is La Fleur, who used to be our cook. She is a kind old body, who
takes the greatest interest in our welfare. She is greatly pleased to
find us in such delightful quarters, but she has queer notions, and now
she wants very much to call on your cook. I don't know that this is the
right thing, and I have been looking for your sister, to ask her if she
objects to it, but I think she is not in the house."

"Oh, bless me!" exclaimed Ralph, "she will not mind in the least. Let the
good woman go down and see Molly Tooney, and if she can give her some
points about cooking, I am sure we shall all be delighted."

"Oh, she would not do that," said Mrs. Drane. "She is a very considerate
person; but I suppose, in any house, her instincts would naturally draw
her toward the cook."

When Ralph turned to La Fleur, and assured her that his sister would be
glad to have her visit the kitchen, the old woman, who had not taken her
eyes from him for an instant, thanked him with great unction, again
bowed, courtesied, smiled, and, being shown the way to the kitchen,
descended.

Molly Tooney, who was sitting on a low stool, paring potatoes, looked up
in amazement at the person who entered her kitchen. It was not an
obsequious old woman she saw, but a sedate, dignified, elderly person,
with her brows somewhat knitted. Throwing about her a glance, which was
not one of admiration, La Fleur remarked,--

"I suppose you are the cook of the house."

"Indade, an' I am," said Molly, still upon the stool, with a knife in one
hand, and a potato, with a long paring hanging from it, in the other;
"an' the washer-woman, an' the chambermaid, an' the butler, too, as loike
as may be. An' who may you be, an' which do you want to see?"

"I am Madame La Fleur," said the other, with a stateliness that none of
her mistresses ever supposed that she possessed. "I came to see Mrs.
Drane, in whose service I was formerly engaged, and I wish to know for
myself what sort of a person was cooking for the ladies whose meals I
used to prepare."

Molly put down her knife and her half-pared potato, and arose. She had
heard of La Fleur, whose fame had spread through and about Thorbury.

"Sit down, mum," said she. "This isn't much of a kitchen, for I
haven't had time to clane it up, an' as for me, I'm not much of a
cook, nather; for when ye have to be iverything, ye can't be anything
to no great ixtent."

La Fleur, still standing, looked at her severely.

"How often do you bake?" she asked.

"Three times a week," answered Molly, lying.

"The ladies upstairs," said La Fleur, "have been accustomed to fresh
rolls every morning for their breakfast."

"An' afther this, they shall have 'em," said Molly, "Sundays an' weekday,
an' sorry I am that I didn't know before that they was used to have 'em."

"How do you make your coffee?" asked La Fleur.

Molly looked at her hesitatingly.

"I am very keerful about that," she said. "I niver let it bile too
much--"

"Ugh!" exclaimed La Fleur, raising her hand. "Tell your mistress to get
you a French coffee-pot, and if you don't know how to use it, I'll come
and teach you. I shall be here off and on as long as Mrs. Drane stops in
this house." And then, seating herself, La Fleur proceeded to put Molly
through an elementary domestic service examination.

"Well," said the examiner, when she had finished, "I think you must be
the worst cook in this part of the country."

"No, mum, I'm not," said Molly. "There was one here afore me, a nager
woman named Phoebe, that must have been worse, from what I'm told."

"Where I have lived," said La Fleur, "they have such women to cook for the
farm laborers."

"Beggin' your pardon, mum," said Molly, "that's what they are here, or
th' same thing. Mr. Haverley, he works on the farm with a pitchfork, jest
like the nager man."

"Don't talk to me like that!" exclaimed La Fleur. "Mr. Haverley is a
gentleman. I have lived enough among gentlemen to know them when I see
them, and they can work and they can play and they can do what they
please, and they are gentlemen still. Don't you ever speak that way,
again, of your master."

"I thought I had heard, mum," said Molly, "that you looked down on
tradespeople and the loike."

"Tradespeople!" said the other, scornfully. "A gentleman farmer is very
different from a person in trade; but I can't expect anything better from
a woman who boils coffee, and never heard of bouillon. But remember the
things I have told you, and thank your stars that a cook as high up in
the profession as I am is willing to tell you anything. Are you the only
servant in this house?"

"There's a man by the name of Mike," said Molly, "a nager, though you
wouldn't think it from his name. He helps me sometimes, an' he helps
iverybody else other times."

"Is that the man?" said La Fleur, looking out of the window.

"That's him, mum," said Molly; "he's jest goin' to the woodpile
with his axe."

"I wish to speak to him," said La Fleur, and with a very slight nod of
the head she left the kitchen by the door that led into the grounds.

Looking after her, Molly exclaimed,--

"Drat you, for a stuck-up, cross-grained, meddlin', bumble-bee-backed
old hag of a soup-slopper; to come stickin' yer big nose into other
people's kitchens! If there was a rale misthress to the house instead
of the little gal upstairs, you'd be rowled down the front steps afore
you'd been let come into my kitchen." And with this she returned to
her potatoes.

La Fleur stopped at the woodpile, as if in passing she had happened to
notice a good man splitting logs. In her blandest voice she accosted Mike
and bade him good-day.

