Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (most important books to read TXT) 📖

Danger. My Wild Oats Are Not Sown Yet,  Any More Than Val's; Only You

Don't Hear Of Them,  Because I Have Money To Back Me,  And He Has Not. I

Must Find A Girl I Should Like To Make My Wife Before That Event Comes

Off,  Maude; And I Have Not Found Her Yet."

 

Lady Maude Damaged Her Landscape. She Sketched In A Tree Where A Chimney

Ought To Have Been,  And Laid The Fault Upon Her Pencil.

 

"It Has Been Real Sport,  Maude,  Ever Since I Came Home From Knocking

About Abroad,  To Hear And See The Old Ladies. They Think I Am To Be

Caught With A Bait; And That Bait Is Each One's Own Enchanting Daughter.

Let Them Angle,  An They Please--It Does No Harm. They Are Amused,  And I

Am None The Worse. I Enjoy A Laugh Sometimes,  While I Take Care Of

Myself; As I Have Need To Do,  Or I Might Find Myself The Victim Of Some

Detestable Breach-Of-Promise Affair,  And Have To Stand Damages. But For

Anne Ashton,  Val Would Have Had His Head In That Westminster-Noose A

Score Of Times; And The Wonder Is That He Has Kept Out Of It. No,  Thank

You,  My Ladies; I Am Not A Marrying Man."

 

"Why Do You Tell Me This?" Asked Lady Maude,  A Sick Faintness Stealing

Over Her Face And Heart.

 

"You Are One Of Ourselves,  And I Tell You Anything. It Will Be Fun For

You,  Maude,  If You'll Open Your Eyes And Look On. There Are Some In The

House Now Who--" He Stopped And Laughed.

 

"I Would Rather Not Hear This!" She Cried Passionately. "Don't Tell Me."

 

Lord Hartledon Looked At Her,  Begged Her Pardon,  And Quitted The Room

With His Cigar. Lady Maude,  Black As Night,  Dashed Her Pencil On To The

Cardboard,  And Scored Her Sketch All Over With Ugly Black Lines. Her Face

Itself Looked Ugly Then.

 

"Why Did He Say This To Me?" She Asked Of Her Fevered Heart. "Was It Said

With A Purpose? Has He Found Out That I _Love_ Him? That My Shallow Old

Mother Is One Of The Subtlest Of The Anglers? And That--"

 

"What On Earth Are You At With Your Drawing,  Maude?"

 

"Oh,  I Have Grown Sick Of The Sketch. I Am Not In A Drawing Mood To-Day,

Mamma."

 

"And How Fierce You Were Looking," Pursued The Countess-Dowager,  Who Had

Darted In At Rather An Inopportune Moment For Maude--Darting In On People

At Such Moments Being Her Habit. "And That Was The Sketch Hartledon Asked

You To Do For Him From The Old Painting!"

 

"He May Do It Himself,  If He Wants It Done."

 

"Where Is Hartledon?"

 

"I Don't Know. Gone Out Somewhere."

 

"Has He Offended You,  Or Vexed You?"

 

"Well,  He Did Vex Me. He Has Just Been Assuring Me With The Coolest Air

That He Should Never Marry; Or,  At Least,  Not For Years And Years To

Come. He Told Me To Notice What A Heap Of Girls Were After Him--Or Their

Mothers For Them--And The Fun He Had Over It,  Not Being A Marrying Man."

 

"Is That All? You Need Not Have Put Yourself In A Fatigue,  And Spoilt

Your Drawing. Lord Hartledon Shall Be Your Husband Before Six Months Are

Over--Or Reproach Me Ever Afterwards With Being A False Prophetess And A

Bungling Manager."

 

Maude's Brow Cleared. She Had Almost Childlike Confidence In The Tact Of

Her Unscrupulous Mother.

 

But How The Morning's Conversation Altogether Rankled In Her Heart,

None Save Herself Could Tell: Ay,  And In That Of The Dowager. Although

Anne Ashton Was The Betrothed Of Percival Elster,  And Lord Hartledon's

Freely-Avowed Love For Her Was Evidently That Of A Brother,  And He Had

Said He Should Do All He Could To Promote The Marriage,  The Strongest

Jealousy Had Taken Possession Of Lady Maude's Heart. She Already Hated

Anne Ashton With A Fierce And Bitter Hatred. She Turned Sick With Envy

When,  In The Morning Visit That Was That Day Paid By The Ashtons,  She Saw

That Anne Was Really What Lord Hartledon Had Described Her--One Of The

Sweetest,  Most Lovable,  Most Charming Of Girls; Almost Without Her Equal

In The World For Grace And Goodness And Beauty. She Turned More Sick With

Envy When,  At Dinner Afterwards,  To Which The Ashtons Came,  Lord

Hartledon Devoted Himself To Them,  Almost To The Neglect Of His Other

Guests,  Lingering Much With Anne.

