"Oh, well," said the young man, with a sudden softening of voice and manner, "it's not often that others see me in the light that you two appear to have agreed upon. I don't see why I am to disclaim it. It's erroneous, of course; but rather unpleasant on the whole; and, after all, we never do judge one another justly. If you didn't think me better than I am, you might think me worse; so I'll say no more."

"Better not, it would be labor lost," said Wyn, seriously. "When we Allonbys say a thing, we stick to it."

"Do you?" said he, with an intonation of eager interest, as if he had never before heard such a characteristic in any family.

The girl nodded, but turned away, and beckoned to him not to talk any more.

"We must leave him a little," she said, gently. "Dr. Forbes will soon be here, and I don't want him to think him unduly excited."

"Wyn," said Osmond, as his sister and the Honorable Claud reached the door, "is Miss Brabourne downstairs?"

"Yes."

"It was she who found me by the roadside?"

"Yes."

"Ah!" He said no more, but turned his face to the window and lay still, with his poetic and prominent chin raised a little. It was impossible to guess at his musings.

CHAPTER XV.

Since you have praised my hair, 'Tis proper to be choice in what I wear.

_In a Gondola._

When Miss Allonby and Mr. Cranmer emerged into the garden, they found a pleasing group awaiting their arrival.

Lady Mabel was sitting in a wicker chair, her gloves were removed, and lay rolled up in her lap, her firm white hands were employed with tea-cups and cream jug.

On the gra.s.s near sat Elsa, her hat off, her eyes dilated with wonder and enjoyment. Mr. Fowler stood near her ladyship, cutting bread-and-b.u.t.ter.

"Come along, Claud," she cried, as they appeared. "That good Mrs.

Battishill provides an _al fresco_ tea for us! Sit down and take the gifts the G.o.ds provide you. Did you ever see such a view?"

"Never," said Claud, with conviction. "Of all the lovely bits of rural England, I do think this is the loveliest. What makes its charm so peculiar is that it's unique. Half a mile along the high-road either towards Philmouth or Stanton, you would never guess at the existence of such an out-of-the-way spot of beauty. It really does remind one of what your brother called it," he went on, turning to Wynifred, "The 'Island Valley of Avilion.'"

"That's in Tennyson, I think," said Mr. Fowler. "I am ashamed to say how little poetry I read; we are behind the times here in the Combe, I'm afraid--eh, Elsie?"

"I don't know," said the monosyllabic beauty, confused.

Her large eyes were resting on Miss Allonby, drinking her in as she had drunk in Lady Mabel. They were not alike, most a.s.suredly, yet from Elaine's standpoint there was a similarity. Both of them were evidently at ease. Each knew how to sit in her chair, what to do with her hands, and, above all, what to say.

When her aunts received company they were excited, disordered. They ran here and there, for this and that--they fidgetted, they were flurried.

Wynifred Allonby looked as if she did not know what to be flurried meant.

She wore the simplest of grey linen gowns, with an antique silver buckle at her waist. Into her belt she had fastened three or four of the big dark red carnations which grew in profusion in the farm-house garden, and were just beginning to blossom. She was in the presence of an earl's sister, whom she had never seen before, yet her calm was unruffled, and her manner perfectly quiet. In Elsa's untutored eyes, this was inimitable.

Though she herself had now met Mr. Cranmer several times, yet she found herself blushing more and more every time she met his eye. Consciousness was awake--her quick feminine eye told her that her clothes did not resemble those of either of the women beside her.

Both were most simply attired, for it was the whim of Lady Mabel, when in the country, to wear short woollen skirts, leaving visible her shapely ankles, and otherwise to cast away the conventions of Bond Street by the use of wash-leather gloves and a stout walking stick.

To-day, under a short covert coat of dark blue cloth, she wore a loose scarlet shirt, the effect of which was coquettish and telling. Her well-looped skirts were also of dark blue, and there was a rough and ready suitableness to the occasion about her which was most effective.

The poor little watching, unfledged Elsa felt a soreness, an intolerable jealousy. Why was she so unlike others? Why could she not have different gowns? She almost thought she could sit and talk as easily as Miss Allonby, if only her dress fitted, and she could wear buckles on her shoes.

There was Mr. Fowler, who had always been her own especial property, her G.o.dfather, the one human being who had ever dared to say, "Let the child have a holiday." "Let the child stay up another hour this evening."

There he was, talking to Miss Allonby in his gentle way, looking at her with his honest eyes, laying himself out to entertain her, and not so much as throwing a glance at his forlorn Elsa.

n.o.body knew what purely feminine sorrows were vexing the young heart.

Lady Mabel was in a frame of mind inclined to be very regretful. She, like her brother, had taken a vehement fancy to Edge Combe, and she knew she must leave it, and return to London. She wanted to make the most of these sunshiny, peaceful hours, these interesting people, this lovely landscape.

Her fine eyes gazed down the valley, at the mysterious deeps below them, thick with foliage, and the deep glowing sea which formed the horizon.

"What a color that ocean is!" she said. "Do look, Claud, it's quite tropical!"

Mrs. Battishill was placing a big dish of clotted cream on the table.

"Eh, for all the world like a great basin of hot starch, isn't it? I've often thought so," said she, good-humoredly.

Her prompt exit into the farm-house allowed the smiles to broaden at will on the countenances of four of her five auditors.

"Oh, Mab," said Claud, with tears in his eyes, "what a slap in the face for your sentiment!"

"I'm not sure that it's not a very apt ill.u.s.tration," cried Wyn, when she could speak. "It is really just the same color, and the dip of the valley holds it like a basin! Imaginative Mrs. Battishill!"

"You draw, I think, Miss Allonby?" said Mr. Fowler.

"Yes, I am very fond of it," she answered.

"You will be able to do some sketching, now that your mind is at ease about your brother."

"Yes; but I am a poor hand at landscape. That is Osmond's province. I prefer heads. I should like," she paused, and fixed her eyes on Elsa, "I should like to paint Miss Brabourne."

Elsa started as if she had been shot. Up rushed the ungoverned color to face, throat, and neck. She could not believe the hearing of her ears.

"To paint me?" she cried. The water swam in her glorious eyes. "Are you making game of me?" she pa.s.sionately asked.

"Making game of you? No!" said Wyn, in some surprise. "I am very sorry--I beg your pardon--I am afraid I have distressed you."

Lady Mabel reached out her hand towards the girl as she sat on the gra.s.s; and, placing it under her chin, turned up the flashing, quivering, carmine face and smiled into the eyes.

"Should you dislike to sit for your portrait, Elsa?"

"I don't know--I never tried--I know nothing about it!" cried she, enduring the touch, as it seemed, with difficulty, and ready to shrink back into herself.