"I think you must be Michael," she said. "The cook has been speaking of
you to me. My name is La Fleur."

Mike, who had struck his axe into a log, touched his flattened hat.

"Yes, mum," he said; "Mr. Griffing has been tellin' me that. Are you
lookin' for any of the folks?"

"Oh no, no," said La Fleur; "I am just walking about to see a little of
this beautiful place. You don't mind that, do you, Michael? You keep
everything in such nice order. I haven't seen your garden, but I know it
is a fine one, because I saw some of the vegetables that came out of it."

Mike grinned. "I reckon it ain't the same kind of a garden that you've
been used to, mum. I've heerd that you cooked for Queen Victoria."

"Oh no, no," said La Fleur, dropping her head on one side so that her
smile made a slight angle with the horizon; "I never cooked for the
queen, no indeed; but I have lived with high families, lords, ladies, and
ambassadors, and I don't remember that any of them had better potatoes
than I saw to-day. Is this a large farm, Michael?"

"It's considerable over a hundred acres, though I don't 'xactly know how
much. Not what you'd call big, and not what you'd call little."

"But you grow beautiful crops on it, I don't doubt," remarked La Fleur.

"Can't say about that," said Mike, shaking his head a little. "I 'spects
we'll git good 'nough craps for what we do for 'em. This ain't the kind
of farm your lords and ladies has got. It's ramshackle, you know."

"Ramshackle?" repeated La Fleur. "Is that a sort of sheep farm?"

Mike grinned. "Law, no, we ain't got no sheep, and I'm glad of it.
Ramshackle farmin' means takin' things as you find 'em, an' makin' 'em
do, an' what you git you've got, but with tother kind of farmin' most
times what you git, ye have to pay out, an' then you ain't got nuthin'."

This was more than La Fleur could comprehend, but she inferred in a
general way that Mr. Haverley's farm was a profitable one.

"All so pretty, so pretty," she said, looking from side to side; "such a
grand barn, and such broad acres. Is it the estate as far as I can see?"

"Yes, mum," said Mike, "an' a good deal furder. The woods cuts it off
down thataway."

"It is a lordly place," said La Fleur, "and it does you honor, Michael,
for the cook told me you were Mr. Haverley's head man."

"I reckon she's about right there," said Mike.

"And I am very glad indeed," continued the old woman, "that Mrs. and Miss
Drane are living here. And now, Michael, if either of them is ever taken
ill, and you're sent for the doctor, I want you to come straight to me,
and I'll see that he goes to them. If you knock at the back door of the
kitchen, I'll hear you, whether I am awake or asleep. And when you are
coming to town, Michael, you must drop in and see me. I can give you a
nice bit of a lunch, any day. I daresay you like good things to eat as
well as any-body."

Mike stood silent for a moment, and his eyes began to brighten.

"Indeed I do, mum," said he. "If I was to carry in a punkin to you when
they're ripe, I wonder if you'd be willin' to make me a punkin pie, same
kind as Queen Victoria has in the fall of the year."

La Fleur beamed on him most graciously.

"I will do that gladly, Michael: you may count on me to do that. And I
will give you other things that you like. Wait till we see, wait till we
see. Good-day, Michael; I must be going now, or the doctor will be kept
waiting for his dinner. Where's my cabby?"

"Mr. Griffing has drove round to the front of the house, mum," said Mike.

"Just like the stupid American," muttered the old woman as she hurried
away, "as if I'd get in at the front of the house."

Andy Griffing talked a good deal on the drive back to Thorbury, but La
Fleur heard little and answered less. She was in a state of great mental
satisfaction, and during her driver's long descriptions of persons and
places, she kept saying to herself, "It couldn't be better than that. It
couldn't be better than that."

This mental expression she applied to Mr. Haverley, whom she considered
an extraordinarily fine-looking young man; to the broad acres and fine
barn; to the fact that the Dranes were living with him; to the
probability that he would fall in love with the charming Miss Cicely, and
make her mistress of the estate; and to the strong possibility, that
should this thing happen, she herself would be the cook of Cobhurst, and
help her young mistress put the establishment on the footing that her
station demanded.

"It couldn't be better than that," she muttered over and over again as
she busied herself about the Tolbridge dinner, and she even repeated the
expression two or three times after she went to bed.




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE GAME IS CALLED


In her notions and schemes regarding the person and estate of Ralph
Haverley, the good cook, La Fleur, lacked one great advantage possessed
by her rival planner and schemer Miss Panney; for she whose cause was
espoused by the latter old woman was herself eager for the fray and
desirous of victory, whereas Cicely Drane had not yet thought of marrying
anybody, and outside of working hours was devoting herself to getting all
the pleasure she could out of life, not regarding much whether it was her
mother or Miriam or Mr. Haverley who helped her get it. Moreover, the
advantages of co-residence, which La Fleur naturally counted upon, were
not so great as might have been expected; for Mrs. Drane, having
perceived that Ralph was fond of the society of young ladies to a degree
which might easily grow beyond her ideas of decorous companionship
between a gentleman of the house and a lady boarder, gently interfered
with the dual apple gatherings and recreations of that nature. For this,
had she been aware of it, Dora Bannister would have been most grateful.

