"Yes," blurted out d.i.c.k. "Why have you kept me at such a distance all the evening? Why would you not dance with me? and you gave Hamilton three valses. It was not like you, Nan, to treat me so,--and on my birthday too," went on the poor fellow, with a pathos that brought another sort of gleam to Nan's eyes, only she still laughed.

"Ah, you foolish boy!" she said, and gave his coat-sleeve a coaxing little pat. "I would rather have danced with you than Mr. Hamilton, though he does reverse beautifully, and I never knew any one who waltzed more perfectly."

"Oh, I do not presume to rival Hamilton," began d.i.c.k hotly, but she silenced him.

"Listen to me, you foolish d.i.c.k! I would have danced with you, and willingly, but I knew my duty better, or rather I knew yours. You were a public man to-day; the eyes of the county were upon you. You had to pay court to the big ladies, and to take no notice of poor little me.

I sent you away for your own good, and because I valued your duty above my pleasure," continued this heroic young person, in a perfectly satisfied tone.

"And you wanted to dance with me, Nan, and not with that goose of a Hamilton?" in a wheedling voice.

"Yes, d.i.c.k; but he is not a goose for all that: he is more of a swan in my opinion."

"He is a conceited a.s.s!" was the very unexpected reply, which was a little hard on d.i.c.k's chum, who was in many ways a most estimable young man and vastly his superior. "Why are you laughing, when you know I hate prigs? and Hamilton is about the biggest I ever knew." But this did not mend matters, and Nan's laugh still rang merrily in the darkness.

"What are those two doing?" asked Phillis, trying to peep between the lilac-bushes, but failing to discover more than the white glimmer of Nan's shawl.

Nan's laugh, though it was full of sweet triumph, only irritated d.i.c.k; the lord of the evening was still too sore and humiliated by all these rebuffs and repulses to take the fun in good part.

"What is it that amuses you so?" he asked, rather crossly. "That is the worst of you girls; you are always so ready to make merry at a fellow's expense. You are taking Hamilton's part against me, Nan,--I, who am your oldest friend, who have always been faithful to you ever since you were a child," continued the young man, with a growing sense of aggravation.

"Oh, d.i.c.k!" and Nan's voice faltered a little; she was rather touched at this.

d.i.c.k took instant note of the change of key, and went on in the same injured voice:

"Why should I look after all the big people and take no notice of you?

Have I not made it my first duty to look after you as long as I can remember? Though the whole world were about us, would you not be the first and the princ.i.p.al to me?"

"Don't, d.i.c.k," she said, faintly, trying to repress him; "you must not talk in that way, and I must not listen to you; your father would not like it." The words were sweet to her,--precious beyond everything,--but she must not have him speak them. But d.i.c.k, in his angry excitement, was not to be repressed.

"What does it matter what he likes? This is between you and me, Nan; no one shall meddle between us two." But what imprudent speech d.i.c.k was about to add was suddenly quenched in light-pealing laughter. At this critical moment they were met and surrounded; before them was the red glow of Cathcart's cigar, the whiteness of Phillis's gown; behind were two more advancing figures. In another second the young people had joined hands: a dusky ring formed round the startled pair.

"Fairly caught!" cried Dulce's sunshiny voice; the mischievous little monkey had no idea of the sport she was spoiling. None of the young people thought of anything but fun; d.i.c.k was just d.i.c.k, and he and Nan were always together.

d.i.c.k muttered something inaudible under his breath; but Nan was quite equal to the occasion; she was still palpitating a little with the pleasure d.i.c.k's words had given her, but she confronted her tormentors boldly.

"You absurd creatures," she said, "to steal a march on us like that!

d.i.c.k and I were having a quarrel; we were fighting so hard that we did not hear you."

"I enjoy a good fight above everything," exclaimed Cathcart, throwing away his cigar. He was a handsome dark-eyed boy, with no special individuality, except an overweening sense of fun. "What's the odds, Mayne? and who is likely to be the winner?"

"Oh, Nan, of course," returned d.i.c.k, trying to recover himself. "I am the captive of her spear and of her bow: she is in possession of everything, myself included."

The rest laughed at d.i.c.k's jest, as they thought it; and Mr. Hamilton said, "Bravo, Miss Challoner! we will help to drag him at your chariot-wheels." But Nan changed color in the darkness.

They went in after this, and the young men took their leave in the porch. d.i.c.k's strong grip of the hand conveyed his meaning fully to Nan: "Remember, I meant it all," it seemed to say to her.

"What did it matter? I am quite sure of him. d.i.c.k is d.i.c.k," thought Nan, as she laid her head happily on the pillow.

As for d.i.c.k, he had a long ordeal before him ere he could make his escape to the smoking-room, where his friends awaited him. Mr. Mayne had a great deal to say to him about the day, and d.i.c.k had to listen and try to look interested.

