LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LITTLE PANSY 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. EANDOLPH 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "GENTIANELLA," "WILD HYACINTH," 
 "WOOD ANEMONE," "GENISTA," 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 The garden's gem, 
 Heart'sease. 
 
 Leigh Hu>-t. 
 
 IN THKEE VOLUISIES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1881. 
 
 AU rights reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE. 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 
 1 
 
 ,i^ 
 
 4 
 
 r5 3 
 y. 1 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. BOUGHTON KNIGHT 
 
 THESE PAGES 
 
 r 
 
 _>5^ ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Every man is a debtor to his profession, from the 
 which, as men do of course seek to receive counten- 
 ance and profit, so ought they of duty to endeavour 
 themselves by way of amends to be a help and orna- 
 ment thereunto. 
 
 Bacon. 
 
 If you wish success in life, make perseverance your 
 bosom-friend, experience your wise counsellor, caution 
 your elder brother, and hope your guardian genius. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 A RNCESTER, the capital of Meadow- 
 -^■^ shire, was a pretty old-fashioned 
 town, with an old grey ruined castle stand- 
 ing on steep red sandstone cliffs overhang- 
 ing the river; and a fine old church, the 
 
 VOL. I. IJ
 
 ^ LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 tower of which formed a landmark for 
 miles round. 
 
 The greater part of Meadowshire was 
 rather flat, consisting chiefly of rich mea- 
 dows, wherein the sleek red and white 
 cattle stood knee-deep in luxuriant grass, 
 shaded from summer heats by fine old oaks 
 and limes ; but about Arncester the country 
 was more picturesque and hilly, the cliff 
 on which the castle stood being the end of 
 a spur descending from the hills in Rock- 
 shire, where the river Arne took its rise. 
 It was a deep and rapid stream, and just 
 below the castle it widened out into a 
 small quasi-lske, which much improved 
 the beauty of the landscape. 
 
 The town stood on a considerably lower 
 level than the castle, but yet a good way 
 above the river. The streets were very 
 steep in some places, and there was but 
 little uniformity among the buildings, 
 though the majority of them were old, and 
 many were of the white plaster with black
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 6 
 
 beams well known to those acquainted with 
 some parts of Cheshire and Sfiropshire ; 
 while others were of rich red sandstone, 
 carved, over doors and windows, with the 
 arms of the old county famiUes, whose 
 town-houses they had been in the long- 
 past days when a season in London was 
 unattainable to, and never thought of by, 
 the country gentry; and when the two or 
 three months spent in Arncester were con- 
 sidered as great dissipation as are tho 
 superior attractions of the Metropolis at 
 the present day. 
 
 Side by side with these venerable man- 
 sions, which gave a somewhat aristocratic 
 air to the town, despite the heterogenous 
 lower uses to which they had now fallen, 
 were of course many newer erections, some 
 of grey stone like the castle, but the ma- 
 jority of red brick, which looked very 
 coarse and mean when contrasted with the 
 old weather-stained sandstone. 
 
 From the castle a fine view was obtained 
 
 r2
 
 4 LITTLE- PANSY. 
 
 over Meadowshire and the sinuous course 
 of the Arne ; in one direction the windings 
 of the river could be followed for many 
 miles, as it twisted and curved through 
 woods and meadows ; in the other it could 
 be seen emerging from a wooded valley 
 about two miles off, and eddying among 
 rocks and tiny green islets before it reach- 
 ed the lakelet under the castle hill. On 
 the other side of the river stretched the 
 fine oak and beech woods of Kelmorton 
 Hall, the grey Elizabethan gables of which 
 were visible on a slight eminence in the 
 distance. No smoke was to be seen rising 
 from its twisted chimneys, for its owner, 
 Lord Kelmore, preferred another residence 
 in the north, and had not visited Meadow- 
 shire for more than ten years. 
 
 Among the principal buildings of Arn- 
 cester the inhabitants counted the church, 
 a beautiful structure of red sandstone, 
 standing on the top of a hill but little in- 
 ferior in height to that on which stood the
 
 LITTLE TANSY. 5 
 
 castle, in the centre of a churchyard, the 
 beautification of which was very dear to 
 the rector s, Mr. Mordan's, heart ; and cer- 
 tainly there were few in the county that 
 could vie with it either in neatness or in 
 profusion of flowering plants and shrubs : 
 the Town Hall, one of the finest speci- 
 mens of the old black and white edifices, 
 which had recently been most carefully and 
 judiciously restored ; and last, though by 
 no means least, the Bank, which many of 
 the worthy but unsesthetic townsfolk con- 
 sidered in their secret hearts to be by far 
 the handsomest building in the town, and 
 which was of bright red brick with white 
 stone dressings, a profusion of plate-glass, 
 and a general air, in the quiet High Street, 
 oF painful newness and incongruity. It 
 stood at one corner of the market-place, 
 almost opposite the Town Hall, and more 
 than one member of the Corporation had 
 been heard to say that the money spent in 
 restoration of that " tumbledown old barn "
 
 b LITTLE PANSy. 
 
 would have been better expended in as- 
 similating its appearance as nearly as pos- 
 sible to that of the Bank. 
 
 The market-place had once been the 
 fashionable quarter of Arncester, and most 
 of the old houses that had belonged to the 
 county families were situated there, and had 
 spacious gardens at the back, with here 
 and there a fine old cedar and tulip-tree ; 
 but the modern aristocracy of the town, 
 the lawyers, the families who lived in the 
 town for the sake of the Grammar School 
 education, the wives of the officers of the 
 small detachment quartered there, the re- 
 tired tradesmen and others, affected to 
 find the annoyance of the bi-weeklj* market 
 too great, and had decreed that the fashion- 
 able quarter should be Arne Street, which 
 was quite on the other side of the town ; 
 where the situation was much lower, where 
 there was no view, and where the houses 
 had no gardens. The fine old houses, with 
 their broad, shallow oak staircases and
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 7 
 
 panelled rooms, were converted into offices, 
 some one or two even into shops : tlie 
 gardens were either allowed to run wild or 
 leased to a market-gardener, and the mem- 
 bers of Arncester society, when they left 
 their offices, returned home to the superior 
 delights of Arne Street ; where each house 
 was as like its fellour as if run out of a 
 mould, where the walls were sufficiently 
 thin to allow the enjoyment of the sound 
 of a neighbour's piano, and where the 
 front view was of the opposite side of the 
 street, and the back one of a small flagged 
 yard leading to the stables. That those 
 interested in either the barracks or the 
 Grammar School should select it as a 
 residence was comprehensible enough, for 
 it was within a few minutes' walk of both ; 
 but that those to whom such vicinity was 
 no object should willingly locate them- 
 selves in one of the least agreeable quar- 
 ters of the town, could only be accounted 
 for by the mysterious fact that "it was
 
 8 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 the fasliion," a reason that had fully as 
 much force in Arncester as in Belgravia. 
 
 Only two members of " Society " in 
 Arncester continued to live in the market- 
 place. Those were the rector, the Eever- 
 end Alured Mordan, and the banker, 
 George Deveron. The former had hardly 
 a choice, for the rectory had from time 
 immemorial been one of the old red houses 
 so despised by the modern residents, and, 
 beinor a man of much culture and excellent 
 taste, he fully appreciated the advantages 
 of the position. His wife quite agreed 
 with him, and was very thankful for the 
 larofe orarden, where the children could 
 play in safety during the day, and where 
 in the summer evenings she and her hus- 
 band could sit in quiet and enjoy the lovely 
 view, as free from sigfht or sound of the 
 town as if they were in the remotest 
 country parsonage, and yet with the know- 
 ledge that he was in the heart of the work 
 in which the whole energy of his nature
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 9 
 
 was engaged. Arncester was a large 
 parish, and Mr. Mordan kept three 
 curates, but he did not consider that any 
 reason why he should not be personally 
 acquainted with every one of his parish- 
 ioners, and supervise the proceedings of 
 his subordinates. He was much "thought 
 of," as the phrase was in Arncester : partly, 
 let us hope, for his high views, his chari- 
 table and earnest disposition, and his pure 
 and self-denying life ; but also, and proba- 
 bly by the majority, because he was a 
 member of one of the oldest county fami- 
 lies, and had married the daughter of 
 another. 
 
 '' The county " was an object of almost 
 servile worship in Arncester : Meadow- 
 shire was a very exclusive county, and 
 there were very few of the town aristo- 
 cracy who were on visiting terms with the 
 county people, though it certainly was not 
 from any want of endeavour on their part. 
 The advent of Mr. and Mrs. Mordan, some
 
 10 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 three years before the commencement of 
 this narrative, had been hailed with much 
 enthusiasm as a probable means of coming 
 in contact with the longed-for magnates. 
 " The Mordans must entertain ; they would 
 of course have their relations staying with 
 them ; they must ask some of the towns- 
 people to meet them," — in short, it would 
 be the thin end of the wedge, and Arn- 
 cester was excited and jubilant. 
 
 But it was doomed to disappointment : 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mordan entertained very 
 little indeed, and when they did invite 
 those who had shown them civility, their 
 guests were inexpressibly mortified to find 
 that, with the occasional exception of one 
 of Mr. Mordan's sisters, or of an old 
 maiden aunt of his w^ife's, they never met 
 any of " the county," though they fre- 
 quently encountered couples living in the 
 town, whom they did not consider worthy 
 of the honour of admittance into the Arne 
 Street '^ set." They did not comprehend
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 11 
 
 that Mr. Mordan preferred to spend the 
 modest sum which the education of his 
 children and the duties of his position 
 allowed him to devote to entertainment, 
 rather on those who liad few pleasures, 
 and to whom an evening spent at the rec- 
 tory and a meeting with Arncester society 
 were a great event, than on the great 
 land-owners, who could have what amuse- 
 ments they pleased, and to whom a dinner- 
 party more or less was naturally a matter 
 of the most perfect indifference. 
 
 Perhaps no one was more indignant at 
 the failure of the hopes which Arncester 
 had considered itself justified in forming"^ 
 on the new rector s advent than the wife 
 of the other dweller in the market-place, 
 the banker, George Deveron. It was an 
 extremely sore grievance to Mrs. Deveron 
 that her husband insisted on continuing 
 to live in the old house in the market- 
 place, on the plea of its convenient con- 
 tiguity to his business, while her heart
 
 12 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 yearned for the greater gentility of a resi- 
 dence in the fashionable quarter of the 
 town. But above all things she longed to 
 be distinguished beyond other Arncester 
 folk by acceptance by the county, and re- 
 sented bitterly the failure of the hopes 
 which she had founded on the Mordans. 
 
 Mr. Deveron's position in Arncester was 
 a high one. His great-grandfather had 
 been one of the traditional boys who, be- 
 ginning with half a crown and the oflfice 
 of sweeping out the Arncester Bank, had 
 successively progressed to a clerkship, 
 marriage with his master's daughter, re- 
 ception into partnership, and finally the 
 sole proprietorship of the business. His 
 grandfather and his father had improved 
 and consolidated the connection ; had mar- 
 ried, the former the daughter of a banker 
 at Shrewsbury, the latter the daughter of 
 a small farmer, and had never aspired to 
 society other than that of the townsfolk. 
 
 George Deveron himself had no social
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 1^ 
 
 ambition ; he had been educated at the 
 Grammar School, had learnt his business 
 under his father's eye, and was well con- 
 tented to remain in the groove that had 
 suited that father before him. The Bank 
 was a sound and most lucrative concern, 
 as it behoved a business to be that never 
 lacked the supervision of the watchful 
 master's eye, and Mr. Deveron's name and 
 character were known and respected far 
 and wide in Meadowshire and the adjoin- 
 ing counties. He was, of course, known 
 to all the gentlemen in the county, and 
 his wife often told him, not without bitter- 
 ness, that any other man in his position 
 would have long ago contrived that his 
 family should share the advantages which 
 he enjoyed. It was a downright insult to 
 her, she averred, that he should be asked 
 to shoot, and afterwards to dine and sleep, 
 at Daleford, when Mrs. Delmar had never 
 condescended to call upon her ; yet she 
 would not hear of his refusing the invita-
 
 14 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 tiou, as he at once offered to do. It was 
 the last thino^ she wished that he should 
 sever his connection with the county ; it 
 would annihilate her own chance of ever 
 settin^^ foot within the charmed circle. 
 
