Barrington Volume Ii Part 4

"You shall hear every word of it before you sleep. It's all about Walcheren, though they think Waterloo more the fas.h.i.+on now."

"Just as this young lady might fancy Major Stapylton a more interesting event than one of us," said Withering, laughing. "But what 's become of your boasted punctuality, Barrington? A quarter past,--are you waiting for any one?"

"Are we, Dinah?" asked Barrington, with a look of sheepishness.

"Not that I am aware of, Peter. There is no one to _come_;" and she laid such an emphasis on the word as made the significance palpable.

To Barrington it was painful as well as palpable; so painful, indeed, that he hurriedly rang the bell, saying, in a sharp voice, "Of course, we are all here,--there are six of us. Dinner, Darby!"

The Major had won, but he was too crafty to show any triumph at his victory, and he did not dare even to look towards where Miss Barrington stood, lest he should chance to catch her eye. Dinner was at length announced. Withering gave his arm to Miss Barrington, Stapylton took charge of Josephine, and old Peter, pleasantly drawing his arm within M'Cormick's, said, "I hope you 've got a good appet.i.te, Major, for I have a rare fish for you to-day, and your favorite sauce, too,--smelt, not lobster."

Poor Barrington! it was a trying moment for him, that short walk into the dinner-room, and he felt very grateful to M'Cormick that he said nothing peevish or sarcastic to him on the way. Many a dinner begins in awkwardness, but warms as it proceeds into a pleasant geniality. Such was the case here. Amongst those, besides, who have not the ties of old friends.h.i.+p between them, or have not as yet warmed into that genial good-fellows.h.i.+p which is, so to say, its foster-brother, a character of the M'Cormick cla.s.s is not so damaging an element as might be imagined, and at times there is a positive advantage in having one of whose merits, by a tacit understanding, all are quite agreed. Withering and Stapylton both read the man at once, and drew out his salient points--his parsimony, his malice, and his prying curiosity--in various ways, but so neatly and so advisedly as to make him fancy he was the attacking party, and very successful, too, in his a.s.saults upon the enemy. Even Barrington, in the honest simplicity of his nature, was taken in, and more than once thought that the old Major was too severe upon the others, and sat in wondering admiration of their self-command and good temper. No deception of this sort prevailed with Miss Barrington, who enjoyed to the fullest extent the subtle raillery with which they induced him to betray every meanness of his nature, and yet never suffered the disclosure to soar above the region of the ludicrous.

"You have been rather hard upon them, Major," said Barrington, as they strolled about on the greensward after dinner to enjoy their coffee and a cigar. "Don't you think you have been a shade too severe?"

"It will do them good. They wanted to turn me out like a bagged fox, and show the ladies some sport; but I taught them a thing or two."

"No, no, M'Cormick, you wrong them there; they had no such intentions, believe me."

"I know that _you_ did n't see it," said he, with emphasis, "but your sister did, and liked it well, besides; ay, and the young one joined in the fun. And, after all, I don't see that they got much by the victory, for Withering was not pleased at my little hit about the days when he used to be a Whig and spout liberal politics; and the other liked just as little my remark about the fellows in the Company's service, and how n.o.body knew who they were or where they came from. He was in the Madras army himself, but I pretended not to know it; but I found his name written on the leaf of an old book he gave me, and the regiment he was in: and did you see how he looked when I touched on it? But here he comes now."

"Make your peace with him, M'Cormick, make your peace!" said Barrington, as he moved away, not sorry, as he went, to mark the easy familiarity with which Stapylton drew his arm within the other's, and walked along at his side.

"Wasn't that a wonderful dinner we had to-day, from a man that hasn't a cross in his pocket?" croaked out M'Cormick to Stapylton.

"Is it possible?"

"Sherry and Madeira after your soup, then Sauterne,--a thing I don't care for any more than the oyster patties it came with; champagne next, and in tumblers too! Do you ever see it better done at your mess? Or where did you ever taste a finer gla.s.s of claret?"

"It was all admirable."

"There was only one thing forgotten,--not that it signifies to me."

"And what might that be?"

"It was n't paid for! No, nor will it ever be!"

"You amaze me, Major. My impression was that our friend here was, without being rich, in very comfortable circ.u.mstances; able to live handsomely, while he carried on a somewhat costly suit."

"That 's the greatest folly of all," broke out M'Cormick; "and it's to get money for that now that he's going to mortgage this place here,--ay, the very ground under our feet!" And this he said with a sort of tremulous indignation, as though the atrocity bore especially hard upon _them_. "Kinshela, the attorney from Kilkenny, was up with me about it yesterday. 'It's an elegant investment, Major,' says he, 'and you 're very likely to get the place into your hands for all the chance old Peter has of paying off the charge. His heart is in that suit, and he 'll not stop as long as he has a guinea to go on with it.'

"I said, 'I 'd think of it: I 'd turn it over in my mind;' for there's various ways of looking at it."

"I fancy I apprehend one of them," said Stapylton, with a half-jocular glance at his companion. "You have been reflecting over another investment, eh? Am I not right? I remarked you at dinner. I saw how the young brunette had struck you, and I said to myself, 'She has made a conquest already!'"

"Not a bit of it; nothing of the kind," said M'Cormick, awkwardly. "I 'm too 'cute to be caught that way."

"Yes, but remember it might be a very good catch. I don't speak of the suit, because I agree with you, the chances in that direction are very small, indeed, and I cannot understand the hopeful feeling with which he prosecutes it; but she is a fine, handsome girl, very attractive in manner, and equal to any station."