Ralph had gone twice to see Congo, and to talk to Miss Bannister about
him, but he had not taken the dog home. Dora said she would take him to
Cobhurst the first time she drove over there to see Miriam. Congo would
follow her and the carriage anywhere, and this would be so much
pleasanter than to have him forced away like a prisoner.

The gig shafts had now been repaired, and Ralph urged his sister to go
with him to Thorbury and attend to her social duties; but Miriam disliked
the little town and loved Cobhurst. As to social duties, she thought they
ought to be attended to, of course, but saw no need to be in a hurry
about them; so Ralph, one day, having business in Thorbury, prepared to
go in again by himself. He had been lately riding Mrs. Browning, who was
still his only available horse for family use; but she was not very
agreeable under the saddle, and he now proposed to take the gig. He had
thought it might be a good idea to take a little drive out of the town,
and see if Congo would follow him. Perhaps Miss Bannister would accompany
him, for she was very anxious that the dog should become used to Ralph
before leaving his present home; and her presence would help very much in
teaching the animal to follow.

But although Miriam declined to go with her brother, she took much
interest in his expedition, and came out to the barn to see him harness
Mrs. Browning.

"Are you going to Dora Bannister's again?" she asked.

"Yes," said Ralph; "at least I think I shall stop in to see the dog. You
know the oftener I do that, the better."

"I think it is a shame," said Miriam, "that you should be driving to town
alone, when there are other people who wish so much to go, and you have
no use at all for that empty seat."

"Who wants to go?" asked Ralph, quickly.

"Cicely Drane does. She has got into trouble over the doctor's
manuscript, and says she can't go on properly without seeing him. She has
been expecting him here every day, but it seems as if he never intended
to come. She asked me this morning how far it was to Thorbury, and I
think she intends to walk in, if he does not come to-day."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" asked Ralph. "I would have sent her
into town or taken her."

"I had not formulated it in my mind," said Miriam. "Will you take her
with you to-day? I know that she has made up her mind she cannot wait any
longer for the doctor to come."

"Of course I will take her," said Ralph. "Will you ask her to get ready?
Tell her I shall be at the door in ten or fifteen minutes."

Ralph's tone was perfectly good-humored, but Miriam fancied that she
perceived a trace of disappointment in it. She was sorry for this, for
she could not imagine why any man should object to have Cicely Drane as a
companion on a drive, unless his mind was entirely occupied by some other
girl; and if Ralph's mind was thus occupied, it must be by Dora
Bannister, and that did not please her. So she resolutely put aside all
Cicely's suggestions that it might be inconvenient for Mr. Haverley to
take her with him, and deftly overcame Mrs. Drane's one or two impromptu,
and therefore not very well constructed, objections to the acceptance of
the invitation; and in the gig Cicely went with Ralph to Thorbury.

After having left the secretary to attend to her business at the
doctor's house, Ralph drove to the Bannister's; but Dora would not see
him, and technically was not at home. Alas! She had seen him driving past
with Miss Drane, and she was angry. This was contrary to the plan of
action she had adopted; but her eighteen-year-old spirit rebelled, and
she could not help it. A more hideous trap than that old gig could not be
imagined, but she had planned a drive in it with Ralph on some of the
quiet country roads beyond Cobhurst. They would take Congo with them, and
that would be such a capital plan to teach the dog to follow his new
master. And now it was the Drane girl who was driving with him in his
gig. She could not go down and see him and meet him in the way she liked
to meet him.

Miss Panney, on the other side of the street, had been passing the
Tolbridge house at the moment when Ralph and Cicely drove up. She
stopped for a moment, her feelings absolutely outraged. It was not
uncommon for her to pass places at times when people were doing things
in those places which she thought they ought not to do; but this was a
case which roused her anger in an unusual manner. Whatever else might
happen at Cobhurst, she did not believe that that girl would begin so
soon to go out driving with him.

She had left her phaeton at a livery stable, and was on her way to the
Bannister house to have a talk with Dora on a subject in which they were
now both so much interested. She had been very much surprised when the
girl had come to her and freely avowed her feelings and hopes, but she
had been delighted. She liked a spirit of that sort, and it was a joy to
her to work with one who possessed it. But she knew human nature, and she
was very much afraid that Dora's purpose might weaken. It was quite
natural that a young person, in a moment of excitement and pique, should
figuratively raise her sword in air and vow a vow; but it was also quite
natural, when the excitement and pique had cooled down, that the young
person should experience what might be called a "vow-fright," and feel
unable to go through with her part. In a case such as Dora's, this was
very possible indeed, and all that Miss Panney had planned to say on her
present visit was intended to inspire the girl, if it should be needed,
with some of her own matured inflexibility and fixedness of purpose. But
if the man were doing this sort of thing already and Dora should know it,
she would have a right to be discouraged.

Before the old lady reached the Bannisters' gate, she saw Mr. Haverley,
in his gig, drive away. This brightened her up a little.

"He comes here, anyway," she thought; "what a pity Dora is not in."