 Mrs. Deveron had been Miss Matilda 
 Morris, the daughter of an attorney at 
 Birmingham, whom Mr. Deveron had en- 
 countered when sent to that town by his 
 father on business. She was by nature a 
 somewhat vulgar- minded woman, and her 
 defects had been heightened at the board- 
 ing-school where she had been sent to ac- 
 quire accomplishments, and to learn to be 
 '' genteel." 
 
 At the time that George Deveron first 
 saw her, she was very handsome, in a 
 somewhat common and vulgar style, in- 
 tensely bright colouring, with very black 
 hair and eyes, but her chief beauty lay in 
 a really magnificent figure. As she grew 
 older, her charms ripened too much ; she 
 grew very large, and the complexion which
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 15 
 
 had once been likened to lilies and roses 
 more nearly resembled a full-blown peony. 
 Nor did her miod grow more refined. She 
 would have liked to take advantage of her 
 husband's wealth, and make a display that 
 he would by no means sanction ; she 
 fretted under his quiet decree that nothiug* 
 was to be done to make it seem that they 
 wished to ascend from the respectable 
 middle class to which they of right be- 
 longed, and remarked peevishly that he 
 could very well afford to buy an estate, 
 and to take his place among the landed 
 gentry. 
 
 To all such suggestions George Deveron 
 turned a deaf ear, going on in the even 
 tenor of his way, attending diligently to 
 his business, and taking an occasional 
 day's holiday in the hunting-field, or when 
 asked to shoot with some neighbour. He 
 was a man much liked by all who knew 
 him for his unobtrusive manners and 
 shrewd good sense, and it was quite true.
 
 16 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 as his wife often said, that, if he had 
 chosen to make a point of it, she would 
 have been received in many houses where 
 he visited alone. But he was a proud 
 man in his own way, and disdained to be 
 beholden to a hint of his own for an invi- 
 tation for his wife : everyone knew of her 
 existence, and was at liberty to call on her 
 if it was wished ; it was certainly not for 
 him to make the first move. And so ladies 
 who saw Mrs. Deveron's coarse beauty 
 occasionally at meets of the Hounds, or 
 on other public occasions, and heard the 
 harsh tones of her somewhat loud voice, 
 agreed that, as Mr. Deveron never said 
 anything on the subject, it was clear she 
 did not wish to visit, and absolved them- 
 selves from what they cousidered would be 
 the unwelcome duty of calling on her. 
 
 Four children were the issue of this 
 union : two sons and two daughters. 
 With much reluctance, Mr. Deveron had 
 deferred to his wife's wishes in respect to
 
 LITTLE PAXSi'. 17 
 
 Lis sons' education. His wish was that 
 they should have been educated, as he 
 himself had been, at the Grammar School, 
 and should, as soon as possible, have taken 
 their places in the Bank; hers that they 
 should be sent to Eton " to make friends," 
 and then both enter the Army. To Eton 
 Mr. Deveron would not consent, but he 
 finally agreed to Rugby, which, though far 
 from satisfying his wife, was yet in her 
 eyes infinitely preferable to the alternative 
 of the Arncester Grammar School. 
 
 The idea of sending both sons into the 
 Army was most repugnant to Mr. Deve- 
 ron ; but at length, exhausted by his wife's 
 importunities, he promised her that the 
 lads should be left perfectly free to choose 
 their own career in life, and that he would 
 neither do nor say anything to influence 
 them, if she on her part would also abstain 
 from doing so. Mrs. Deveron promised 
 readily, and had every intention of keep- 
 ing her word, but it was impossible for her 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 not, almost unconsciously, to show the 
 children in what different estimation she 
 held any of the townsfolk, and such officers 
 as were attached to the small cavalry de- 
 tachment. It was clear that she considered 
 them as of a different race, and, as she 
 always remarked, they were invited to 
 country houses, while Arncester people 
 were not. 
 
 Her observations had no effect on her 
 eldest boy, Arthur, who was very like his 
 father both in looks and in disposition. 
 Prom a little boy he always announced that 
 " he meant to stick to the Bank ;" and, at 
 eighteen, he told his father that he had 
 never changed his mind, and should like 
 to learn his work thoroughly, and as soon 
 as possible. His decision was a real joy 
 to Mr. Deveron, who was both fond and 
 proud of the old established business that 
 had been so long in his family, and which 
 it would have been a sore grief to him to 
 know must pass into other hands ; but it
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 19 
 
 was a great disappointment to his mother, 
 who had fondly hoped that her boys would 
 disdain any connection with business. She 
 expressed something of her feeling to 
 Arthur when he annoanced his decision, 
 but it was plain that his mind was quite 
 made up, and he told her at once that ife 
 was the only life he had a fancy for, and 
 that he thought his father seemed pleased. 
 
 Hubert, the second son, who was a year 
 younger than his brother, was equally clear 
 in his wishes, and announced them quite 
 as early. Almost before he could speak 
 plainly he had determined to be a cavalry 
 officer, and his fancy never wavered. Of 
 all her children he was his mother's favour- 
 ite, and was the most like her both in 
 appearance and character. 
 
 Different as they were in appearance, 
 both boys were very good-looking ; Arthur 
 was tall and broad-shouldered, with a frank, 
 open face, curling fair hair, and laughing 
 blue eyes. He was quiet, steadfast, 
 
 c'2
 
 20 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 and particularly sweet-tempered, perfectly 
 straightforward, and inclined to be in- 
 tolerant of any humbug or affectation. 
 Hubert had his mother's clear bright 
 colouring, and dark eyes and hair, and in- 
 herited also her longing for a higher social 
 position than that assigned her by Provi- 
 dence. He longed to be one of the gay 
 officers of a cavalry regiment, and to re- 
 ceive the admiration he saw lavished on 
 those quartered in Arncester. Vanity and 
 love of praise were the chief motive powers 
 in his character ; his temper, though gener- 
 ous, was passionate, and he was quite in- 
 capable of ever seeing more than one side 
 of a question, and that the one most satis- 
 factory to himself. 
 
 The two girls, who were both younger 
 than their brothers, were as different from 
 each other as were the boys. With them, 
 too, their mother's wishes as to education 
 had. been allowed to prevail, and when 
 Sophronia was twelve and Julia nearly
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 21 
 
 eleveo, they bad been sent to a highly 
 fashionable school at Brighton, having 
 been previously instructed by a governess 
 at home. 
 
 Sophronia, the eldest, was the only plain 
 member of the family, and her want of 
 good looks was a great sorrow and griev- 
 ance to Mrs. Deveron. She was neither 
 tall nor short, neither dark nor fair, her 
 complexion was muddy, and her eyes of a 
 pale watery blue. As Mrs. Deveron said 
 disparagingly, 
 
 " She really had not a good point either 
 in face or figure." 
 
 Sophronia was quit^ aware of her own 
 defects, which had been freely pointed out 
 to her both at home and at school, and she 
 had decided on the role which it would be 
 <iesir*able for her to adopt. She would 
 be quoted as clever, w^ould be decidedly 
 "blue," and affect to despise those frivoli- 
 ties which to her would never bring 
 triumphs. But this decision by no means
 
 22 LITTLE PAXSY. 
 
 moved her to hard study ; nothing was 
 further from her thoughts than University 
 examinations, or a sojourn at Girton Col- 
 lege. She did not in the least wish , to 
 know things, only to seem to do so, and to 
 be quoted as clever ; and she well knew that 
 in these days of royal roads to learning 
 there were plenty of books from which she 
 could acquire a smattering of scientific or 
 literary subjects that would quite fulfil her 
 requirements. 
 
 Where was the use of reading tiresome 
 old books, when a good dictionary of litera- 
 ture would in a few lines give a resume of 
 their contents, quite sufficient to enable 
 her to shine in the eyes of the illiterate ? 
 Why should she take trouble to study any 
 of the sciences or ologies, when short hand- 
 books and glossaries of terms would make 
 her quite capable of dazzling ordinary 
 mortals ? Only one thing she did really 
 study, and that was music, giving her at- 
 tention almost exclusively to that styled
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 28 
 
 " of the future," and shunning religiously 
 anything with the remotest approach to an 
 air. In this she exercised very consider- 
 able self-denial, for valses and popular airs 
 were far more pleasing to her than the 
 grandest creations of Herr "Wagner and 
 his imitators, but she resisted them stead- 
 fastly as being unsuitable to her self-elected 
 position as the intellectual member of the 
 family. 
 
 Julia was a complete contrast — a bright, 
 fresh, pretty girl, with a beautiful com- 
 plexion and a lovely figure, frivolous to 
 the last degree, and contemptuous of any 
 learning excepting the accomplishments of 
 singing and dancing, which she regarded 
 as important weapons for future conquests. 
 Her mother had spoilt her terribly during 
 the holidays, impressing upon her how 
 pretty she was, and what success she ought 
 some day to have, hints that bore abundant 
 fruit in the fertile soil of Julia's vain and 
 selfish nature. And the mistress of the
 
 24 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 school where she was placed exercised no 
 influence which at all counteracted this 
 injurious home-training; she cared for 
 nothing but to make her pupils shine as 
 brilliant members of society, and bestowed 
 little or no attention on their moral train- 
 ins^. 
 
 At the time at which this story com- 
 mences, the two girls had been about six 
 months at home, after having finally left 
 school : Sophronia was nineteen and a 
 half, Julia a little past eighteen. Mrs. 
 Deveron, ambitious for her pretty youngest 
 daughter, was more than ever inclined to 
 murmur at the hard fate that kept them 
 estranged from the county set. In any 
 other county such would hardly have been 
 the case, but Meadowshire, as we have 
 before said, was extremely exclusive, and 
 her predecessors, her husband's mother 
 and grandmother, had been so utterly de- 
 void of social aspirations, so contented to 
 stay at home, and see only such friends as
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 25 
 
 came to them, that the county had grown 
 quite accustomed to see and invite the 
 Deveron of the day, without considering 
 whether or not he possessed any feminiDe 
 belonging. If only, his wife sighed, Mr. 
 Deveron would have '' plucked up a spirit !'' 
 However, now that Julia's interests were 
 involved, she w^as determined that he 
 should no longer shirk his duty for lack 
 of having it put plainly and frequently 
 before him. 
 
 The two sons were aged respectively 
 four and three and twenty. Arthur was 
 already his father's right hand in the Bank. 
 Hubert was in the Twenty-third Lancers, 
 and wrote enthusiastically of the delights 
 of Hounslow, and of having been on the 
 detachment at Kensington Gate. The 
 regiment was to move to E-ockton in the 
 ensuing year, and Mrs. Deveron built 
 much on the assistance which her son's 
 London acquaintance with various Mea- 
 dowshire people would be to her in her
 
 26 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 schemes of social aggrandisement, more 
 especially if he happened to be one of the 
 detachment sent to Arncester.
 
 27 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 'Tis the most tender part of love 
 Each other to forgive. 
 The Reconcilement — Duke of Buckinghamshire^ 
 
 This is the place. Stand still, my steed. 
 
 Let me review the scene, 
 And summon from the shadowy Past 
 
 The forms that once have been. 
 
 A Gleam of Sunshine — Longfellow. 
 
 T T was a beautiful morniDg lace in Sep- 
 -*- tember, and breakfast was laid in the 
 oak-panelled dining-room of Mr. Deveron's 
 residence in the market-place. It was a 
 long and somewhat low room, with a bay- 
 window at the end looking into the gar- 
 den, where the flower-beds were still in 
 their full beauty. To the left a view of
 
 28 LITTLE PAXSY. 
 
 the castle could be obtained, while beyond 
 the rose heds^e that bounded the srarden 
 the ground sloped abruptly to the river, 
 on the other side of which could be seen, 
 beneath the spreading boughs of the cedar 
 on the lawn, the woods of Kelmorton in 
 the first flush and beauty of their autumnal 
 tints, and the grey gables of the Hall 
 peeping from among the trees. Roses 
 clustered round the open window, and 
 mingled their fragrance with that of the 
 jasmine, and with the perfume of the 
 heliotrope, as yet untouched by frost. 
 
