Our Neighbours in the Corner House CHAPTER 14.
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I did not feel at ease in my mind, concerning Mr. Congreve. If my heart had not already become interested, and in a direction displeasing to my father, his attentions at the party, and call upon me at so early a period afterwards, would only have stirred a little maiden vanity. Now, the fear lest he might be in earnest troubled me. I was not long in doubt. He called again in a day or two, and, at this second visit, asked me to ride out with him on the next afternoon. I tried to excuse myself; but in a playful manner, that only concealed an earnest purpose, he pressed me to give consent.
"If my father does not object," I said, at last. Now, I would rather have said anything else; but in my perplexity, this came forth unwillingly. "I will answer for your father," replied my visitor in a confident way that amazed me.
"Mr. Congreve has asked me to ride out with him," said I to my father, on meeting him.
"Has he?" I saw his face brighten.
"Yes, on tomorrow afternoon."
"You accepted the attention, of course?"
I shook my head.
"What!" His surprise and disappointment were too apparent.
"Without your approval, sir, I would not think it right to accept such an invitation."
"Did you say so to Mr. Congreve?" he asked.
"I said, if you did not object."
"Oh!" His face brightened again. "I thought you could hardly have been so rude as to decline such a flattering attention from a man like Mr. Congreve."
I turned away to hide my crimsoning face. "A man like Mr. Congreve!" I shut my teeth as I repeated the words in suppressed indignation.
The repulsion about which I had spoken to Aunt Mary was felt as strongly as ever, at this second visit from Mr. Congreve; and the thought of sitting alone with him in a carriage for two or three hours, was exceedingly unpleasant. I had, in addition, a secret fear lest we should be seen riding out together by Mr. Holman; and that he would take more for granted, than truth could warrant.
When Mr. Congreve called with his handsome carriage and splendid pair of horses, I was ready to accompany him. The drive was amid some of the finest scenery in the neighborhood, and my companion interested me in local traditions connected with pioneer settlers; in showing fine points in the landscape; in comparing our scenery with that of countries which he had visited; and in other ways, varied by the suggestions of our ride. It was near the hour of sunset when we drove down towards the city, which lay stretching along and back from the broad river which swept by in a never-ceasing current.
"You have heard of Italian skies?" said Mr. Congreve, as he drew upon the reins until the horses stood still at a turn in the road, from which the whole western horizon was visible. At the zenith, the sky was of a deep blue, with here and there a gauzy scarf of white vapor lying motionless against the pure azure. As the eye descended westward, the number of these white, fleecy masses increased, and between them you saw the sky taking on a pale, transparent green. Lower down, cloud and sky were purpling in warmer rays. Then came a mountain range of white clouds, with dusky gorge and dim valley receding far into its bosom, and every snowy peak crowned with a diadem of golden rays. Below this, was a lake of soft azure and green, its surface as smooth as glass, and below this, a molten sea of fiery sunbeams, yellow and red and purple, which gleamed like molten gems and gold. The scene was one of gorgeous beauty. A sunset to be remembered.
"You have heard of Italian skies?" repeated Mr. Congreve, after I had looked for some time in silence upon the entrancing scene.
"They cannot be more beautiful than that," said I, lifting my finger towards the west.
"Italy never saw anything more glorious," he replied. And then he described for me, as we sat there, with our eyes upon the changing scene, and the horses at rest, a sunset witnessed among the Apennines.
"More beautiful than this" said I, when he ceased speaking, "because the mind gives it a charm not drawn from nature — the charm of association. A sunset viewed from an Ohio bluff, and one from a peak amid the Apennines, must affect the soul differently."
We discussed this point as we rode homewards, he, by a slightly urged difference of opinion, spurring my mind into excitement. I had grown animated, and was combating some playful remark he had made, when — we had entered the city, and were driving down one of the principal streets — my eyes encountered the face of Mr. Holman, and I became silent. I knew that upon my face was a glow of pleasant feeling. What would be the effect on his mind? That was the instant question in my thoughts. Mr. Congreve had almost monopolized me on the night of the party, since which Edgar and I had not met; and now, I was riding with Mr. Congreve, and in animated conversation with him.
For the rest of the drive home I was silent. My companion could not, of course, help noticing the change. The reason was hardly suspected. He tried to interest me by a change of subject, but failed altogether.
My father was standing at the garden gate as we drove up.
"I have returned her safely, Doctor," said Mr. Congreve, as he sprang from his seat and assisted me to alight.
"I hope you have enjoyed the ride," remarked my father.
"I can speak for myself — how is it with you, Miss Edith?" And Mr. Congreve looked with a smiling face into mine.
"I was much gratified." What less could I have said? Then, bowing, I ran along the walk, and disappeared in the house. Fully ten minutes must have elapsed, before I heard the carriage drive away. Why had Mr. Congreve lingered so long in conversation with my father? The fact disturbed me. I did not imagine for a moment that he had, on so brief an acquaintance, made any serious advances. But I was mistaken.
At tea-time my father was in unusually good spirits. He asked me many questions about our ride, and tried to draw me on to speak of it; but I was sober and had little to say.
"I have a compliment for you," said my father, as he sat with his pleased eyes on my face.
"Who from?" I asked.
"Can't you guess?"
I shook my head.
"From Mr. Congreve."
My father looked at me narrowly. I showed no signs of pleasure.
"Would you like to know what he said?" My father's voice was a little shaded. He was disappointed at my apparent indifference.
"Not particularly," I answered.
"Then you shall not know it!" He was irritated.
"So much saved to my vanity," said I, coldly.
"She's dying to hear, of course," remarked Aunt Mary, who put in this mollifying sentence. She saw that my father was annoyed.
"Don't believe a word of it," I said, quickly. "Mr. Congreve's opinion is of no consequence to me. I don't like him!"
My father's brows closed suddenly, and he showed unmistakable signs of discomposure.
"He's rich, polished, and intelligent; no one can gainsay that;" I thought it well to speak out then and there; "but he is not a man after my fancy, and it is the last time, I trust, he will ever ask me to ride with him."
I hardly know what possessed me to speak so boldly; a consciousness of being in imminent danger, perhaps.
"A girl's fancies are the embodiment of all wise appreciation of character, of course!" My father spoke with a curl of his expressive lip.
"Say a woman's perception, father," I replied, calmly, "and you may be near the truth." I let my voice dwell upon the word woman, and looked at him with a meaning expression on my face. I wished him to remember a previous conversation which he had forced upon me.
He was about to answer, and with some vehemence, I inferred from the sudden play of his features; but he checked himself, became silent, and did not speak again during the meal. He had remembered that conversation.
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