Nevertheless, she went on to the Bannister house; and when she found Dora
was in, she began to scold her.

"This will never do, will never do," she said. "Get angry with him if you
choose, but don't show it. If you do that, you may crash him too low or
bounce him too high, and, in either case, he may be off before you know
it. It is too early in the game to show him that he has made you angry."

"But if he doesn't want me, I don't want him," said Dora, sulkily.

"If you think that way, my dear," said Miss Panney, "you may as well make
up your mind to make a bad match, or die an old maid. The right man very
seldom comes of his own accord; it is nearly always the wrong one. If you
happen to meet the right man, you should help him to know that he ought
to come. That is the way to look at it. That young Haverley does not know
yet who it is that he cares for. He is just floating along, waiting for
some one to thrust out a boat-hook and pull him in."

"I shall marry no floating log," said Dora, stiffly.

The old lady laughed.

"Perhaps that was not a very good figure of speech," she said; "but
really, my dear, you must not interfere with your own happiness by
showing temper; and if you look at the affair in its proper light, you
will see it is not so bad, after all. Ten to one, he brought her to town
because she wanted to come with him,--probably on some patched-up errand;
but he came here because he wanted to come. There could be no other
reason; and, instead of being angry with him, you should have given him
an extraordinary welcome. For the very reason that she has so many
advantages over you, being so much with him, you should be very careful
to make use of the advantages you have over her. And your advantages are
that you are ten times better fitted to be his wife than she is; and the
great thing necessary to be done is to let him see it. But her chances
must come to an end. Those Dranes must be got away from Cobhurst."

"I don't like that way of looking at it," said Dora, leaning back in her
chair, with a sigh. "It's the same thing as fishing for a man, though I
suppose it might have been well to see him when he came."

Now Miss Panney felt encouraged; her patient was showing good symptoms.
Let her keep in that state of mind, and she would see that the lover
came. She had made a mistake in speaking so bluntly about getting the
Dranes out of Cobhurst. Although she would not say anything more to Dora
about that important piece of work, she would do it all the same.

This little visit had been an important one to Miss Panney; it had
enabled her to understand Dora's character much better than she had
understood it before; and she perceived that in this case of matchmaking
she must not only do a great deal of the work herself, but she must do it
without Dora's knowing anything about it. She liked this, for she was not
much given to consulting with people.

Miss Panney had another call to pay in the neighborhood, and she had
intended, for form's sake, to spend a little time with Mrs. Bannister;
but she did neither. She went back by the way she had come, wishing to
learn all she could about the movements of the Cobhurst gig.

Approaching the Tolbridge house, she saw that vehicle standing before
the door, with the sleepy Mrs. Browning tied to a post, and as she drew
nearer, she perceived Ralph Haverley sitting alone on the vine-shaded
piazza. The old lady would not enter the Tolbridge gate, but she stood on
the other side of the street, and beckoned to Ralph, who, as soon as he
saw her, ran over to her.

Ralph walked a little way with Miss Panney, and after answering her most
friendly inquiries about Miriam, he explained how he happened to be
sitting alone on the piazza; the doctor and Miss Drane, whom he had
brought to town, were at work at some manuscript, and he had preferred to
wait outside instead of indoors.

"I called on Miss Bannister," he said, "but she was not at home, so I
came back here."

"It is a pity she was out," said Miss Panney, carelessly, "and now that
you have mentioned Miss Bannister, I would like to ask you something; why
does not your sister return her visits? I saw Dora not very long ago, and
found that her feelings had been a little hurt--not much, perhaps, but a
little--by Miriam's apparent indifference to her. Dora is a very
sensitive girl, and is slow to make friends among other girls. I never
knew any friendship so quick and lively as that she showed for Miriam.
You know that Dora is still young; it has not been long since she left
school; there is not a girl in Thorbury that she cares anything about,
and her life at home must necessarily be a lonely one. Her brother is
busy, even in the evenings, and Mrs. Bannister is no companion for a
lively young girl."

"I had thought," said Ralph, "that Miss Bannister went a good deal
into society."

"Oh, no," answered Miss Panney; "she sometimes visits her relatives, who
are society people; but in years and disposition she is too young for
that sort of thing. Society women and society men would simply bore her.
At heart she is a true country girl, and I think it was because Miriam
had country tastes, and loved that sort of life, that Dora's affections
went out so quickly to her. I wish your sister had the same feelings
toward her."

"Oh, Miriam likes her very much," exclaimed Ralph, "and is always
delighted to see her; but my little sister is wonderfully fond of staying
at home. I have told her over and over again that she ought to return
Miss Bannister's calls."

"Make her do it," said the old lady. "It is her duty, and I assure you,
it will be greatly to her advantage. Miriam is a most lovely girl, but
her character has not hardened itself into what it is going to be, and
association with a thoroughbred girl, such as Dora Bannister, admirably
educated, who has seen something of the world, with an intelligence and
wit such as I have never known in any one of her age, and more than all
with a soul as beautiful as her face, cannot fail to be an inestimable
benefit to your sister. What Miriam most needs, at this stage of her
life, is proper companionship of her own age and sex."