 The family correspondence was duly 
 arranged on the sideboard, for Mr, Dev- 
 eron would never sanction his wife or 
 daughters having their letters upstairs, 
 declaring that it would infallibly make 
 them late for prayers. Punctuality was a 
 sacred virtue in his eyes, and the very 
 slightest lapse from it on the part of .any 
 member of his family or household was 
 never suffered to pass unnoticed. Pre-
 
 LITTLE PANST. 29- 
 
 cisely at a quarter before nine the bell rang 
 for prayers, and within two minutes the 
 family and servants were assembled ; Mr. 
 Deveron read a very short form of prayer, 
 and the urn made ^its appearance as the 
 clock struck nine. 
 
 On the morning in question the number 
 of letters seemed unusually large, and in 
 the short interval between prayers and 
 breakfast. Mrs. Deveron and her daughters 
 were exchanging scraps of intelligence. 
 
 "A letter from Hubert. He is going 
 to stay for a couple of days with Lord 
 and Lady Snowdpn. She is his Colonel's 
 sister." 
 
 " Oh, Mamma ! Letty Farmer, who was 
 at school with us, is. going to be married 
 to a Mr. Weston, a lawyer. She wants 
 me to be bridesmaid ! We always settled 
 whichever married first should have the 
 oth^r." 
 
 " Only think, Julia, Sophia Northern is 
 coming to Rockton for the Mycological
 
 30 LITTLE PANSY. * 
 
 Congress next month ! We must try to 
 get her here." 
 
 " The Yernons want us to dine there on 
 Thursday," said Mrs. Deveron, addressing 
 her husband. 
 
 Before he could reply, Julia exclaimed, 
 
 " Have they asked us, Mamma? I hope 
 so!" 
 
 " Yes, one of you ; but I think it is 
 Sophronia's turn, is it not ? We may as 
 well go, I suppose, George." 
 
 *'I am afraid I cannot. Indeed, I must 
 leave home to-day. My sister is very ill, 
 and has written an earnest request that I 
 will go to her at once ; I shall go by the 
 11.30, and of course it is quite uncertain 
 when I shall be able to return. Not by 
 Thursday, certainly." 
 
 " But, George, it is absolutely impossible 
 you can go to-day ! You forget we have 
 a dinner-party. You have neither §een 
 nor heard from your sister for two-and-
 
 * LITTLE PANSY. 31 
 
 twenty years, so surely there can't be this 
 great hurry all at once." 
 
 " There is the reason for hurry, Matilda, 
 that, if I delay, it may be too late; she 
 writes that she is dying, and earnestly 
 wishes to see me ; she says she has put it 
 off till the last. It is a request I cannot 
 refuse, and I must go at once. As to the 
 dinner, you can do very well without me — 
 there is Arthur to take my place ; at any 
 rate, it cannot be helped. Now give me 
 some tea. I have two or three letters to 
 write before I start." 
 
 " It will make us an uneven number," 
 said Mrs. Deveron. 
 
 '' We only want a gentleman. Mamma. 
 Couldn't you ask Mr. Musgrave ?" said 
 Sophronia, mentioning one of the curates 
 who was supposed to be rather impressed 
 by her display of learning, and who had 
 been heard to remark that it was a treat 
 to find a young lady not entirely devoted 
 to frivolous pursuits.
 
 32 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 ^' Or Harry YernoD, Mamma ; he sings 
 so awfully well !" exclaimed Julia. 
 
 "Julia," said her father, "1 wish you 
 would try to remember what I tell you so 
 often — that the misuse of words is both 
 silly and vulgar. If you look in any 
 dictionarj^, you will find the meaning of 
 awful to be 'solemn, dreadful, fearful, 
 terrible.' Pray, which of these epithets 
 do you consider applicable to Mr. Ver- 
 non's — I object to your calling him 
 Harry ; it is fast, and bad style — singing ?" 
 
 ''Oh! none, of course, you dear old 
 particular Dad," said Julia, perching herself 
 on the arm of his chair and kissing' his 
 bald head ; " I daresay it's aw — very silly, 
 but everyone does it." 
 
 " Even if they did, which I quite deny, 
 it is no reason why you should make your- 
 self ridiculous. There, get up, child, I 
 must be off to the Bank for half an hour. 
 Come, Arthur, there are one or two things 
 I want to call your attention to. See my
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 33 
 
 tilings are ready bj eleven, will you, Matil- 
 da ? I shall be back here before then. 
 Oh ! by-the-by, here is Clare's letter — you 
 would like to read it." 
 
 Mr. Deveron had an only sister, who, 
 in her youth, had always complained bitter- 
 1}'' of the dulness of Arncester, though she 
 had never known any other place. She 
 was exceedingly pretty — in a very delicate 
 fragile style, and had no lack of opportuni- 
 ties of marrying very well indeed, in the 
 town ; but she always declared her only 
 object in marrying would be to obtain a 
 complete change of life and scene, and 
 that, if Fate decided that she was to spend 
 all her life in the dismal dulness of Arnces- 
 ter, she would do so as Clare Deveron. 
 Her mother had died when she was about 
 fifteen, and on her father's decease, which 
 occurred when she was three and twenty, 
 she continued to live in the old house in 
 the market-place with her brother and his 
 wife. This plan suited neither her nor Mrs. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Deveron. To the natural antagonism of 
 sisters-in-law were added the facts, that 
 Mrs. Deveron regarded Clare as an incum- 
 brance, and that Clare considered her 
 excessively underbred. The best that 
 could be hoped for was a species of armed 
 neutrality, even this was often endanger- 
 ed by Clare's great turn for sarcasm, which 
 occasionally roused Mrs. Deveron to retorts 
 very far from courteous. It was an unac- 
 knowledged relief to all parties when 
 Clare went away to pay visits, and her 
 absences gradually grew both longer and 
 more frequent. A cousin residing in 
 Brighton was the friend whom she visited 
 oftenest, and one day she wrote in the 
 highest glee to say that this cousin, Mrs. 
 Norton, had been invited to spend a fort- 
 night with friends in Paris, and that the 
 invitation had been extended to herself. 
 The fortnight extended to a month, and at 
 the end of it Clare wrote to announce her 
 engagement to the Count de St. Sigol^ne,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 35 
 
 the eldest son of the Marquis de la Eoche- 
 caillou. 
 
 Mrs. Deveron was enchanted : first at 
 the thought of being rid of Clare's company 
 for good, and next at the idea of such 
 aristocratic connections. The titles of 
 Count and Marquis were to her as the 
 music of the spheres, and within five mrn- 
 utes of having finished her perusal of 
 Clare's letter, she had arranged a series of 
 glorious tableaux of visits to be paid at 
 the Chateau de la Rochecaillou, and of din- 
 ners in Arncester at which the Count and 
 Countess, and later the Marquis and Mar- 
 chioness were to be present. 
 
 But to her amazement and dismay Mr. 
 Deveron saw the matter in a very different 
 light. He had the inborn British distrust 
 and dislike of all foreigners, the very 
 name of Count suggested to him nothing 
 but an adventurer and probable cardsharp- 
 er, and, though it was soon clearly proved 
 to him that Monsieur de St. Sigolene's social 
 
 d2
 
 86 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 position was indisputable, he absolutely de- 
 clined in any way whatsoever to counten- 
 ance the marriage. Even, he said, if the 
 young man were not a foreigner, and there- 
 fore according to his views necessarily 
 objectionable, the difference of religion 
 was in his eyes so insuperable an obstacle 
 that nothing would ever induce him to 
 give his consent. Had Clare, he asked, 
 ever given a thought to the certain misery 
 that must ensue from want of unity of 
 faith with her husband ? Could she bear 
 to think that, if he believed at all in the 
 religion he professed, the secret thoughts 
 of his lieart must be revealed to his confes- 
 sor, who would always prove a barrier 
 between them ? Above all, she must 
 remember that she would not be allowed 
 the privilege of bringing up her children in 
 her own faith, and would in all probabiHty 
 be incessantly importuned herself to 
 abandon her Church. 
 
 Mr. Deveron spoke strongly, and Clare,
 
 LITTLE PANSV. 37 
 
 always accustomed to defer to his judg- 
 ment, cried and hesitated, and declared 
 that Leon was so good, so perfect, that 
 with him it was quite impossible that the 
 dreadful thiugs w^hich George predicted 
 could possibly happen. Her brother re- 
 plied that the better man Monsieur de St. 
 Sigol^ne was, the more certain was it that 
 the difference in faith must be a constant 
 source of sorrow and heart-burning. At 
 length Clare consented to write a letter, 
 telling her lover that her brother would 
 not hear of the marriage, and that they 
 must part. But the young Count was 
 really very thoroughly in love, and by no 
 means inclined to allow himself to be re- 
 fused at a brother's dictation. He wrote 
 Clare letter after letter, filled with vehe- 
 ment reproaches and declarations of the 
 most passionate adoration. He also en- 
 listed Mrs. Norton on his side, and when, 
 ^bout six months after her return from 
 Paris, Clare went to stay at Brighton once
 
 38 ' LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 more with her cousin, the jouDg people 
 were married there, and she never returned 
 to Arucester. 
 
 Mr. Deveron was extremely angry. 
 Though of course he had no real authority 
 over his sister, she had always hitherto 
 been so submissive to what was required 
 of her that the thought of her taking the 
 law into her own hands in so important a 
 matter had never once occurred to him ; 
 and he was doubly annoyed, first by being 
 set at defiance, and next by having been 
 taken by surprise, for he rather prided 
 himself on his penetration. He wrote very 
 coldly in answer to the announcement of 
 her marriagfe made by Clare in a somewhat 
 gushing manner, assuming that now that 
 the deed was done he would see there was 
 no use in continuing to show his disap- 
 proval, and would receive her and her hus- 
 band. 
 
 He said that he disliked the idea of 
 the marriaofe fully as much as he had ever
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 39 
 
 done, and that liis opinion of Monsieur de 
 St. Sigol^ne was not raised by his having 
 induced his wife to wed him clandestinely. 
 He could not wish her joy, for he did not 
 believe that happiness could exist where 
 there was diversity of faith, and he could 
 only hope that she might not have the 
 truth of his opinion bitterly proved to her. 
 He regretted that as she was of age, and 
 had married without settlement, her for- 
 tune of £] 0,000 passed absolutely into her 
 husband's possession, and reminded her 
 that if he died without a will, or during 
 his father's lifetime, she would feel the 
 want of a settlement from havino- neither 
 jointure nor provision for her children, 
 while her own fortune would have been 
 swallowed up. 
 
 Finally he said that there was no use in 
 her endeavourino; to make him see thino^s 
 in a different light — that if ever she was 
 in need of anything that he could do for 
 her he should be happy to do whatever lay
 
 40 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 in his power, but that, excepting in such 
 an event, he would rather that they did 
 not correspond. He could not forget that 
 not only had his wishes been set at naught, 
 but that he had been deliberately deceived, 
 and, for the sake of his children, he did not 
 wish to hold communication with a Roman 
 Catholic house. 
 
 From that date Clare had never written 
 — all that her brother knew of her, or her 
 husband's family, was gleaned from oc- 
 casional paragraphs copied from French 
 papers. From them he learned, about 
 three years after his sister s marriage, that 
 her father-in-law had died rather suddenly 
 of a chill caught on his way back from 
 Frohsdorf, he being a devoted follower of 
 Henri Cinq. Apparently his son did not 
 share his views, for the next thing that 
 caught Mr. Deveron's eye was the an- 
 nouncement that the Marquis de la 
 Rochecaillou had been slightly wounded, 
 while acting as aide-de-camp to the Empe-
 
 LTTTLE PANSY. 41 
 
 i^or at the Battle of Magenta. From that 
 time occasional notices ol the Marquis and 
 Marquise de la Rochecaillou as among the 
 guests at Compiegne were all that reached 
 Arncester, and after the fall of the Empire 
 these of course ceased. It must be some- 
 thing very wonderful, Mrs. Deveron 
 thought, that had at length induced Chxre 
 to write, and, as soon as her husband left 
 the room, she sat down to peruse the 
 letter. 
 