"And what's the good of all that to me? Wouldn't it be better if she could make a pease-pudding, like Polly Dill, or know how to fatten a turkey, or salt down a side of bacon?"

"I don't think so; I declare, I don't think so," said Stapylton, as he lighted a fresh cigar. "These are household cares, and to be bought with money, and not expensively, either. What a man like you or I wants is one who should give a sort of tone,--impart a degree of elegance to his daily life. We old bachelors grow into self-indulgence, which is only another name for barbarism. With a mistaken idea of comfort we neglect scores of little observances which const.i.tute the small currency of civilization, and without which all intercourse is unpleasing and ungraceful."

"I'm not quite sure that I understand you aright, but there's one thing I know, I 'd think twice of it before I 'd ask that young woman to be Mrs. M'Cormick. And, besides," added he, with a sly side-look, "if it's so good a thing, why don't you think of it for yourself?"

"I need not tell an old soldier like _you_ that full pay and a wife are incompatible. Every wise man's experience shows it; and when a fellow goes to the bishop for a license, he should send in his papers to the Horse Guards. Now, I 'm too poor to give up my career. I have not, like you, a charming cottage on a river's bank, and a swelling lawn dotted over with my own sheep before my door. I cannot put off the harness."

"Who talks of putting off the harness?" cried Withering, gayly, as he joined them. "Who ever dreamed of doing anything so ill-judging and so mistaken? Why, if it were only to hide the spots where the collar has galled you, you ought to wear the trappings to the last. No man ever knew how to idle, who had n't pa.s.sed all his life at it! Some go so far as to say that for real success a man's father and grandfather should have been idlers before him. But have you seen Barrington? He has been looking for you all over the grounds."

"No," said Stapylton; "my old brother-officer and myself got into pipeclay and barrack talk, and strolled away down here unconsciously."

"Well, we 'd better not be late for tea," broke in the Major, "or we 'll hear of it from Miss Dinah!" And there was something so comic in the seriousness of his tone, that they laughed heartily as they turned towards the house.

CHAPTER IV. A MOVE IN ADVANCE

How pleasantly did the next day break on the "Home"! Polly Dill arrived in the best of possible spirits. A few lines from Tom had just reached them. They were written at sea; but the poor fellow's notions of lat.i.tude and longitude were so confused that it was not easy to say from whence. They were cheery, however, he was in good health, his comrades were kind-hearted creatures, and evidently recognized in him one of a station above their own. He said that he could have been appointed hospital sergeant-if he liked, but that whatever reminded him of his old calling was so distasteful that he preferred remaining as he was, the rather as he was given to believe he should soon be a corporal.

"Not that I mean to stop there, Polly; and now that I have n't got to study for it, I feel a courage as to the future I never knew before.

Give my love to Mr. Conyers, and say that I 'm never tired of thinking over the last night I saw him, and of all his good nature to me, and that I hope I 'll see his father some day or other to thank him. I suppose father does n't miss me? I 'm sure mother does n't; and it 's only yourself, Polly, will ever feel a heavy heart for the poor castaway! But cheer up! for as sure as my name is Tom, I 'll not bring discredit on you, and you 'll not be ashamed to take my arm down the main street when we meet. I must close now, for the boat is going.

"P. S. I dreamed last night you rode Sid Davis's brown mare over the Millrace at Graigue. Would n't it be strange if it came true? I wish I could know it."

"May I show this to my friend here, Polly?" said Barrington, pointing to Withering. "It's a letter he 'd like to read; and as she nodded a.s.sent, he handed it across the breakfast-table.

"What is your brother's regiment, Miss Dill?" said Stapylton, who had just caught a stray word or two of what pa.s.sed.

"The Forty-ninth."

"The Forty-ninth," said he, repeating the words once or twice. "Let me see,--don't I know some Forty-ninth men? To be sure I do. There's Rep ton and Hare. Your brother will be delighted with Hare."

"My brother is in the ranks, Major Stapylton," said she, flus.h.i.+ng a deep scarlet; and Barrington quickly interposed,--

"It was the wild frolic of a young man to escape a profession he had no mind for."

"But in foreign armies every one does it," broke in Stapylton, hurriedly. "No matter what a man's rank may be, he must carry the musket; and I own I like the practice,--if for nothing else for that fine spirit of _camaraderie_ which it engenders."

Fifine's eyes sparkled with pleasure at what she deemed the well-bred readiness of this speech, while Polly became deadly pale, and seemed with difficulty to repress the repartee that rose to her mind. Not so Miss Dinah, who promptly said, "No foreign customs can palliate a breach of our habits. We are English, and we don't desire to be Frenchmen or Germans."

"Might we not occasionally borrow from our neighbors with advantage?"

asked Stapylton, blandly.

"I agree with Miss Barrington," said Withering,--"I agree with Miss Barrington, whose very prejudices are always right. An army formed by a conscription which exempts no man is on a totally different footing from one derived from voluntary enlistment."

"A practice that some say should be reserved for marriage," said Barrington, whose happy tact it was to relieve a discussion by a ready joke.

They arose from table soon after,--Polly to accompany Miss Barrington over the garden and the shrubberies, and show all that had been done in their absence, and all that she yet intended to do, if approved of; Withering adjourned to Barrington's study to pore over parchments; and Stapylton, after vainly seeking to find Josephine in the drawing-room, the flower-garden, or the lawn, betook himself with a book, the first he could find on the table, to the river's side, and lay down, less to read than to meditate and reflect.