Ralph assented. "But," said he, "she is not without that, you know. Miss
Drane, who with her mother now lives with us, is a most--"

Miss Panney's face grew very hard.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, "I know all about that. Of course the
Dranes are very estimable people, and there are many things, especially
in the way of housekeeping, which Mrs. Drane could teach Miriam, if she
chose to take the trouble. But while I respect the daughter's efforts to
support herself and her mother, it must be admitted that she is a
working-girl--nothing more or less--and must continue to be such. Her
present business, of course, can only last for a little while, and she
will have to adopt some regular calling. This life she expects, and is
preparing herself for it. But a mind such as hers is, or must speedily
become, is not the one from which Miriam's young mind should receive its
impressions. The two will move in very different spheres, and neither can
be of any benefit to the other. More than that I will not say; but I will
say that your sister can never find any friend so eager to love her, and
so willing to help and be helped by her in so many ways in which girls
can help each other, as my dear Dora. Now bestir yourself, Mr. Haverley,
and make Miriam look at this thing as she ought to. I don't pretend to
deny that I have spoken to you very much for Dora's sake, for whom I have
an almost motherly feeling; but you should act for your sister's sake.
And please don't forget what I have said, young man, and give Miriam my
best love."

When Ralph walked back to the Tolbridge piazza he found the working-girl
sitting there, waiting for him. His mind was not in an altogether
satisfactory condition; some things Miss Panney had said had pleased and
even excited him, but there were other things that he resented. If she
had not been such an old lady, and if she had not talked so rapidly, he
might have shown this resentment. But he had not done so, and now the
more he thought about it, the stronger the feeling grew.

As for Cicely Drane, she was a great deal more quiet during the drive
home, than she had been when going to Thorbury. Her mind was in an
unsatisfactory condition, and this had been occasioned by an interview
with La Fleur, who had waylaid her in the hall as she came out of the
doctor's office.

The good cook had been in a state of enthusiastic delight, since, looking
out of the kitchen window where she had been sitting, with a manuscript
book of recipes in her lap, planning the luncheon and dinner, she had
seen the lord of Cobhurst drive up to the gate with dear Miss Cicely. It
was a joy like that of listening to a party of dinner guests, who were
eating her favorite ice. With intense impatience she had awaited the
appearance of Cicely from the doctor's office; and, having drawn her to
one side, she hastily imparted her sentiments.

"It's a shabby gig, Miss Cicely," she said, "such as the farmers use in
the old country, but it's his own, and not hired, and the big house is
his own, and all the broad acres. And he's a gentleman from head to heel,
living on his own estate, and as fine a built man as ever rode in the
Queen's army. Oh, Miss Cicely, your star is at the top of the heavens
this time, and I want you to let me know if there is anything you want in
the way of hats or wraps or clothes, or anything of that kind. It
doesn't make the least difference to me, you know, just now, and we'll
settle it all after a while. It is the Christian duty for every young
lady to look the smartest, especially at a time like this."

Cicely, her face flushed, drew herself away.

"La Fleur," she said, speaking quickly and in a low voice, "you ought to
be ashamed of yourself." And she hurried away, fearing that Mr. Haverley
was waiting for her.

La Fleur was not a bit ashamed of herself; she chuckled as she went back
to the kitchen.

"She's a young thing of brains and beauty," said she to herself, "and I
don't doubt that she had the notion in her own mind. But if it wasn't
there, I have put it there, and if it was there, I've dished it and
dressed it, and it will be like another thing to her. As for the rest of
it, he'll attend to that. I haven't a doubt that he is the curly-headed,
brave fellow to do that; and I'll find out from her mother if she needs
anything, and not hurt her pride neither."




CHAPTER XXIX

HYPOTHESIS AND INNUENDO


To say that Cicely Drane had not thought of Ralph Haverley as an
exceedingly agreeable young man would be an injustice to her young
womanly nature, but it would be quite correct to state that she had not
thought him a whit more agreeable than Miriam. She was charmed with them
both; they had taken her into their home circle as if they had adopted
her as a sister. It was not until her mother began to put a gentle
pressure upon her in order to prevent her gathering too many apples, and
joining in too many other rural recreations with Mr. Haverley, that she
thought of him as one who was not to be considered in the light of a
brother. There could be no doubt that she would have come to the same
conclusion if left to herself, but she would not have reached it so soon.

But the effect that her mother's precautionary disposition had had upon
her was nothing compared to that produced by the words of La Fleur. For
the first time she looked upon Ralph as one on whom other persons looked
as her lover, and to sit by the side of the said young man, immediately
after being informed of said fact, was not conducive to a free and
tranquil flow of remark.

Her own sentiments on the subject, so far as she had put them into
shape,--and it was quite natural that she should immediately begin to
do this,--were neither embarrassing nor disagreeable. She liked him
very much, and there was no reason why she should object to his liking
her very much, and if they should ever do more than this, she should
not be ashamed of it, and perhaps should be glad of it. But she was
sorry that before either of them had thought of this, some one else
should have done so.