 "My dear brother George, 
 
 " It is many years since you 
 have heard of me, or I of you ; indeed, I 
 hardly know whether this letter will find 
 you still alive, and at Arncester. Often I 
 have been about to write, but have always 
 remembered that you said I had better 
 not, unless I needed you. You promised 
 not to fail me then, and I am sure you will 
 not, though what I ask of you is to come 
 to me here at La Eochecaillou as soon as
 
 42 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 ever you get my letter. If you do not 
 come at once, it will be too late : I am 
 dying. I have known it for some months, 
 but not that it must be so soon. The 
 doctors said it might last another six 
 months — now it seems I may hardly have 
 so many days. I am sure you will come, 
 George, and let me see you once more, and 
 tell you what it is I would ask of you ; it 
 is long to write, and I am very weak. I 
 know not if you will have seen in your 
 papers of the death of my poor, brave 
 Leon, killed at the head of his regiment at 
 Gravelotte. Ah, me ! the years seem very 
 long and sad since then ! Ah, George ! in 
 spite of all your warnings, we were happy 
 as I never believed in happiness. It was 
 too perfect, it could not last. I should 
 rejoice to follow him if it were not for my 
 children. I have two ; Leon, the very 
 image of his father, and so good, so dear ! 
 just twenty-one, and my little Pensee, who 
 is seventeen. I could write of them for
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 43 
 
 ever, but my strength fails rae. Telegraph 
 to say when you will reach St. Sigolene, 
 and the carriage shall meet you. You will 
 come, George, I know, to 
 " Your dying sister, 
 
 " Claire de la Rochecaillou." 
 
 *'Why have we never heard anything of 
 Aunt Clare, Mamma?" asked Julia. "I 
 suppose I knew she existed, but you have 
 never talked about her, and she has never 
 been here." 
 
 " No, your Papa was very much annoyed 
 at the marriage ; he objected, and so they 
 were married quietly whet she was staying 
 at Brighton. He wouldn't hear of her 
 marrying a Roman Catholic. I always 
 said, when the thing was done, it would 
 have been wiser to make the best of it ; 
 they were great people in France, especi- 
 ally while the Empire lasted, going to the 
 Tuileries and Compiegne, and all the rest 
 of it. It would have been very pleasant
 
 -44 ].ITTLE PANSY. 
 
 to go over and stay with them — quite a 
 change. Clare was made to be a good 
 hostess, too — but there ! Papa had made 
 up his mind, and you know what that 
 means." 
 
 Mrs. Deveron had quite forgotten that, 
 in the old days when they were together, 
 there had been little love lost between the 
 sisters-in-law. Between Clare Deveron, 
 de trap in her brother's house, and the Mar- 
 quise de la Rochecaillou with a fine chateau 
 in the country and an hotel in Paris, there 
 was a gulf wide and deep enough to drown 
 all recollections of bickering or enmity. 
 
 "I wonder what she wants with Papa 
 so particularly." 
 
 '' Oh ! I daresay only to wish him good- 
 bye ; Clare always was sentimental. I 
 shouldn't wonder, after all, il it were a 
 false alarm, and that she is not so ill as 
 she fancies. It is a pity Papa must go to- 
 day; Arthur will hardly know how to 
 manage. Now, if it were Hubert, who is
 
 LITTLE PANST. 45 
 
 SO much more accustomed to the world — " 
 " Shall I write to Mr. Musgrave, 
 Mamma ?" said Sophronia. 
 
 ''Yes, dear, do. Don't frown so, Julia; 
 remember it creases your forehead if you 
 get a trick of it — and really we've had 
 Harry Vernon very often. People will 
 begin to talk." 
 
 " 1 don't care if they do," said Julia, 
 with a toss of her head and a o^io-orle ; 
 *' besides, why shouldn't they talk about 
 Soph and Mr. Musgrave?" 
 
 " I had meant to have another dinner 
 the week after next," said Mrs. Deveron ; 
 '* but, of course, now we must wait. It is 
 lucky, if we do have to go into mourning, 
 we haven't got our winter things." 
 
 " Shall I write and tell Mrs. Yernon 
 you can't dine there?" asked Sophronia, 
 who had just completed Mr. Musgrave's 
 note in her best and clearest hand. 
 
 " Yes — no, stay, I had better write it 
 myself," and Mrs. Deveron proceeded to
 
 46 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 make a very strong point of the shock 
 they had received at the intelligence of 
 ^' Mr. Deveron's only sister, the Marquise 
 de Eochecaillou's," serious illness. 
 
 So many years had elapsed since Clare 
 had faded from the life of the house in the 
 market-place that most of those even who 
 had known her had almost forgotten her, 
 and many who had since settled in the 
 town, the Yernons among them, had never 
 even heard of her existence. The separa- 
 tion had been so complete that even Mrs. 
 Deveron had quite forgotten to glorify 
 herself by allusions to the titled relatives 
 of whom they never heard. She congratu- 
 lated herself now on the consequence which 
 would accrue to her from talking of, per- 
 haps mourning for, the Marquise. 
 
 And so the Marquis had been shot at 
 Gravelotte — she must ask Sophronia about 
 that before dinner, so as to be quite sure 
 to make no blunder. It was provoking
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 47 
 
 they had not known at the time. People 
 were sure to remember they had not gone 
 into mourning. Mrs. Vernon had such a 
 painfully accurate memory, she was sure 
 to ask some question about it in her quiet 
 drawling voice, and it would be so awk- 
 ward to answer. How very inconsiderate 
 it was of Clare to have left them in ignor- 
 ance ! She really might have remembered 
 what country towns were. But there, it 
 was just like Clare ! She never had thought 
 ot anyone but herself. 
 
 The dinner passed off very well, and 
 j\Iadame de la Rochecaillou's illness formed 
 a totally novel topic of conversation, which 
 was much appreciated by most of the 
 guests, who were not sorry for some varia- 
 tion in the ordinary subjects discussed at 
 an Arncester dinner-party. Sophronia 
 monopolised Mr. Musgrave, and flirted to 
 her heart's content, under colour of dis- 
 cussing the coming Mycological Congress
 
 48 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 at Kockton, and the different authorities 
 that would be present. The secret of her 
 sudden ardour was that Mr. Musgrave had 
 a short time before confided to her his 
 discovery of a remarkable fungus in the 
 Kelmorton woods, and his intention of 
 writing a paper for the Congress at Rock- 
 ton, proving it to be edible. Since that 
 time Sophronia's talk had been of fungi ; 
 she had brought in toadstools of every 
 shape and colour, and had endeavoured to 
 persuade her family that they were infinite- 
 ly superior to mushrooms. But here Mr. 
 Deveron interfered ; he had no wish, he 
 said, to furnish a paragraph of warning in 
 the local papers, and, being old-fashioned, 
 he totally disbelieved in the wholesomeness 
 of any fungus whatsoever. The cook, 
 therefore, had stringent orders never to 
 accept any toadstools from Miss Deveron, 
 but to confine herself strictly to the old- 
 established mushroom. Sophronia lament- 
 ed their want of scientific enterprise, and
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 49 
 
 was fain to content herself with painting- 
 portraits of her treasures, which formed a 
 never-ceasing bond of union between her 
 and the curate. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The passionate summer's dead ! The sky's aglow 
 With roseate flushes of matured desire ; 
 The winds at eve are musical and low 
 As sweeping chords of a lamenting lyre, 
 
 Far up among the pillared clouds of fire 
 
 Whose pomp of strange procession upwards rolls 
 With gorgeous blazonry of pictured scrolls, 
 To celebrate the summer's past renown. 
 
 Ah me ! how regally the heavens look down, 
 O'ershadowing beautiful autumnal woods. 
 And harvest-fields with hoarded increase brown, 
 
 And deep-toned majesty of golden floods 
 
 That lift their solemn dirges to the sky. 
 To swell the purple pomp that floateth by ! 
 
 Octoler — Paul H. Hayne. 
 
 T T was so very seldom that Mr. Deveron 
 -^ left home for more than a couple of 
 days that it seemed to him really quite an
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 51 
 
 event to take so loDg a journey at such 
 short notice. Though to all outward 
 seeming a cold man, his affections were 
 really very deep and warm, and his only 
 sister Clare had been very dear to him in 
 the days when she had been submissive to 
 his superior wisdom. He had not a high 
 opinion of women, and considered that 
 they had no right whatsoever to views 
 that in any way ran counter to those of 
 their legitimate guardians and protectors. 
 He had so fully believed that, when he 
 had once said that he could never sanction 
 his sister's marriage, the affair was at an 
 end, that he had never quite recovered 
 from the blow dealt him by her taking the 
 matter into her own hands. 
 
 But as he travelled rapidly through the 
 rich autumnal landscape to what he con- 
 cluded must be his sister s death-bed, the 
 old affection came back to him, and, 
 though he did not go so far as to acknow- 
 ledge to himself that he had been harsh in 
 
 E 2 
 
 H^'5.tV 0^ ^VUNO^S
 
 52 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 SO persistently refusing to hold any com- 
 munication, he yet found himself wishing- 
 that Clare had not so loyally obeyed his 
 desire of silence. It shocked him that he 
 should have remained in ignorance of his 
 brother-in-law's death, and, though less 
 swayed by the consideration of " what 
 people would say" than was his wife, he 
 felt that there was a certain awkwardness 
 in having only now learnt the fall of the 
 Marquis at Gravelotte. What was it that 
 his sister so earnestly desired to ask him ? 
 Not, he devoutly hoped, that he should be 
 guardian of her son ! He knew nothing 
 whatsoever of French laws or customs, and 
 should be most inefficient. Stay, though ; 
 she had said that Leon was twenty-one ; it 
 could not be that. Of the daughter he 
 did not think. He had a vague notion 
 that all French girls of good family were 
 kept in a convent, and married at seven- 
 teen to some one they had never seen, or 
 else forced to take the veil. The more he
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 53 
 
 thouglit of it, the less he could imagine 
 what was the service that Clare was about 
 to demand of him, though he mused on the 
 matter all through the journey to South- 
 ampton, the crossing to Havre in the still, 
 moonlit night, and the next day's travel 
 through sunny France. He had had but 
 little experience of foreign travel. Twice 
 Mrs. Deveron had persuaded him with in- 
 finite difficulty to take her to Paris, and 
 once the doctor, inspired by her wishes, 
 had ordered him to Homburg, where he 
 had orone without faith, and whence he had 
 returned without benefit, having, in truth, 
 had nothing whatsoever the matter with 
 him. 
 
 He looked with considerable curiosity 
 at the strange country through which he 
 passed. The husbandry seemed to him 
 wretched, as, of course, he compared 
 •everything with the Meadowshire stan- 
 dard, where he was accustomed to see the 
 results of very high farming. The Chateau
 
 54 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 de la Rochecaillou was situated in the 
 fertile region of the Loire, about half-way 
 between Tours and Angers, and at the 
 latter town he found himself compelled to 
 remain for the night. 
 
 Mr. Deveron was absolutely unacquaint- 
 ed with any language but his own, and 
 had all the average Englishman's secret 
 contempt for those who had the gift of 
 foreign tongues ; but that evening he was 
 forced privately to confess that, when a 
 man was compelled by adverse fate to so- 
 journ in an inn where no one could under- 
 stand a syllable of English, there were 
 certain advantages to be obtained by fami- 
 liarity with French. He was not quite 
 reduced to the state of the gentleman in 
 Hood's amusing ballad, but it was chiefly 
 because he meekly accepted what was given 
 him without any attempt at explanation ; 
 certainly he would heartily have endorsed 
 that worthy's advice — '* Never go to France, 
 unless you know the lingo."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 55 
 
 As the train for St. Sigolene did not 
 start till mid-day, lie had time in the 
 morning, after telegraphing to announce 
 his advent, to see the sights of the town, 
 which, without caring much for them^ 
 he did with a truly British sense o? 
 duty. 
 
 The cathedral of St. Mauri certainly 
 impressed him, as it well might, being, 
 though he was unaware of the fact, one of 
 the finest in France ; but he did not care 
 much for the Hotel Dieu, though he re- 
 spected it as having been built by our 
 English Henry the Second, nor yet for the 
 picture gallery. Perhaps the Boulevards, 
 formed on the walls of the old town, were 
 what pleased him best, but he was really 
 anxious to reach his destination, and was 
 heartily glad when he found himself once 
 more en route for St. Sigolene. A small 
 waggonette met him at the station, and, in 
 answer to his anxious inquiry for his sister, 
 the servant replied that ''Madame la Mar-
 
 56 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 quise was neither better nor worse, but 
 very seriously ill." 
 
