Volume Ii Part 5 (1/2)
Though Clifton on this side appears a rural sort of residence, it is not without some of the disagreeable features of a watering-place.”
”I have lived always in the country.... I had no idea there was any danger,” ... said Agnes, shocked to think how much her own childish imprudence must have strengthened Colonel Hubert's worst opinion of her and her connexions.
”Nor is there, perhaps, any actual danger,” replied the Colonel; ”but there are many things that may not exactly warrant that name, which nevertheless....”
”Would be very improper for me!... Oh! it was great ignorance--great folly!” interrupted Agnes eagerly; ”and never, never again will I put myself in need of such kindness.”
”Has your aunt always lived with you in the country?” was a question which Colonel Hubert felt greatly disposed to ask, but, instead of it, he said, turning down from the windmill hill, ”You reside at Rodney Place, I believe, and, if I mistake not, this is the way.”
”No, sir ... we lodge in Sion Row.... It is here, close by.... Do not let me delay your ride any more.... I am very much obliged to you;” ...
and without waiting for an answer, Agnes stepped rapidly down the steep side of the hill, and was half-way towards Sion Row before the Colonel felt quite sure of what he had intended to say in return.
”But it is no matter.... She is gone,” thought he, and taking his reins from the hand of his groom, he remounted, and resumed his morning ride.
Mrs. Barnaby had not quitted her bed when Agnes returned; but she was awake, and hearing some one enter the drawing-room, called out, ”Who's there?”
”It is I, aunt,” said Agnes, opening the door with flushed cheeks and out of breath, partly, perhaps, from the agitation occasioned by her adventure, and partly from the speed with which she had walked from the windmill home.
”And where on earth have you been already, child? Mercy on me, what a colour you have got!... The ball has done you good as well as me, I think. There, get in and take your things off, and then come back and talk to me while I dress myself.”
Agnes went into her little room and shut the door. She really was very much afraid of her aunt, and in general obeyed her commands with the prompt obedience of a child who fears to be scolded if he make a moment's delay. But at this moment a feeling stronger than fear kept her within the blessed sanctuary of her solitary closet. She seemed gasping for want of air ... her aunt's room felt close after coming from the fresh breeze of the hill, and it was, therefore, as Agnes thought, that the sitting down alone beside her own open window seemed a luxury for which it was worth while to risk the sharpest reprimand that ever aunt gave.... But why, while she enjoyed it, did big tears chase each other down her cheeks?
Whatever the cause, the effect was salutary. She became composed, she recovered her breath, and her complexion faded to its usual delicate tint, or perhaps to a shade paler; and then she began to think that it was not wise to do anything for which she knew she should be reproached ... if she could help it ... and now she could help it; so she smoothed her chestnut tresses, bathed her eyes in water, and giving one deep sigh at leaving her own side of the door for that which belonged to her aunt, she came forth determined to bear very patiently whatever might be said to her.
Fortunately for Agnes Mrs. Barnaby had just approached that critical moment of her toilet business, when it was her especial will and pleasure to be alone; so, merely saying in a snappish accent, ”What in the world have you been about so long?” she added, ”Now get along into the drawing-room, and take care that the toast and my m.u.f.fin are ready for me, and kept hot before the fire;--it's almost too hot for fire, but I must have my breakfast warm and comfortable, and we can let it out afterwards.”
Agnes most joyfully obeyed. It was a great relief, and she was meekly thankful for it; but she very nearly forgot the m.u.f.fins and the toast, for the windows of the room were open, and looked out upon the windmill and the down, a view so pleasant that it was several minutes before she recollected the duties she had to perform. At last, however, she did recollect them, and made such good use of the time that remained, that when her aunt entered bright in carmine and lilac ribbons, everything was as it should be; and she had only to sit and listen to her ecstatic encomiums on the ball, warm each successive piece of m.u.f.fin at the end of a fork, and answer properly to the ten times repeated question,--
”Hav'n't you got a good aunt, Agnes, to take you to such a ball as that?”
At length, however, the tedious meal was ended, and Mrs. Barnaby busied herself considerably more than usual in setting the little apartment in order. She made Jerningham carefully brush away the crumbs--a ceremony sometimes neglected--set out her own best pink-lined work-box in state, placed the table agreeably at one of the windows, with two or three chairs round it, and then told Agnes, that if she had any of her lesson-book work to do, she might sit in her own room, for she did not want her.
Gladly was the mandate obeyed, and willingly did she aid Betty Jacks in putting her tiny premises in order, for she was not without hope that her friend Mary would pay her a visit there to talk over the events of the evening; an occupation for which, to say the truth, she felt considerably more inclined than for any ”lesson-book work” whatever.
Nor was she disappointed ... hardly did she feel ready to receive her before her friend arrived.
”And well, Carina, how fares it with you to-day? Do you not feel almost too big for your little room after all the triumphs of last night?” was the gay address of Miss Peters as she seated herself upon one of Agnes's boxes. But it was not answered in the same tone; nay, there was much of reproof as well as sadness in the accent with which Agnes uttered,--
”Triumphs!... Oh! Mary, what a word!”
”You are the only one, I believe, who would quarrel with it. Did ever a little country girl under seventeen make a more successful debut?”
”Did ever country girl of any age have more reason to feel that she never ought to make any debut at all?”
”My poor Agnes!...” said Miss Peters more gravely, ”it will not do for you to feel so deeply the follies that may, and, I fear, ever will be committed by _your_ aunt and _my_ aunt Barnaby.... It is a sad, vexing business, beyond all doubt, that you should have to go into company with a woman determined to make herself so outrageously absurd; but it is not fair to remember that, and nothing else ... you should at least recollect also that the most distinguished man in the room paid you the compliment of joining your party at tea.”
”Paid _me_ the compliment!... Oh! Mary.”