This might prove to be embarrassing, and the only comfort she could give
herself was that La Fleur was such an affectionate old body, always
talking of some bit of good fortune for her, that if she had seen her in
company with a king or an emperor, she would immediately set herself to
find some sort of throne-covering which would suit her hair and
complexion.

The definite result of her reflections, made between desultory questions
and answers, was that she regarded the young gentleman by her side in a
light very different from that in which she had viewed him before she had
met La Fleur in the doctor's hall. It was not that she looked upon him as
a possible lover--she had sense enough to know that almost any man might
be that--he was a hypothetic lover, and in view of the assumption it
behooved her to give careful observation to everything in him, herself,
or others, which might bear upon the ensuing argument.

As for Ralph, it angered him to look at the young lady by his side, who
was as handsome, as well educated and cultured, as tastefully dressed, as
intelligent and witty, of as gentle, kind, and winning a disposition,
and, judging from what the doctor had told him when he first spoke of the
Dranes, of as good blood, family, and position, as any one within the
circle of his acquaintance, and then to remember that she had been called
a working-girl, and spoken of in a manner that was almost contemptuous.

Ralph always took the side of the man who was down, and, consequently,
very often put himself on the wrong side; and although he did not
consider that Miss Drane was down, he saw that Miss Panney had tried to
put her down, and therefore he became her champion.

"There could not be any one," he said to himself, "better fitted to be
the friend and companion of Miriam than Cicely Drane is, and the next
time I see that old lady, I shall tell her so. I have nothing to say
against Miss Bannister, but I shall stand up for this one."

And now, feeling that it was not polite to treat a young lady with
seeming inattention, because he happened to be earnestly thinking about
her, he began to talk to Cicely in his liveliest and gayest manner, and
she, not wishing him to think that she thought that there was anything
out of the way in this, or in his previous preoccupation, responded
just as gayly.

Ralph delivered Miss Panney's message to his sister, and Miriam, giving
much more weight to the advice and opinion of the old lady, whom she knew
very slightly and cared for very little, than to that of her brother,
whom she loved dearly, said she would go to see Miss Bannister the next
afternoon if it happened to be clear.

It was clear, and she went, and Ralph drove her there in the gig, and
Dora was overwhelmed with joy to see her, and scolded Ralph in the most
charming way for not bringing her before; Miriam was taken to see Congo,
because Dora wanted her to begin to love him, and they were shown into
the library, because Dora said that she knew they both loved books, and
her father had gathered together so many. In ten minutes, Miriam was in
the window seat, dipping, which ended in her swimming, far beyond her
depth in Don Quixote, which she had so often read of and never seen, and
Dora and Ralph sat, heads together, over a portfolio of photographs of
foreign places where the Bannisters had been.

There were very few books at Cobhurst, and Miriam had read all of them
she cared for, and consequently it was an absorbing delight to follow the
adventures of the Knight of La Mancha.

Ralph had not travelled in Europe, and there were very few pictures at
Cobhurst, and he was greatly interested in the photographs, but this
interest soon waned in the increasing delight of having Dora seated so
close to him, of seeing her fair fingers point out the things he should
look at, and listening to her sweet voice, as she talked to him about the
scenes and buildings. There was an element of gentle and sympathetic
interest in Dora's manner, which reminded him of her visit to Cobhurst,
and the good-night on the stairs, and this had a very charming effect
upon Ralph, and made him wish that the portfolio were at least double its
actual size.

The Haverleys stayed so long that Mrs. Bannister, upstairs, began to
be nervous, and wondered if Dora had asked those young people to
remain to tea.

On the way home Ralph was in unusually good spirits, and talked much
about Dora. She must have seen a great deal of the world, he said, for
one so young, and she talked in such an interesting and appreciative way
about what she had seen, that he felt almost as if he had been to the
places himself.

With this for a text, he dilated upon the subject of Dora and foreign
travel, but Miriam was not a responsive hearer.

"I wish you knew Mr. Bannister better," she said in a pause in her
brother's remarks. "He must have been everywhere that his sister has
been, and probably saw a great deal more."

"No doubt," said Ralph, carelessly, "and probably has forgotten most of
it; men generally do that. A girl's mind is not crammed with business and
all that sort of stuff, and she can keep it free for things that are
worth remembering."

Miriam did not immediately answer, but presently she said, speaking with
a certain air of severity:--

"If my soul ached for the company of anybody as Miss Panney told you Dora
Bannister's soul ached for my company, I think I should have a little
more to say to her when she came to see me, than Dora Bannister had to
say to me to-day."

"My dear child!" exclaimed Ralph, "that was because you were so busy with
your book. She saw you were completely wrapped up in it, and so let you
take your own pleasure in your own way. I think that is one of her good
points. She tries to find out what pleases people."

"Bother her good points!" snapped Miriam. "You will make a regular
porcupine of her if you keep on. I wish Mr. Bannister had given
you the dog."

Ralph was very much disturbed; it was seldom that his sister snapped at
him. He could see, now that he considered the matter, that Miriam had
been somewhat neglected. She was young and a little touchy, and this
ought to be considered. He thought it might be well, the next time he saw
Miss Bannister by herself, to explain this to her. He believed he could
do it without making it appear a matter of any great importance. It was
important, however, for he should very much dislike to see ill will grow
up between Miriam and Miss Bannister. What Miss Panney had said about
this young lady was very, very true, although, of course, it did not
follow that any one else need be disparaged.