 The drive of six miles to La Rochecail- 
 
 lou was through a district of vineyards, 
 
 now just relieved of their purple load. It 
 
 had been a very fine vintage, and in a 
 
 village on the road they fell in with the 
 
 triumphant procession which answers to 
 
 our harvest home, but which, owing to the 
 
 natural taste and eye for colour possessed 
 
 by more southern races, is so infinitely 
 
 more picturesque than our prosaic northern 
 
 festivities. The procession might well have 
 
 been copied from some old picture of a 
 
 Triumph of Bacchus : the girls, wreathed 
 
 with vine-leaves and roses, dancing round 
 
 the car on which one of their number, 
 
 similarly crowned and embowered in vines 
 
 with rich purple bunches, sat enthroned, 
 
 was very different from any sight to be seen 
 
 in Meadowshire, and gave Mr. Deveron a 
 
 feeling that he was looking at peasants in 
 
 an opera rather than in real life. The rich
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 57 
 
 colouring of everything around him sur- 
 prised him; the country appeared so wonder- 
 fully fertile, with its swelling hills covered 
 with chestnut and beech-trees, affording 
 frequent glimpses of the windings of the 
 silvery Loire, its calm waters studded here 
 and there by a hay-barge witli its heavy 
 brown sail, or by some pleasure-boat with 
 a tiny white one. The peculiar green of 
 the olive groves, too, was new to him, 
 and, indeed, all was so unlike Meadow- 
 shire that he felt half surprised to see the 
 squirrels f risking from tree to tree as 
 merrily as if in the Kelmorton woods, 
 especially as they did not seem in the least 
 disturbed by the company of the golden- 
 winged orioles that darted in and out 
 among the vines. The blue blouses of 
 the peasants and the high white caps of 
 the women were also novelties to him, as 
 were the huge yellow gourds in every 
 cottage garden, and the great red earthern 
 bowls and pitchers ranged side by side
 
 58 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 with bright brass pans that he caught 
 glimpses of through the cottage doors. 
 
 The old Castle of La E-ochecaillou was of 
 the style of architecture we are accustomed 
 to connect with French chateaux, with 
 high • mansarde roof and numerous small 
 iourelles. It stood on a richly-wooded 
 eminence just above the Loire, which, 
 winding considerably at this point, bathed 
 two sides of the hill on which it stood, the 
 little village clinging to the base along the 
 shore. It was a somewhat steep ascent to 
 the house, the road winding considerably 
 through woods of chestnut and beech, with 
 occasional clear spaces, where generally 
 stood a fine cork-tree. 
 
 At length they drove through great gates, 
 with the family arms on a large gilt me- 
 dallion in the centre of each, into a some- 
 what sombre courtyard, and drew up be- 
 fore the great door. Before the bell could 
 be rung the door was flung open by a very 
 tall, handsome young man, who flew down
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 59" 
 
 the steps to tbe carriage door, and seized 
 his uncle by both hands. 
 
 "At last!" he exclaimed. ''Oh! dear 
 uncle, my mother has wished for you so 1 
 She was not sure — it was so long, so long 
 since she had heard of you, she feared so 
 many things ! That you might not get 
 her letter, or might not come, or — Enfin 
 que sais-je ? She will be transported, but 
 you cannot see her yet. She sleeps, and 
 she has so little rest." 
 
 •' And you are Leon ?" said his uncle, 
 much relieved to find himself addressed in 
 English. 
 
 " Yes. Ah ! you know my name !" 
 
 " Your mother mentioned it in her letter,. 
 and your sister Pensee." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, she is with my mother, she 
 never leaves her but to sleep ; you will see 
 her presently. Now you must come into 
 the drawing-room to see Bonne Maman." 
 
 While the young man spoke he had 
 drawn his uncle through the hall, which
 
 '60 LITTLE PANSr. 
 
 was the whole height of the house, and 
 paDelled with oak carved with beautiful 
 garlands of fruit and flowers. In every 
 direction were brackets and shelves, on 
 which were displayed dishes and bowls 
 of Moustiers faience, interspersed with 
 some fine specimens of old brass work, 
 which sparkled in the red rays of the de- 
 clining sun. From the hall they went along 
 a passage, the boards polished to a degree 
 of slipperiness very perilous to unaccus- 
 tomed feet, and then Leon opened a white 
 and gold door, and introduced his uncle 
 into the large saloon. 
 
 The floor was as slippery as that of the 
 corridor, with a few very handsome Au- 
 busson rugs at wide intervals ; the walls 
 were painted with wreaths of flowers up- 
 held by Cupids, the ceiling with clouds, 
 among which more Cupids disported them- 
 selves; the furniture was of the Louis 
 Quinze style, the legs and frames of chairs 
 and sofas being elaborately carved and gilt,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 61 
 
 while all tlie furniture was of cream- 
 coloured satin, covered with garlands of 
 roses. Looking-glasses in heavy gilt frames 
 were in every direction, and some exceed- 
 ingly handsome pieces of Sevres were dis- 
 posed about the room on the consoles and 
 high marble chimney-piece. Altogether, 
 to Mr. Deveron, it looked as magnificent 
 and as uninhabitable a room as he had ever 
 chanced to see. There seemed no place 
 where anyone so disposed could sit down 
 to do anything, and the furniture was 
 arranged in a stiff and formal manner, as 
 if prepared for some great reception. 
 
 A small bright fire of beech-logs burnt 
 on the hearth, and close to it, on a high 
 straight- backed gilt chair, sat a lady, so 
 small that at first Mr. Deveron overlooked 
 her altogether, but Leon drew him forward, 
 exclaiming, 
 
 " Bonne Maman, il est arrive ! voici, mon 
 oncle Georges." And he knew the lady, 
 who rose and made him a graceful curtsey
 
 62 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 of old-fashioned formality, was the Dowager 
 Marquise de la E-ochecaillou. 
 
 She was an extremely small old lady, 
 with a clear brown skin and piercing black 
 eyes, which looked all the brighter from 
 the contrast with her snow-white hair, 
 which was arranged in tiny curls under 
 her cap of fine old point d'Alencon. She 
 was dressed in black velvet, and rufiles of 
 the same lace were worn at the throat, and 
 shading the tiny delicate hands. She wore 
 extremely high-heeled shoes, with large 
 bows and diamond buckles, and a black 
 walking-stick with a gold crutch-shaped 
 handle leant against the mantel-piece at 
 her side. 
 
 "You are most welcome. Monsieur," 
 she said, as she rose. " I wish the cause 
 of your visit were less sad, but it is well 
 that you are in time. Our poor Claire 
 longs so to see you." 
 
 The Marquise spoke very slowly, and 
 with a strong foreign accent, but her
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 63 
 
 English, to Mr. Deveron's great relief, was 
 perfectly comprehensible. Leon left the 
 room to see if his mother were yet awake, 
 and his uncle sat down to await his return, 
 and to exchange short observations on the 
 weather and his journey with the old lady. 
 Jeanne Pensee, Marquise de la Eoche- 
 caillou, had been brought up, as all the 
 women of her house (she was a daughter 
 of the Due de la Vendee, who was one of 
 the chamberlains of Marie Antoinette), had 
 been, in a convent, and was married to the 
 young Comte de St. Sigolene as a family 
 arrangement, without its being thought in 
 the least necessary to consult either of 
 them. The marriage, however, turned 
 out a happier one than could have been 
 anticipated. The Oomtesse was of so 
 sweet and amiable a disposition that it 
 would have been hard indeed not to love 
 her, and her husband was soon her devoted 
 slave. The great grief of the first years 
 of their married life was the want of chil-
 
 64 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 dren ; for five years passed before Leon^ 
 their eldest sod, was born. The young 
 Comtesse, whose own family, like that into 
 which she had married, were staunch ad- 
 herents of the Bourbons, had been made 
 lady-in-waiting to the Duchesse de Berri, 
 and that lady was godmother to her child. 
 The old Marquis, who had been long a 
 widower, died soon after his master, Louis 
 XVIIL, and, when the revolution of 1830 
 sent Charles X. into exile, the Marquis and 
 Marquise retired to La Eochecaillou, and 
 firmly declined all overtures from the Or- 
 leanist party. Two more children had 
 been born to them : a boy who was 
 drowned at ten years old, and a daughter. 
 Leon demanded the Army as his profes- 
 sion, and saw good service under General 
 Lamoriciere in Algeria. 
 
 It was a bitter grief to his father, who 
 was a devoted adherent of Henri Cinq, 
 that his son, immediately after the coup 
 cVetatj proclaimed himself a Bonapartist.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 65 
 
 This was not such a grief to his wife, who, 
 Legitimist as she was, openly preferred 
 the Bonapartes to the house of Orleans, 
 saying that it was less criminal to usurp 
 the place of a stranger than of one of your 
 own family. She was now even willing to 
 spend some little time occasionally in the 
 vast and gloomy hotel in tlie Faubourg St. 
 Germain, which had remained unvisited 
 since the abdication of Charles X. In 
 deference to her husband's wishes, all in- 
 vitations from anyone connected in any 
 way with the reigning dynasty were in- 
 variably declined ; but there were many 
 friends of her youth to be met with in the 
 Faubourg, and both she and the Marquis 
 greatly enjoyed their return to Paris. La 
 E-ochecaillou was somewhat gloomy now, 
 for Leon was naturally but little at home, 
 and their only daughter was married to 
 the Comte de Yarennes, and resided prin- 
 cipally in Paris. 
 
 The Marquis soon began to disquiet 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 himself respecting his son's marriage. He 
 was now nine and twenty, and, as his 
 father represented to him, it was fully 
 time he should marry and give him the 
 delight of seeing his grandson. Leon 
 promised compliance, but he had been 
 several times in England, and had there 
 imbibed a strong prejudice against the 
 French custom of the affair being arranged 
 by anyone but the parties themselves. It 
 was in vain that the old Marquis, who 
 could not understand such ideas, argued 
 that it was the custom of the country for 
 people of their rank to be so married, that 
 he and Leon's mother had been so, and 
 that no love-match could possibly have 
 been happier than their union had proved. 
 Leon smiled, and said it could hardly have 
 been otherwise with such people as his 
 parents, but he would bind himself by no 
 promise, and very shortly after this he 
 met Clare for the first time. 
 
 Young men, when violently in love, sel-
 
 irJTLE PANSY. 67 
 
 * 
 
 dom stop to consider the wishes of their 
 parents. Leon had been accepted by Glare- 
 before it even occurred to him to think 
 what mi^ht be his father's feelings on 
 hearing that he proposed to marry not 
 only an Englishwoman, but what would be 
 infinitely worse in his eyes — a Protestant. 
 But he was so desperately in love that he 
 put all such considerations aside, and at 
 length wrote from Brighton to tell his 
 parents that he was really married, and 
 was about to brino^ his bride home. 
 
 It was a terrible blow to both parents ; 
 the Marquis's dignity was hurt by the 
 secrecy of the affair, and by the fact that 
 his son had married beiieath the rank with 
 which a De la Rochecaillou had a right to 
 mate ; the Marquise, who was the most 
 devout of Catholics, shuddered at the 
 thought of a heretic, and almost consider- 
 ed Leon's own soul lost by such a union. 
 But both parents loved their only son far 
 too well to allow the marriage, much as 
 
 f2
 
 63 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 they disliked it, to make any breacli be- 
 tween them. They welcomed Clare with 
 all the cordiality which they could assume, 
 and in a very short time learnt to love her 
 very dearly. Clare repaid their affection ; 
 she loved them as she loved no one else 
 but her husband, and when the Marquise 
 held her grandson Leon at the font, she 
 almost forgot that her daughter-in-law 
 was of an alien faith, in the pride and 
 happiness of the moment. 
 
 The young Count and Countess of St. 
 Sigol^ne spent the greater part of their 
 time in Paris, entering into all the gaieties 
 which were so new to Clare, and which 
 she heartily enjoyed. After the old Mar- 
 quis's death, which, as has been before said, 
 occurred about three years after the mar- 
 riage, of a cold caught on his return from 
 paying his respects at Frohsdorf, the old 
 Marquise never left the chateau, and, 
 while Leon was absent in Italy with the 
 Emperor, her daughter-in-law remained
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 69 
 
 witli her. Afterwards, slie and her bus- 
 band resumed their gay life in Paris, and 
 were both favourites at the Imperial 
 •Court. The Marquis was one of the 
 many who engaged in the Prussian w^ar 
 with a light heart, and the certainty of a 
 triumphant march to Berlin ; and even the 
 first reverses failed to shake his confidence 
 in ultimate victory. His death at Grave- 
 lotte overwhelmed his wife, who adored 
 him, with despair. She had never, so the 
 old Marquise told Mr. Dover on during 
 Leon's absence from the room, held up her 
 head since, and she had allowed an inter- 
 nal malady to go on so long without advice, 
 that now, when compelled to seek it, it 
 was too late to be of any avail. 
 
