The Small House at Allington Anthony Trollope (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) 📖

she had seen with regret that Bell looked almost coldly on the man whom her mother favoured.

In thinking of all this the long evening passed away, and at eleven o’clock she heard the coming steps across the garden. The young men had, of course, accompanied the girls home; and as she stepped out from the still open window of her own drawing-room, she saw them all on the centre of the lawn before her.

“There’s mamma,” said Lily. “Mamma, Mr. Crosbie wants to play croquet by moonlight.”

“I don’t think there is light enough for that,” said Mrs. Dale.

“There is light enough for him,” said Lily, “for he plays quite independently of the hoops; don’t you, Mr. Crosbie?”

“There’s very pretty croquet light, I should say,” said Mr. Crosbie, looking up at the bright moon; “and then it is so stupid going to bed.”

“Yes, it is stupid going to bed,” said Lily; “but people in the country are stupid, you know. Billiards, that you can play all night by gas, is much better, isn’t it?”

“Your arrows fall terribly astray there, Miss Dale, for I never touch a cue; you should talk to your cousin about billiards.”

“Is Bernard a great billiard player?” asked Bell.

“Well, I do play now and again; about as well as Crosbie does croquet. Come, Crosbie, we’ll go home and smoke a cigar.”

“Yes,” said Lily; “and then, you know, we stupid people can go to bed. Mamma, I wish you had a little smoking-room here for us. I don’t like being considered stupid.” And then they parted⁠—the ladies going into the house, and the two men returning across the lawn.

“Lily, my love,” said Mrs. Dale, when they were all together in her bedroom, “it seems to me that you are very hard upon Mr. Crosbie.”

“She has been going on like that all the evening,” said Bell.

“I’m sure we are very good friends,” said Lily.

“Oh, very!” said Bell.

“Now, Bell, you’re jealous; you know you are.” And then, seeing that her sister was in some slight degree vexed, she went up to her and kissed her. “She shan’t be called jealous; shall she, mamma?”

“I don’t think she deserves it,” said Mrs. Dale.

“Now, you don’t mean to say that you think I meant anything,” said Lily. “As if I cared a buttercup about Mr. Crosbie.”

“Or I either, Lily.”

“Of course you don’t. But I do care for him very much, mamma. He is such a duck of an Apollo. I shall always call him Apollo; Phoebus Apollo! And when I draw his picture he shall have a mallet in his hand instead of a bow. Upon my word I am very much obliged to Bernard for bringing him down here; and I do wish he was not going away the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after tomorrow!” said Mrs. Dale. “It was hardly worth coming for two days.”

“No, it wasn’t⁠—disturbing us all in our quiet little ways just for such a spell as that⁠—not giving one time even to count his rays.”

“But he says he shall perhaps come again,” said Bell.

“There is that hope for us,” said Lily. “Uncle Christopher asked him to come down when he gets his long leave of absence. This is only a short sort of leave. He is better off than poor Johnny Eames. Johnny Eames only has a month, but Mr. Crosbie has two months just whenever he likes it; and seems to be pretty much his own master all the year round besides.”

“And uncle Christopher asked him to come down for the shooting in September,” said Bell.

“And though he didn’t say he’d come I think he meant it,” said Lily. “There is that hope for us, mamma.”

“Then you’ll have to draw Apollo with a gun instead of a mallet.”

“That is the worst of it, mamma. We shan’t see much of him or of Bernard either. They wouldn’t let us go out into the woods as beaters, would they?”

“You’d make too much noise to be of any use.”

“Should I? I thought the beaters had to shout at the birds. I should get very tired of shouting at birds, so I think I’ll stay at home and look after my clothes.”

“I hope he will come, because uncle Christopher seems to like him so much,” said Bell.

“I wonder whether a certain gentleman at Guestwick will like his coming,” said Lily. And then, as soon as she had spoken the words, she looked at her sister, and saw that she had grieved her.

“Lily, you let your tongue run too fast,” said Mrs. Dale.

“I didn’t mean anything, Bell,” said Lily. “I beg your pardon.”

“It doesn’t signify,” said Bell. “Only Lily says things without thinking.” And then that conversation came to an end, and nothing more was said among them beyond what appertained to their toilet, and a few last words at parting. But the two girls occupied the same room, and when their own door was closed upon them, Bell did allude to what had passed with some spirit.

“Lily, you promised me,” she said, “that you would not say anything more to me about Dr. Crofts.”

“I know I did, and I was very wrong. I beg your pardon, Bell; and I won’t do it again⁠—not if I can help it.”

“Not help it, Lily!”

“But I’m sure I don’t know why I shouldn’t speak of him⁠—only not in the way of laughing at you. Of all the men I ever saw in my life I like him best. And only that I love you better than I love myself I could find it in my heart to grudge you his⁠—”

“Lily, what did you promise just now?”

“Well; after tonight. And I don’t know why you should turn against him.”

“I have never turned against him or for him.”

“There’s no turning about him. He’d give his left hand if you’d only smile on him. Or his right either⁠—and that’s what I should like to see; so now you’ve heard it.”

“You know you are talking nonsense.”

“So I should like to see it. And so would mamma too, I’m sure; though I never heard her say a word about him. In my mind