 

The Countess-Dowager Marked It Also,  And Was Furious. Nothing Could Be

Urged Against Them; They Were Unexceptionable. The Doctor,  A Chatty,

Straightforward,  Energetic Man,  Of Great Intellect And Learning,  And

Emphatically A Gentleman; His Wife Attracting By Her Unobtrusive

Gentleness; His Daughter By Her Grace And Modest Self-Possession.

Whatever Maude Kirton Might Do,  She Could Never,  For Very Shame,  Again

Attempt To Disparage Them. Surely There Was No Just Reason For The Hatred

Which Took Possession Of Maude's Heart; A Hatred That Could Never Be

Plucked Out Again.

 

But Maude Knew How To Dissemble. It Pleased Her To Affect A Sudden And

Violent Friendship For Anne.

 

"Hartledon Told Me How Much I Should Like You," She Whispered,  As They

Sat Together On The Sofa After Dinner,  To Which Maude Had Drawn Her. "He

Said I Should Find You The Dearest Girl I Ever Met; And I Do So. May I

Call You 'Anne'?"

 

Not For A Moment Did Miss Ashton Answer. Truth To Say,  Far From

Reciprocating The Sudden Fancy Boasted Of By Maude,  She Had Taken An

Unaccountable Dislike To Her. Something Of Falsity In The Tone,  Of Sudden

_Hardiesse_ In The Handsome Black Eyes,  Acted Upon Anne As An Instinctive

Warning.

 

"As You Please,  Lady Maude."

 

"Thank You So Much. Hartledon Whispered To Me The Secret About You And

Val--Percival,  I Mean. Shall You Accomplish The Task,  Think You?"

 

"What Task?"

 

"That Of Turning Him From His Evil Ways."

 

"His Evil Ways?" Repeated Anne,  In A Surprised Indignation She Did Not

Care To Check. "I Do Not Understand You,  Lady Maude."

 

"Pardon Me,  My Dear Anne: It Was Hazardous So To Speak _To You_. I Ought

To Have Said His Thoughtless Ways. Quant A Moi,  Je Ne Vois Pas La

Difference. Do You Understand French?"

 

Miss Ashton Looked At Her,  Really Not Knowing What This Style Of

Conversation Might Mean. Maude Continued; She Had A Habit Of Putting

Forth A Sting On Occasion,  Or What She Hoped Might Be A Sting.

 

"You Are Staring At The Superfluous Question. Of Course It Is One In

These _French_ Days,  When Everyone Speaks It. What Was I Saying? Oh,

About Percival. Should He Ever Have The Luck To Marry,  Meaning The

Income,  He Will Make A Docile Husband; But His Wife Will Have To Keep Him

Under Her Finger And Thumb; She Must Be Master As Well As Mistress,  For

His Own Sake."

 

"I Think Mr. Elster Would Not Care To Be So Spoken Of," Said Miss Ashton,

Her Face Beginning To Glow.

 

"You Devoted Girl! It Is You Who Don't Care To Hear It. Take Care,  Anne;

Too Much Love Is Not Good For Gaining The Mastership; And I Have Heard

That You Are--Shall I Say It?--_Eperdue_."

 

Anne,  In Spite Of Her Calm Good Sense,  Was Actually Provoked To A Retort

In Kind,  And Felt Terribly Vexed With Herself For It Afterwards. "A

Rumour Of The Same Sort Has Been Breathed As To The Lady Maude Kirton's

Regard For Lord Hartledon."

 

"Has It?" Returned Lady Maude,  With A Cool Tone And A Glowing Face. "You

Are Angry With Me Without Reason. Have I Not Offered To Swear To You An

Eternal Friendship?"

 

Anne Shook Her Head,  And Her Lips Parted With A Curious Expression. "I Do

Not Swear So Lightly,  Lady Maude."

 

"What If I Were To Avow To You That It Is True?--That I Do Love Lord

Hartledon,  Deeply As It Is Known You Love His Brother," She Added,

Dropping Her Voice--"Would You Believe Me?"

 

Anne Looked At The Speaker's Face,  But Could Read Nothing. Was She In

Jest Or Earnest?

 

"No,  I Would Not Believe You," She Said,  With A Smile. "If You Did Love

Him,  You Would Not Proclaim It."