 " Mamma sleeps still," said Leon, re- 
 turning; *' it is fine, is it not, Bonne 
 Maman ! She will awake so refreshed, so 
 well ! Perhaps she will be able to come 
 downstairs to-morrow." 
 
 " Take your uncle to his room, mon
 
 70 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 cher,'' said his grandmother, making no 
 reply to his sanguine expectations, which 
 she well knew could never be realized. 
 " Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she 
 continued, turniug to Mr. Deveron, "and 
 I doubt not after that Claire will be awake^ 
 and will wish to see you." 
 
 A French bed-room, with the bed in an 
 alcove, and the rest of the apartment look- 
 ing very like a dainty boudoir, hardly gave 
 Mr. Deveron an idea of comfort. However, 
 a small fire, and a profusion of wax can- 
 dles, made the room look cheerful, and 
 Leon having summoned Baptiste, the 
 butler, or, as he styled himself, Maitre 
 d'Hotel, and given him all directions, as 
 his uncle was unable to communicate with 
 him, took his departure to his own room. 
 
 When Mr. Deveron re-appeared in the 
 saloon he found an addition to the party 
 in the shape of a priest, who he learned 
 resided at the chateau. The worthy man 
 could not speak a syllable of English, nor
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 71 
 
 Mr. Deveron of French, which was perhaps 
 as well, as the latter could hardly have 
 been induced to make himself agreeable to 
 anyone of whom he entertained such a 
 horror, not unmixed with dread, as a 
 Roman Catholic priest. 
 
 "Your sister — does not she dine with 
 us ?" he asked Leon. 
 
 " She never quits Mamma if she can 
 help it, and now that she has slept so long 
 she would not for worlds be absent when 
 she wakes." 
 
 The dinner passed by with very little 
 conversation; it was excellent, and served 
 with much ceremony, Baptiste directing 
 the movements of three tall Footmen, clad 
 in gorgeous state liveries. The old Mar- 
 quise clung to all the stately old fashions 
 of her early days, and was daily served 
 with as much pomp and circumstance as 
 if her repast were a public "'Diner du Roi." 
 Mr. Deveron was remarking on the beauty 
 of the fruit, the purple grapes, velvety
 
 72 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 peaches and large yellow plums, whicli 
 were all reposing amid cool green leaves 
 in small baskets of chased silver, when 
 Baptiste re-appeared, and, with a low bow 
 to the Marquise, said, 
 
 " Madame la Marquise desire voir Mon- 
 sieur aussitot que possible." 
 
 " You would like to go at once, no 
 doubt," said the old lady, and Leon con- 
 ducted him to his mother's room.
 
 73 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 So live that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan which moves 
 To that mysterious realm where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 Thanatopsis — Bryant. 
 
 rnHREE-AND-TWENTY years make a 
 -*- considerable change in the appear- 
 ance of most people, but Mr. Deveron was 
 hardh^ prepared for the vast alteration in 
 his sister. Clare Deveron had always been 
 fragile-looking, but the face that lay on 
 the elaborately embroidered lace-edged 
 pillow, seemed to be literally transparent;
 
 74 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 the delicate mouth was drawn in and had 
 deep furrows traced round it by suffering, 
 and the fair brow was marked with lines 
 of sorrow. As Mr. Deveron entered the 
 room a girl, so small and slender as to ap- 
 pear almost a child, was seated on the 
 edge of the bed, but on his appearance she 
 rose, and, at a sign from the invalid, stole 
 noiselessly from the room. 
 
 " Leave us, Leon, my child," said Ma- 
 dame de la Rochecaillou in a feeble voice, 
 as he came to the bedside and pressed his 
 lips to her forehead. " I wish to speak 
 to your uncle alone." 
 
 " You do feel better to-night, mother," 
 said the young man, inquiringly, as he 
 turned to depart, '' you have had such a 
 long sleep, and " 
 
 '' It has given me more strength for this 
 interview," said his mother, with a smile 
 and a fond pressure of his hand. ''Now 
 go, dear boy. I must not waste the little 
 strength I have left."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 7^ 
 
 Leon departed, and Mr. Deveron sat 
 down by his sister's side. 
 
 "I am truly sorry to find you so ill, 
 Clare," he said. '' What advice have you 
 had? Is there anyone you would like to 
 see r 
 
 " Doctors can do nothing for me/' said 
 his sister, with a faint smile; "you are the 
 only person I wanted to see. Thank you 
 for coming so quickly." 
 
 " I was very glad to come ? Is there 
 anything I can do for you ?" 
 
 " Yes ; there is a great, unspeakable 
 favour I wish to ask of you. But first I 
 must tell you a little of my life. I daresay 
 in a general way you would have been 
 right, that the difference of our faith 
 might have made my dearest husband and 
 myself unhappy. I have seen it a fruitful 
 source of misery in many instances; I am 
 sure generally you would have been right. 
 But I want you to know that it never was 
 a trouble to us. I knew Leon was so
 
 76 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 good, SO perfect, that no change of faith 
 could have made him better, and he was 
 tolerant of my faith and never interfered 
 with me. Indeed, he was annoyed when 
 his mother (Madame Mere he always called 
 her in jest ; she could not bear it ; it 
 sounded to her like Madame Letitia Bona- 
 parte) tried to make me hsten to her con- 
 fessor, to ' take instruction,' as she called 
 it. She is a kind, good woman, but 
 devote, and the idea of her son's wife being 
 a heretic shocked and pained her ; never- 
 theless, she was ever all that was kind to 
 me, and when she found that it annoyed 
 Leon, she left off urging the instruction 
 upon me. Ah, George ! though nothing 
 would ever make me a Roman Catholic, 
 believe me there are good and excellent 
 men and women amongst them, even 
 among the priests, when they are not 
 Jesuits. If it were not so, I should be 
 unhappy about my boy, my precious Leon,
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 77 
 
 who, of course, follows liis father's faith." 
 
 " I feared that must be the case. I 
 warned you the children must be Papists." 
 
 "But they were so good to me ; they let 
 me keep my Pensee." 
 
 '' Let you bring her up as a Protestant ! 
 You don't say so !" 
 
 " Yes. I was very ill when she was 
 born in Paris ; she was so delicate, we 
 hardly thought she would live, and Leon 
 asked if it would be a comfort to me. Of 
 course I was only too glad." 
 
 ''But since — as she has grown older, 
 have they not striven to tamper with her ? 
 There seems to be a priest living in the 
 house." 
 
 " Still I have kept Pensee. Madame 
 Mere has been most loyal; she knew it 
 was Leon's promise to me, and though 
 she dotes on the child, and it is naturally 
 painful to her views that she should be a 
 heretic, she has not only herself entirely
 
 78 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 abstained from iDterference, but sbe has 
 contrived to impose silence on Pere Masson 
 her Directeur" 
 
 '' That is more than I could have suyj- 
 posed possible." 
 
 '' But there is a danger. My sister-in- 
 law, Louise de Yarennes — she is a most 
 fascinating woman, Pensee adores her, 
 indeed it would be hard not to — everyone 
 who knows her does. She is an ardent 
 Catholic, and her desire is to save Pen see's 
 soul." 
 
 " But you have frustrated this ? You 
 have kept the child ?" 
 
 ^'Yes, hitherto, by never allowing her 
 to leave my side, by never suffering her to 
 be alone with Louise. I think — I hope 
 the child would not be easily influenced ; 
 but still she is very young. Poor child ! I 
 :am sure she must often have thought me 
 T-ery unkind for not allowing her to go to 
 ber aunt's room, when she has been stay- 
 ing here, to see her dresses, and jewels,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 79 
 
 and pretty things ; Louise herself is much 
 hurt about it, but T cannot help that." 
 
 "Certainly not; it is only your plain 
 duty." 
 
 *' But of course she does not see it in 
 our light. What she wishes — and it would 
 delight Madame Mere — is to make Pensee 
 a Catholic, and marry her to the Due de 
 la Caune, a man of sixty, and one of the 
 best partis in France." 
 
 " But she is a child !'' 
 
 •' No, she is seventeen and a few months. 
 Here girls are married out of the convents 
 at that age. Madame Mere and Louise 
 herself were married before they were 
 eighteen." 
 
 " Preposterous ! How can a girl know 
 her own mind ?" 
 
 *' French girls are never supposed nor 
 expected to do so ; but I could not, inde- 
 pendently of religion, bear such a fate for 
 my Pensee. George, this is why I sent 
 for you. I want you to save her."
 
 80 LITTLE PA]S^SY. 
 
 " I ! My dear Clare, I should only be 
 too happy ; but what can I do ?" 
 
 ** I want you to take her to live with 
 you, to be her guardian, to stand to her in 
 the place of a father. Leon is all that I 
 could wish, but he is young ; he is in the 
 Army; he will naturally be much away 
 from home ; besides, being himself a Catho- 
 lic, he could not be expected to see any 
 harm in Louise's wishes. I am sorry, very 
 sorry, to take the child from Madame 
 Mere, who loves her passionately, and will 
 miss her terribly, but it is better so ; it is 
 the only safety. And you will let her 
 come over for a visit in the winter. Louise 
 is always in Paris theo, and the house is 
 triste ; it will brighten life for the grand- 
 mother, to have her little sunbeam for a 
 month or two in the cold dark weather. 
 But I am talking as if all were settled. 
 Forgive me, George, I have not heard your 
 answer yet." 
 
 Mr. Deveron paused ; he never liked to
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 81 
 
 do anything rashly, and he was completely 
 taken by surprise. Though not exactly 
 governed by his wife, he yet was some- 
 what apt, for the sake of domestic tran- 
 quillity, to defer to her wishes, and he 
 hardly knew what would be her opinion of 
 the proposed new inmate. Very probably 
 she might dislike another young lady to 
 interfere with her daughters. Besides, it 
 was a very great responsibility ; the girl, 
 of course, in spite of all her mother's care, 
 must have imbibed French ways and no- 
 tions that might prove very embarrassing 
 in an English country home, for Mr. 
 Deveron was quite insular enough to be- 
 lieve that all Continental manners and 
 customs must be quite different from, and 
 undoubtedly inferior to, English ones. 
 Perhaps Madame de Yarennes would not 
 allow herself to be defeated by her niece's 
 departure from La Rochecaillou, and might 
 enter into some conspiracy with the priests 
 of the Roman Catholic chapel in Arncester, 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 which would result in the catastrophe of 
 his niece being converted absolutely under 
 his roof. But yet, what could he say or 
 do? His only sister, of whom he had 
 been so fond, from whom he had been 
 estranged for so many years, lay dying 
 before his eyes, and had sent for him to 
 make a last request that he would assist 
 her in snatching her child from the snares 
 of Rome. The girl would undoubtedly be 
 far safer at Arncester than at La Roche- 
 caillou; even if he could have had the 
 heart to refuse his sister's dying request, 
 how could he reconcile it to his conscience, 
 thinking as he did of the iniquities of the 
 Eoman Church, to leave his own niece to 
 fall a certain victim to its snares ? 
 
 The invalid's eyes were fixed searchingly 
 and imploringly on his face ; she saw 
 plainly that he was considering, that he 
 did not, as she had hoped would be the 
 case, accede without hesitation to her re- 
 quest. The time occupied in reflection
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 83 
 
 was really extremely short, but to her it 
 seemed an age before his look of reflection 
 relaxed, and, turning to her with a smile, 
 he said — 
 
 " It shall be as you wish, Clare. I 
 accept the trust." 
 
 " Thank God !" said his sister, covering 
 her face with her thin wasted hands. After 
 a few moments she asked for a cordial that 
 stood on the table. Mr. Deveron gave it 
 to her, and suggested that she should now 
 try to sleep, and that they should continue 
 their conversation the next day. She 
 shook her head. 
 