Early in the forenoon of the next day, Miss Panney drove to Cobhurst. She
had come, she informed Miriam, not only to see her, dear girl, but to
make a formal call upon the Dranes.

The call was very formal; Miss Drane left her work to meet the visitor,
but having been loftily set aside by that lady during a stiff
conversation with her mother about old residents in the neighborhood in
which they had lived, she excused herself, after a time, and went back to
her table and her manuscripts.

Then Miss Panney changed the conversational scene, and began to talk
about Thorbury.

"I do not know, madam," she said, "that you are aware that I was the
cause of your coming to this neighborhood."

Mrs. Drane was a quiet lady, and the previous remarks of her visitor had
been calculated to render her more quiet, but this roused her.

"I certainly did not," she said. "We came on the invitation and through
the kindness of Dr. Tolbridge, my old friend."

"Yes, yes, yes," said Miss Panney, "that is all true enough, but I told
him to send for you. In fact, I insisted upon it. I did it, of course,
for his sake; for I knew that the arrangement would be of advantage to
him in various ways, but I was also glad to be of service to your
daughter, of whom I had heard a good report. Furthermore, I interested
myself very much in getting you lodgings, and found you a home at Mrs.
Brinkly's that I hoped you would like. If I had not done so, I think you
would have been obliged to go to the hotel, which is not pleasant and
much more expensive than a private house. I do not mention these things,
madam, because I wish to be thanked, or anything of that sort; far from
it. I did what I did because I thought it was right; but I must admit, if
you will excuse my mentioning it, that I was surprised, to say the least,
that I was not consulted, in the slightest degree, on the occasion of
your leaving the home I had secured for you."

"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Drane, "that I should appear to have been
discourteous to one who had done us a service, for which, I assure you,
we are both very much obliged, but Dr. and Mrs. Tolbridge managed the
whole affair of our removal from Mrs. Brinkly's house, and I did not
suppose there was any one, besides them and ourselves, who would take the
slightest interest in the matter."

"Oh, I find no fault," said Miss Panney. "It is not an affair of
importance, but I think you will agree, madam, that after the interest I
had shown in procuring you suitable accommodation, I might have been
spared what some people might consider the mortification of being told,
when I stated to Mrs. Tolbridge that I intended to call upon you, that
you were not then living with the lady whose consent to receive you into
her family I had obtained, after a great deal of personal solicitation
and several visits."

Upon this presentation of the matter, Mrs. Drane could not help thinking
that the old lady had been treated somewhat uncivilly, and expressed her
regret in the most suitable terms she could think of, adding that she
was sure that Miss Panney would agree that the change had been an
excellent one.

"Of course, of course," said Miss Panney. "For a temporary country
residence, I suppose you could not have found a better spot, though it
must be a long walk for your daughter when she goes to submit her work to
Dr. Tolbridge."

"That has not yet been necessary," said Mrs. Drane; "Mr. Haverley is
very kind--"

At this point Miss Panney rose. She had said all she wanted to say, and
to decline to hear anything about Ralph Haverley's having been seen
driving about with a young woman who had been engaged as Dr. Tolbridge's
secretary, was much better than speaking of it, and she took her leave
with a prim politeness.

Mrs. Drane was left in an uncomfortable state of mind. It was not
pleasant to be reminded that this delightful country house was only a
temporary home, for that implied a return to Thorbury, a town she
disliked; and although she had, of course, expected to go back there, she
had not allowed the matter to dwell in her mind at all, putting it into
the future, without consideration, as she liked to do with things that
were unpleasant.

Moreover, there was something, she could not tell exactly what, about
Miss Panney's words and manner, which put an unsatisfactory aspect upon
the obvious methods of Cicely's communications with her employer.

Mrs. Drane's mind had already been slightly disturbed on this subject,
but Miss Panney had revived and greatly increased the disturbance.




CHAPTER XXX

A CONFIDENTIAL ANNOUNCEMENT


Having finished her visit of ceremony, Miss Panney asked permission of
Miriam to see Molly Tooney. That woman was, in a measure, her protГ©gГ©,
and she had some little business with her. Declining to have the cook
sent for, Miss Panney descended to the kitchen.

She had not talked with Molly more than five minutes, and had not
approached the real subject of the interview, which concerned the social
relations between the Haverleys and the Dranes, when the Irishwoman
lifted up her hands, and opened wide her eyes.

"The Saints an' the Sinners!" she exclaimed, "if here isn't that auld
drab of a sausage, that cook of the docther's, a comin' here again to
tell me how to cook for them Dranes. Bad luck to them, they don't pay me
nothin', an' only give me trouble."

Miss Panney turned quickly, and through the window she saw La Fleur
approaching the kitchen door.

"She comes here to tell you how to cook for those people?" said Miss
Panney, quickly.

"Indade she does, an' it's none of her business, nather, the meddlin'
auld porpoise."