"I am sure d.i.c.k behaved beautifully," observed Mrs. Mayne, when the son and heir had at last lounged off to his companions.

"Well, yes; he did very well on the whole," was the grudging response; "but I must say those Challoner girls made themselves far too conspicuous for my taste;" but to this his wife prudently made no reply.

CHAPTER VI.

MR. TRINDER'S VISIT.

The next few days pa.s.sed far too quickly for Nan's pleasure, and d.i.c.k's last morning arrived. The very next day the Maynes were to start for Switzerland, and Longmead was to stand empty for the remainder of the summer. It was a dreary prospect for Nan, and in spite of her high spirits her courage grew somewhat low. Six months!

who could know what might happen before they met again? Nan was not the least bit superst.i.tious, neither was it her wont to indulge in useless speculations or forebodings; but she could not shake off this morning a strange uncanny feeling that haunted her in spite of herself--a presentiment that things were not going to be just as she would have them,--that d.i.c.k and she would not meet again in exactly the same manner.

"How silly I am!" she thought, for the twentieth time, as she brushed out her glossy brown hair and arranged it in her usual simple fashion.

Nan and her sisters were a little behind the times in some ways; they had never thought fit to curl their hair _en garcon_, or to mount a pyramid of tangled curls in imitation of a poodle; no pruning scissors had touched the light-springing locks that grew so prettily about their temples; in this, as in much else, they were unlike other girls, for they dared to put individuality before fashion, and good taste and a sense of beauty against the specious arguments of the mult.i.tude.

"How silly I am!" again repeated Nan. "What can happen, what should happen, except that I shall have a dull summer, and shall be very glad when Christmas and d.i.c.k come together;" and then she shook her little basket of housekeeping keys until they jingled merrily, and ran downstairs with a countenance she meant to keep bright for the rest of the day.

They were to play tennis at the Paines' that afternoon, and afterwards the three girls were to dine at Longmead. Mrs. Challoner had been invited also; but she had made some excuse, and pleaded for a quiet evening. She was never very ready to accept these invitations; there was nothing in common between her and Mrs. Mayne; and in her heart she agreed with Lady Fitzroy in thinking the master of Longmead odious.

It was Mr. Mayne who had tendered this parting hospitality to his neighbors, and he chose to be much offended at Mrs. Challoner's refusal.

"I think it is very unfriendly of your mother, when we are such old neighbors, and on our last evening, too," he said to Nan, as she entered the drawing-room that evening bringing her mother's excuses wrapped up in the prettiest words she could find.

"Mother is not quite well; she does not feel up to the exertion of dining out to-night," returned Nan, trying to put a good face on it, but feeling as though things were too much for her this evening. It was bad enough for Mr. Mayne to insist on them all coming up to a long formal dinner, and spoiling their chances of a twilight stroll; but it was still worse for her mother to abandon them after this fashion.

The new novel must have had something to do with this sudden indisposition; but when Mrs. Challoner had wrapped herself up in her white shawl, always a bad sign with her, and had declared herself unfit for any exertion, what could a dutiful daughter do but deliver her excuses as gracefully as she could? Nevertheless, Mr. Mayne frowned and expressed himself ill pleased.

"I should have thought an effort could have been made on such an occasion," was his final thrust, as he gave his arm ungraciously to Nan, and conducted her with ominous solemnity to the table.

It was not a festive meal, in spite of all Mrs. Mayne's efforts. d.i.c.k looked glum. He was separated from Nan by a vast silver epergne, that fully screened her from view. Another time she would have peeped merrily round at him and given him a sprightly nod or two; but how was she to do it when Mr. Mayne never relaxed his gloomy muscles, and when he insisted on keeping up a ceremonious flow of conversation with her on the subjects of the day?

When d.i.c.k tried to strike into their talk, he got so visibly snubbed that he was obliged to take refuge with Phillis.

"You young fellows never know what you are talking about," observed Mr. Mayne, sharply, when d.i.c.k had hazarded a remark about the Premier's policy; "you are a Radical one day, and a Conservative another. That comes of your debating societies. You take contrary sides, and mix up a balderdash of ideas, until you don't know whether you are standing on your head or your heels;" and it was after this that d.i.c.k found his refuge with Phillis.

It was little better when they were all in the drawing-room together.

If Mr. Mayne had invited them there for the purpose of keeping them all under his own eyes and making them uncomfortable, he could not have managed better. When d.i.c.k suggested a stroll in the garden, he said,--

"Pshaw! what nonsense proposing such a thing, when the dews are heavy and the girls will catch their deaths of cold!"

"We do it every evening of our life," observed Nan, hardily; but even she dared not persevere in the face of this protest, though she exchanged a rebellious look with d.i.c.k that did him good and put him in a better humor.

They found their way into the conservatory after that, but were hunted out on pretence of having a little music; at least Nan would have it that it was pretence.