 " Let me say everything now : I may 
 have one of the fits of pain to-morrow, or 
 — all may be over — the end may come at 
 any moment. Let me tell you of my little 
 Pansy, as I call her when we are alone to- 
 gether, she and I. She is the dearest 
 child ! I am sure, George, you will not be 
 able to help loving her. I know in the old 
 days I did not make myself so pleasant as 
 
 g2
 
 84 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 I might have done to Matilda. Ask her 
 to forgive me, and to show that she does 
 so by being kind to my child." 
 
 " I am sure she will be so." 
 
 It was bold of Mr. Deveron to say this, 
 for he was by no means sure that his wife 
 would approve of their new inmate, and 
 was well aware that, when displeased, she 
 could show herself to be far from amiable. 
 However, having once given his consent, 
 he felt that it would be cruel to disturb 
 his sister with any doubts as to her child's 
 welcome. 
 
 ** Does Pensee know what you pro- 
 pose?" he asked. "I suppose you have 
 told Madame de la Rochecaillou ?" 
 
 '' No, 1 have spoken of it to no one. It 
 seemed to me better to say nothing till I 
 knew you would consent. You know I 
 was not even sure you were alive, or that 
 you would forgive me and come." 
 
 " I am glad to have seen you once more, 
 Clare.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 85 
 
 '' And I am thankful to you for coming, 
 beyond anything that I can express. You 
 will find Pensee a most loving and gentle 
 child. It is a hard pang to leave her and 
 Leon," and the mother's eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, you may be mis- 
 taken," Mr. Deveron began ; but she stop- 
 ped him, and laid her hand on his. 
 
 " It is a matter of hours, not days, with 
 me now," she said, faintly. ''I can talk 
 no more at present. You will stay for the 
 end, will you not, and take Pensee home 
 with you ? Bless you !" as he bowed his 
 head. " I have executed a deed appoint- 
 ing you her guardian. Now go and send 
 her to me." 
 
 Mr. Deveron left the room, and when 
 he reached the salon, found it tenanted 
 only by the old Marquise and Pensee. The 
 young girl was very like her grandmother ; 
 she had the same slight, petite, upright 
 fiofure, the same oval face and delicate
 
 86 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 features, the same bright brown eyes ; but 
 Pensee's were larger and softer than those 
 of the elder lady, and her clear brunette 
 complexion had a lovely rose-flush on the 
 cheeks. Her wavy dark hair was turned 
 up from her brow over a low cushioD, and 
 plaited in long loops at the back, inter- 
 mingled with one or two careless curls fall- 
 ing on her neck. 
 
 *' Your mother wants you, Pensee," said 
 Mr. Deveron, and almost before the words 
 were uttered the girl had sprung up and 
 left the room. He took a seat opposite 
 the old lady, who was knitting busily. 
 
 " You find our poor Claire very ill, I 
 fear," she said. ^^ Pauvre chere ! so youngs 
 so charming, it is sad " 
 
 " She seems to be quite certain her case 
 is hopeless." 
 
 " She has had the best advice from 
 Paris, and they all say so. She neglected 
 it too long at first. Her mind will be 
 easier now that she has seen you, Monsieur^
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 87 
 
 It was evident from her impatience how 
 she longed to see you once more." 
 
 Mr. Deveron paused a moment to con- 
 sider whether it would be well to tell the 
 old lady the reason of his sister's sum- 
 mons. It seemed to him almost under- 
 hand not to tell her that he had just been 
 commissioned to carry away from her the 
 grand-daughter of whom she was so fond. 
 Besides, it struck him that it would be 
 more judicious that his sister's wishes 
 should be known before her death, so that 
 it might be clear to the family that he was 
 not exceeding his instructions. So he 
 decided that it would be best for him to 
 break the matter to Madame de la Roche- 
 caillou. 
 
 *• I suppose, madame," he said, ''you 
 are not aware why my sister was so anxi- 
 ous to see me ?" 
 
 She looked surprised. 
 
 " Mais non, monsieur ! Surely it under- 
 stands itself; you had parted many years
 
 88 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 ago in displeasure; wlien one is dyin^ one 
 wishes to be at peace with all the world, 
 above all with one's own family." 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; but that was not quite 
 all — my sister wished to confide to me the 
 guardianship of my niece Pensee." 
 
 Madame de la Rochecaillou started and 
 dropped her knitting. 
 
 *' Her guardian ! what guardianship can 
 the dear child require but that of Leon 
 and myself? But doubtless it is but some 
 English form — some fancy " 
 
 *' Xo, madame ; my sister wishes that I 
 should be effectually my niece's guardian, 
 and that she should reside entirely with 
 me ; of course, paying you visits some- 
 times." 
 
 The old lady was much agitated, and a 
 tear rolled slowly down her brown cheek. 
 
 " I am grieved," she said, simply ; 
 *' grieved more than I can say to lose the 
 dear child, but also that Claire should wish 
 such a thing. What does she fear ? Can
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 89 
 
 she not trust me to watch over my own 
 grandchild?" 
 
 " It is from no distrust of you or of your 
 kindness, madame, I can assure you." 
 
 *' Then why is it ? The child is French, 
 a De la Rochecaillou ; surely her brother's 
 house is the proper place for her — I mean 
 no disrespect to monsieur." 
 
 ^' Pensee is half English, madame, and 
 — she is a Protestant." 
 
 " Ah. !" — the old lady started, and 
 seemed at once to comprehend the situa- 
 tion which had before bewildered her — 
 *'it is, then, that Claire fears we shall try 
 to convert la petite! But she knows I 
 have never done so." 
 
 "No, madame, and she does not fear 
 that you would do so now, but — you must 
 not be offended w4th me for saying so — 
 she fears that your daughter, Madame de 
 Yarennes, may not be equally discreet." 
 
 " It is true," said the Marquise, after a 
 pause ; '*' Louise is very anxious that the
 
 90 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 dear child should hold the one true faith, 
 1 can assure you, monsieur, it is not always 
 easy even for me, who love our Claire so 
 well, and know all her sweetness and good- 
 ness, to abstain from interference." 
 
 " She told me how kind you had been 
 to her, and how free she had been in her 
 faith." 
 
 " Kind ! it would be hard to be other- 
 wise to so gentle a creature ; besides, my 
 Leon worshipped her. But about Pensee 
 — is she really determined?" 
 
 '' Quite so, I think, madame ; she sent 
 for me on purpose, begged me to remain 
 here till — till all should be over, and to 
 take my niece back with me, and said that 
 she had executed a legal document consti- 
 tuting me guardian." 
 
 The Marquise passed her hand across 
 her eyes ; she was evidently pained. 
 
 '' I am sure," continued Mr. Deveron, 
 feeling rather awkward, "that nothing 
 could be farther from my sister's thoughts
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 91 
 
 than to pain you ; slie spoke of your affec- 
 tion for Pensee, and specially charged me 
 that she should visit you every winter, 
 but " 
 
 " Every winter ! Ah, yes, I see ; ifc is 
 then that Louise is always in Paris." 
 
 " Yes, so she said. She evidently fears 
 Madame de Varennes' influence ; she says 
 she is so very fascinating." 
 
 "Yes, she is. Well, of course, accord- 
 ing to her views, Claire is right, but it is a 
 blow to me. I am old, monsieur, and my 
 life is wrapped up in the young people. 
 My daughter has no children ; she has 
 always felt as a mother to our little 
 Pensee. She has always interested her- 
 self in her marriage — a most unexception- 
 able partly 
 
 " So I understand. But, madame, my 
 sister is English, and cannot reconcile 
 herself to her child's life being disposed of 
 according to your customs." 
 
 "Ah, well! P think it answers as well
 
 92 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 as yours. No one could be happier than 
 I and the Marquis, or than my Louise and 
 Monsieur de Varennes. But it is useless 
 that I trouble you, monsieur ; forgive an 
 old woman's disappointment at losing the 
 bright young life she loves so well. Her 
 mother has the best right to dispose of 
 her future. My Leon left her sole guar- 
 dian to both children." 
 
 Leon came in at that moment, and the 
 Marquise took the opportunity to fold up 
 her knitting, to wish Mr. Deveron good 
 night, and to withdraw to her own apart- 
 ments. Mr. Deveron proceeded to im- 
 prove his acquaintance with his nephew, 
 and was much pleased with his frank, 
 straightforward manner, " so unlike a 
 foreigner," as he said to himself, and with 
 his warm affection for his mother and 
 sister. Leon would not listen to the idea 
 of his mother's recovery being hopeless, 
 he was persistently sanguine. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know, Manfma says so," he
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 93 
 
 replied; "but she always looks on the 
 dark side of things, at least, ever since 
 that terrible day when we heard of poor 
 Papa. Before then she was always so gay, 
 so gay ! But she is so young still, so 
 young and beautiful ; it cannot be that she 
 should die." 
 
 " Even younger people die very often, 
 L^on." 
 
 " Yes ! yes !" with some impatience, 
 " but they — they are not Mamma." 
 
 Mr. Deveron saw it was useless to pur- 
 sue the subject, and began to tell his 
 nephew of his mother's wishes respecting 
 Pensee. Leon was almost speechless with 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Pensee to go to England! To live 
 no more at Rochecaillou ! And Mamma 
 wishes this ? You are really serious, mon 
 oncle f 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Leon. Is it likely I 
 should jest on such a subject ?" 
 
 " No, no ! I beg your pardon ; but it
 
 94 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 is SO strange, so unnatural ! Why should 
 Mamma wish to send Pensee away from 
 home?" 
 
 " She will have a home with me," said 
 Mr. Deveron, who did not judge it neces- 
 sary to acquaint his nephew with all the 
 reasons which he had given to the Mar- 
 quise"; "she will come over every year to 
 see your grandmother, and you must come 
 to Arncester sometimes to see her and 
 us." 
 
 Leon murmured something about liking 
 it very much, but he was evidently too 
 bewildered at the new idea that had been 
 presented to him of his sister's departure 
 to say much ; and, after seeing his uncle 
 to his room, he took a cigar and paced up 
 and down the garden in the moonlight, 
 trying hard to understand what it all 
 meant. 
 
 Meanwhile the coming change was being 
 broken to Pensee by her mother. They
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 95 
 
 had always been more like sisters than 
 mother and daughter, and Pensee under- 
 stood almost every thought of her mother's 
 heart. She quite knew why she was never 
 allowed to be alone with her fascinating- 
 Aunt Louise, and in her youthful inexperi- 
 ence was half indignant that Mamma 
 should not trust her principles sufficiently 
 to be sure that no persuasion, even from 
 her charming aunt, could shake her faith. 
 She knew better than anyone, save the 
 nurse who took the night duty, how ill 
 her mother was, and had no illusions as 
 to the possibility of her recovery ; but she 
 had never thought of anything beyond, or 
 imagined that it would bring any change 
 in the even tenor of her life. 
 
 " My little Pansy !" said her mother's 
 feeble voice as she entered the room, 
 " Come here, my darling ; I want to talk 
 to you." 
 
 "Are you not too tired, mother dear?"
 
 96 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 said Pansy, stroking the thin hand. " My 
 nncle was with you so long. You must rest 
 now, and talk to me to-morrow." 
 
 " There may be no to-morrow for me, 
 my Pansy. I must tell you now while I 
 can. My darling, when I am gone, I have 
 asked your uncle to be your guardian, and 
 to take you to live with him at Arncester." 
 
 " To live at Arncester ! — in England ! — 
 to leave Bonne Maman, and Leon. Oh, 
 Mamma !" exclaimed Pansy in astonishment 
 and dismay. 
 
 " You must think of it as my great wish, 
 dear ; it is for that that I sent for your 
 uncle all the way from England. My child, 
 it has been my great happiness to keep 
 you in my own faith : I have sheltered you 
 from any attempts to change it, but when 
 I am gone you will stand alone." 
 
 " Surely you would trust me, mother." 
 
 " Darling, I trust you to be all that is 
 sweet and good, but I know the specious 
 arguments, the blandishments, the clever
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 97 
 
 ways of making wrong seem right, that 
 will be brought to bear on you. You will 
 be assailed through your affections, and 
 you have too loving a heart, my Pansy, for 
 me to be sure you could resist." 
 
 " For your sake I could do anything^ 
 mother." 
 