 

"Exactly. I Was Jesting. What Is Lord Hartledon To Me?--Save That We Are

Cousins,  And Passably Good Friends. I Must Avow One Thing,  That I Like

Him Better Than I Do His Brother."

 

"For That No Avowal Is Necessary," Said Anne; "The Fact Is Sufficiently

Evident."

 

"You Are Right,  Anne;" And For Once Maude Spoke Earnestly. "I Do _Not_

Like Percival Elster. But I Will Always Be Civil To Him For Your Sweet

Sake."

 

"Why Do You Dislike Him?--If I May Ask It. Have You Any Particular Reason

For Doing So?"

 

"I Have No Reason In The World. He Is A Good-Natured,  Gentlemanly Fellow;

And I Know No Ill Of Him,  Except That He Is Always Getting Into Scrapes,

And Dropping,  As I Hear,  A Lot Of Money. But If He Got Out Of His Last

Guinea,  And Went Almost In Rags,  It Would Be Nothing To Me; So _That's_

Not It. One Does Take Antipathies; I Dare Say You Do,  Miss Ashton. What A

Blessing Hartledon Did Not Die In That Fever He Caught Last Year! Val

Would Have Inherited. What A Mercy!"

 

"That He Lived? Or That Val Is Not Lord Hartledon?"

 

"Both. But I Believe I Meant That Val Is Not Reigning."

 

"You Think He Would Not Have Made A Worthy Inheritor?"

 

"A Worthy Inheritor? Oh,  I Was Not Glancing At That Phase Of The

Question. Here He Comes! I Will Give Up My Seat To Him."

 

It Is Possible Lady Maude Expected Some Pretty Phrases Of Affection;

Begging Her To Keep It. If So,  She Was Mistaken. Anne Ashton Was One Of

Those Essentially Quiet,  Self-Possessed Girls In Society,  Whose Manners

Seem Almost To Border On Apathy. She Did Not Say "Do Go," Or "Don't Go."

She Was Perfectly Passive; And Maude Moved Away Half Ashamed Of Herself,

And Feeling,  In Spite Of Her Jealousy And Her Prejudice,  That If Ever

There Was A Ladylike Girl Upon Earth,  It Was Anne Ashton.

 

"How Do You Like Her,  Anne?" Asked Val Elster,  Dropping Into The Vacant

Place.

 

"Not Much."

 

"Don't You? She Is Very Handsome."

 

"Very Handsome Indeed. Quite Beautiful. But Still I Don't Like Her."

 

"You Would Like Her If You Knew Her. She Has A Rare Spirit,  Only The Old

Dowager Keeps It Down."

 

"I Don't Think She Much Likes You,  Val."

 

"She Is Welcome To Dislike Me," Returned Val Elster.

Chapter 6 (At The Bridge)

The Famous Boat-Race Was Postponed. Some Of The Competitors Had

Discovered They Should Be The Better For A Few Days' Training,  And The

Contest Was Fixed For The Following Monday.

 

Not A Day Of The Intervening Week But Sundry Small Cockle-Shells--Things

The Ladies Had Already Begun To Designate As The "Wager-Boats," Each

Containing A Gentleman Occupant,  Exercising His Arms On A Pair Of

Sculls--Might Be Seen Any Hour Passing And Repassing On The Water; And

The Green Slopes Of Hartledon,  Which Here Formed The Bank Of The River,

Grew To Be Tenanted With Fair Occupants. Of Course They Had Their

Favourites,  These Ladies,  And Their Little Bets Of Gloves On Them.

 

As The Day For The Contest Drew Near The Interest Became Really Exciting;

And On The Saturday Morning There Was Quite A Crowd On The Banks. The

Whole Week,  Since Monday,  Had Been Most Beautiful--Calm,  Warm,  Lovely.

Percival Elster,  In His Rather Idle Fashion,  Was Not Going To Join In The

Contest: There Were Enough Without Him,  He Said.

 

He Was Standing Now,  Talking To Anne. His Face Wore A Sad Expression,

As She Glanced Up At Him From Beneath The White Feather Of Her Rather

Large-Brimmed Straw Hat. Anne Had Been A Great Deal At Hartledon That

Week,  And Was As Interested In The Race As Any Of Them,  Wearing Lord

Hartledon's Colours.

 

"How Did You Hear It,  Anne?" He Was Asking.

 

"Mamma Told Me. She Came Into My Room Just Now,  And Said There Had Been

Words."

 

"Well,  It's True. The Doctor Took Me To Task Exactly As He Used To Do

When I Was A Boy. He Said My Course Of Life Was Sinful; And I Rather

Fired Up At That. Idle And Useless It May Be,  But Sinful It Is Not:

And I Said So. He Explained That