"Molly," said Miss Panney, "go away and leave me here. I want to talk to
this woman."

"Which is more than I do," said the cook, and straightway departed to the
floor above.

La Fleur had come to see Mrs. Drane, but perceiving Miss Panney's phaeton
at the door, she had concluded that there was company in the house, and
had consequently betaken herself to the kitchen to make inquiries. When
she found there Miss Panney, instead of Molly Tooney, La Fleur was
surprised, but pleased, for she remembered the old lady as one who
appreciated good cookery and a good cook.

"How do you do, La Fleur," said Miss Panney. "I am glad to see you. I
suppose you still keep up your old interest in Mrs. Drane and her
daughter. Do you often find time to come out here to see them?"

"Not often, madam, but sometimes. I can always find time for what I
really want to do. If I like to be away for an hour or two, I'll sit up
late the night before, long after midnight sometimes, planning the meals
and the courses for the next day, and when I go away, I leave everything
so that I can take it right up, the minute I get back, and lose nothing
in time or in any other way."

"It is only a born chef who could do that," said Miss Panney, "and it is
very pleasant to see your affection for your former employers. Do you
suppose that they will remain here much longer?"

"Remain!" exclaimed La Fleur; "they've never said a word to me, madam,
about going away, and I don't believe they have thought of it. I am sure
I haven't."

Miss Panney shook her head.

"It's none of my business," she said, "but I've lived a long time in this
world, and that gives me a right to speak my mind to people who haven't
lived so long. It may have been all very well for the Dranes to have come
here for a little vacation of a week or ten days, but to stay on and on
is not the proper thing at all, and if you really have a regard for them,
La Fleur, I think it is your duty to make them understand this. You might
not care to speak plainly, of course, but you can easily make them
perceive the situation, without offending them, or saying anything which
an old servant might not say, in a case like this."

"But, madam," said La Fleur, "what's to hinder their stopping here?
There's no spot on earth that could suit them better, to my way of
thinking."

"La Fleur," said Miss Panney, regarding the other with moderate severity,
"you ought to know that when people see a young woman like Miss Drane
brought to live in a house with a handsome young gentleman, who, to all
intents and purposes, is keeping a bachelor's hall,--for that girl
upstairs is entirely too young to be considered a mistress of a
house,--and when they know that the young lady's mother is a lady in
impoverished circumstances, the people are bound to say, when they talk,
that that young woman was brought here on purpose to catch the master of
the house, and I don't think, La Fleur, that you would like to hear that
said of Mrs. Drane."

As she listened, the bodily eyes of La Fleur were contracted until they
were almost shut, but her mental eyes opened wider and wider. She
suspected that there was something back of Miss Panney's words.

"If I heard anybody say that, madam, meaning it, I don't think they would
care to say it to me again. But leaving out all that and looking at the
matter with my lights, it does seem to me that if Mr. Haverley wanted a
mistress for his house, and felt inclined to marry Miss Cicely Drane, he
couldn't make a better choice."

"Choice!" repeated Miss Panney, sarcastically. "He has no choice to make.
That is settled, and that is the very reason why people will talk the
more and sharper, and nothing you can say, Madam Jane La Fleur, will stop
them. Not only does this look like a scheme to marry Mr. Haverley to a
girl who can bring him nothing, but to break off a most advantageous
match with a lady who, in social position, wealth, and in every way,
stands second to no one in this county."

"And who may that be, please?" asked La Fleur.

Miss Panney hesitated. It would be a bold thing to give the answer that
was on her tongue, but she was no coward, and this was a crisis of
importance. A proper impression made upon this woman might be productive
of more good results than if made upon any one else.

"It is Miss Dora Bannister," she said, "and of course you know all about
the Bannister family. I tell you this, because I consider that, under the
circumstances, you ought to know it, but I expect you to mention it to no
one, for the matter has not been formally announced. Now, I am sure that
a woman of your sense can easily see what the friends of Mr. Haverley,
who know all about the state of affairs, will think and say when they see
Mrs. Drane's attempt to get for her daughter what rightfully belongs to
another person."

If it had appeared to the mind of La Fleur that it was a dreadful thing
to get for one's daughter a lifelong advantage which happened to belong
to another, she might have greatly resented this imputation against Mrs.
Drane. But as she should not have hesitated to try and obtain said
advantage, if there was any chance of doing it, the imputation lost
force. She did not, therefore, get angry, but merely asked, wishing to
get as deep into the matter as possible, "And then it is all settled that
he's to marry Miss Bannister?"

"Everything is not yet arranged, of course," said Miss Panney, speaking
rapidly, for she heard approaching footsteps, "and you are not to say
anything about all this or mention me in connection with it. I only
spoke to you for the sake of the Dranes. It is your duty to get them
away from here."

She had scarcely finished speaking when Miriam entered the kitchen. La
Fleur had never seen her before, for on her previous visit it had been
Ralph who had given her permission to interview Molly Tooney, and she
regarded her with great interest. La Fleur's long years of service had
given her many opportunities of studying the characters of mistresses, in
high life as well as middle life, but never had she seen a mistress like
this school-girl, with her hair hanging down her back.