 " Then, dear, accept your uncle cheer- 
 fully as your guardian. You will find it a 
 very different life at Arncester from what 
 you have had here ; your uncle has girls 
 little older than you, and it will be a 
 healthier life for you than to be the only 
 young girl in this old chateau. You will 
 come to see your grandmother every year, 
 and doubtless Leon will come over to see 
 you. Promise me. Pansy, you will try 
 honestly to be happy at Arncester." 
 
 *' I said I would do anything for your 
 sake, mother, and of course I will try to 
 like what you think best for me ; but oh, 
 I wish — I wish I might stay here !" 
 
 " I am afraid, dear, I have done wrong 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 in not accustoming you sooner to the idea, 
 but for so long I Loped I might be spared 
 to you, and I shrank from talking of what 
 was painful to us both. It was cowardice, 
 Pansy." 
 
 " No, Mamma, it was tenderness for me. 
 You never think of yourself." 
 
 " Still, child, it would have been truer 
 kindness to have told you sooner. But I 
 could not do so till I had asked your uncle's 
 consent ; he has accepted the trust most 
 kindly." 
 
 Pansy laid her head on her mother's 
 pillow ; she was afraid to speak, lest she 
 should sob. This severance from all she 
 knew, to go out into an utterly strange 
 world, seemed to her perfectly appalling ; 
 but so firm was her faith in her mother's 
 love and wisdom that she never thought 
 of questioning her decision, of appealing 
 against it. There was a long silence, which 
 was broken by Madame de la Rochecail- 
 lou.
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 99 
 
 *^As I said before, my Pansy, you will 
 find it a very different life. English habits 
 are different from what you have been 
 used to here. Do not set yourself against 
 new ways, my child, because they are 
 strange to you — you will find that they are 
 better suited to English customs than yours 
 w^ould be ; and besides, an affectation of 
 singularity is always in bad taste. Your 
 uncle you will look upon as standing in the 
 place of your father, your aunt " 
 
 "Don't tell me to think of anyone as 
 being in your place, Mamma," said Pansy, 
 in a trembling voice. " I couldn't ! I 
 couldn't!" 
 
 Her mother stroked her hair fondly. 
 
 " I could not wish you quite to do that, 
 my darling," she said ; " but you will try 
 to love her, Pansy, and give her your 
 obedience and respect. Of course I do 
 not say you can love these relations, who 
 are unfortunately strangers to you, all at 
 
 h2
 
 100 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 once, as you love Bonne Maman whom you 
 have know all your life ; I only want you 
 not to begin by fancying you never can 
 love those with whom you are going to 
 live. Perhaps you may find it difficult at 
 first, you are not accustomed to young 
 people, and wills sometimes run counter to 
 each other, and tempers do not always suit. 
 It may be a trial for you, my Pansy, but it 
 will be good discipline, and you must not 
 expect always to find your life so smooth 
 as it has been hitherto. I do not say all 
 this to discourage you, my darling, only 
 that, if trials come, you may remember that 
 I warned you of them, and not imagine 
 that they are anything very terrible or 
 wonderful. Always be courteous and kind, 
 remember ' the soft answer that turneth 
 away wrath ' is better than the cleverest 
 sarcasm or the most convincing argument, 
 above all, be true, and hold to your word 
 if once given ; think of the La Rochecaillou 
 motto, ' Tiens ta foi.'"
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 101 
 
 " I will try to do all you wish, mother," 
 murmured Pansy. 
 
 **My darling ! Now kiss me and go to 
 bed. Send me nurse, I think I could 
 sleep, my own little Pansy, my sweet little 
 Heartsease, God bless you and make you 
 good and happy ! My heart feels light 
 to-night, now that I know you will be safe 
 with your uncle." 
 
 Poor Pansy's heart felt like lead as she 
 crept up to bed. She was a shy, timid 
 cliild, and dreaded unspeakably any inter- 
 course with strangers. For the seven 
 years that had elapsed since her father's 
 death, she had never left La Rochecaillou, 
 and the thought of finding herself among 
 people she had never before seen, and in- 
 deed had hardly heard of, without a single 
 familiar face to comfort her, was perfectly 
 appalling. Mamma of course knew best, 
 but, oh ! if she might only have stayed 
 with Bonne Maman and Leon and sweet 
 Aunt Louise ! But she would not murmur-
 
 102 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 she would try her very best to be liappy, 
 aS mamma wished her to be, and with this 
 laudable resolve she sobbed herself to 
 bleep. 
 
 She was hurriedly aroused in the grey 
 dawn by the nurse. Madame was very 
 ill, she must come at once. Instinctively 
 the poor child knew the end had come, 
 even before she saw Bonne Maman, Leon, 
 and her uncle all assembled round the bed, 
 before she caught a sight of her mother's 
 face. 
 
 '' My own little Pansy, my treasure, God 
 
 bless " One fond kiss, and all was 
 
 over. Pansy gave one wild, sobbing cry. 
 and fell fainting into Leon's arms.
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I never spoke the word " farewell !" 
 
 But with an utterance faint and broken ; 
 
 A heart-sick yearning for the time 
 When it should never more be spoken. 
 Caroline Bowles. 
 
 Adieu, charmant pays de France, 
 
 Que je dois tant cherir ! 
 Berceau de mon heureuse enfance, 
 Adieu ! te quitter, c'est mourir. 
 Les Adieux de Marie Stuart — Beranger. 
 
 rriHE time which Mr. Deveron spent at 
 -■- the chateau before his sister s funeral 
 hung very heavily on his hands. The old 
 Marquise was studiously civil to him, but 
 it was evident that she was hurt and 
 grieved at the care of her grand-daughter 
 being taken from her ; and he was entirely
 
 104 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 dependent for companionship upon Leon. 
 He much liked what he saw of the boy, 
 but it was not the happiest time at which 
 to see him. Devoted to his mother, Leon 
 had always been sanguine as to her recov- 
 ery ; it seemed to him impossible that she 
 could really be so ill as she supposed, or 
 that her malady could have a fatal termin- 
 ation. The catastrophe, therefore, found 
 him unprepared, and prostrated him even 
 more than it did Pansy, who had been too 
 constantly with her mother to have been 
 able to deceive herself as to her condition. 
 Her grief was overwhelming and piteous 
 to behold, but it lacked the element of 
 surprise that so stunned her brother. 
 
 It was well for Leon that he was roused 
 by having to make all the necessary 
 arrangements for the funeral, which was 
 to take place at Tours, the nearest spot 
 where there was a Protestant cemetery. 
 Pere Masson, of course, took no part in 
 such proceedings, indeed he had always
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 105 
 
 greatly objected to the toleration with 
 which young Madame de la Kochecaillou's 
 heresy had been regarded, and to her 
 having been permitted to bring up her 
 daughter as she pleased. He had often 
 spoken very strongly to the old Marquise 
 on the subject, but, good Catholic as she 
 was, his representations on that point had 
 never seemed to have due weight with her. 
 Madame de Yarennes was far more sym- 
 pathising, and agreed with him perfectly; 
 and, little dreaming of the arrangements 
 which had been made for Pansy, he was 
 looking forward to her impending visit, to 
 arrange with her the means by which the 
 girl's conversion to the true faith should 
 be achieved. Mr. Deveron could, of 
 course, be of no assistance, owing to his 
 ignorance of the language, and it was, 
 after all, the best thing for the young man 
 to have a good deal to arrange, as it pre- 
 vented his abandoning himself to his 
 grief.
 
 106 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Mr. Deveron, in common witli many 
 other Eaglish people, had an idea that 
 French people had no domestic affections, 
 that they were incapable of existing with- 
 out excitement, and that they never spent 
 more than a couple of days at a time at 
 their country seats, which were left in 
 charge of a steward, who was expected to 
 send every available farthing to be spent 
 in Paris. He could hardly contain his 
 astonishment at hearing that the old Mar- 
 quise had never left the chateau for 
 twenty years, that his sister and her hus- 
 band had spent several months each 
 year there, and that Madame de Yarennes 
 was always for four or five months at her 
 husband's chateau in Poitou. Certainly 
 there was no sign of want of affection. 
 Both Leon and his sister seemed absolutely 
 devoted to the old Marquise, Bonne Ma- 
 man, as they called her, and of her love 
 for them there could be no doubt. Either 
 the De la Rochecaillous were an excep-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 107 
 
 tional family, or Mr. Deveron's pre-con- 
 ceived notioDs were erroneous ; lie not 
 unnaturally came to the conclusion that 
 the first solution was the correct one. 
 
 Of Pansy, during the days preceding 
 the funeral, he saw very little ; when she 
 did appear she was very gentle, but very 
 quiet. She bore in mind all that her 
 mother had said during that last interview, 
 and was striving with all her might to 
 accept the prospect before her with resig- 
 nation, if not with cheerfulness ; but, in 
 spite of all her efforts, her heart often sank 
 within her at the thought of leaving every- 
 one she knew and loved, and going out 
 into the world of strangers. Sometimes 
 it seemed more than she could possibly 
 bear ; she felt as if she must fly to her 
 uncle and beg him to leave her at La 
 E-ochecaillou — at any rate, for a time. But 
 then she remembered that she had prom- 
 ised her mother — that mother whom she 
 had loved so very dearly — that she would
 
 103 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 cheerfully obey her wishes and endeavour 
 to make herself at home in the strange 
 English household. So complete had been 
 the sympathy between Madame de la 
 liochecaillou and her child that Pansy had 
 never even thought of questioning the very 
 slightest of her mother's wishes, and was 
 almost shocked at herself, and terrified at 
 her own wickedness, when she realised 
 that she had actually been contemplating 
 disobedience. The weary days before the 
 funeral seemed to her to fly onl}^ too 
 quickly, for her uncle had told her that, 
 the day after the ceremony, he must set 
 out on his journey homeward. 
 
 The day before the funeral, Madame de 
 Yarennes arrived, and very great was her 
 surprise and indignation when she heard 
 what had been decided for her niece. She 
 had laid her plans so differently ; had been 
 so persuaded that she would experience 
 little difficulty in inducing the girl, who 
 was so attached to her, to become a Roman
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 109 
 
 Catholic, and that then her splendid mar- 
 riage to the Due de la Caune would be a 
 certainty. She tried to persuade her 
 mother to exert her authority to forbid 
 Pansy's departure, but the old lady posi* 
 tively refused. 
 
 " I am more sorry than you can be, 
 Louise ; the child is very, very dear to me, 
 and I shall miss her at every liour of the 
 day. Also, I know she will miss me, and 
 I fear she will not be so happy in her 
 English home as she would be here, where 
 we all know and love her.' But it was 
 poor Claire's great wish, and I would not 
 attempt to oppose it, even if I had the 
 power, which I have not. Claire left a 
 perfectly legal document leaving the child 
 to her brother." 
 
 " Had she the power ? I should dis- 
 pute it; Mr. Deveron cannot be very 
 anxious to have her, he would easily give^ 
 way." 
 
 " I shall neither say nor do anything. I
 
 110 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 had rather it remained as poor Claire 
 ■wished. The wishes of the dead are 
 sacred." 
 
 And, talk as Madame de Varennes and 
 Pere Masson, who perfectly agreed with 
 her, mio^ht, they could not change Madame 
 de la Rochecaillou's mind. 
 
 On the return of Mr. Deveron and Leon 
 from Tours, the former saw his niece, and 
 expressed a hope that she would be ready 
 to start with him the following day. 
 Madame de Varennes declared the notice 
 was too short, and tried to arrange that 
 Pensee should follow her uncle in a week 
 or two ; but Mr. Deveron pointed out the 
 inconvenience of this, and Pansy at once 
 professed herself perfectly ready to go 
 with him. She felt that, as the parting 
 ■was to be, the sooner it was over the 
 better. Madame de Varennes was quite 
 provoked, for she had hoped to prolong 
 the ''week or two" indefinitely, and to 
 keep Pensee at La Rochecaillou. It would
 
 LITTLE PANSY. Ill 
 
 give "her considerable eclat if she could 
 convert her niece, and also marry her to 
 the old Due de la Caune, the representa- 
 tive of one of the oldest families in France, 
 who would by no means have disapproved 
 of the girl's fortune. Pensee inherited 
 her mother's fortune of £10,000, which 
 her father had always refused to touch, 
 and left exclusively to his wife, and which 
 sounded very magnificent in francs. 
 
 However, there was nothing more she 
 could do, and the next morning she saw 
 Pensee, looking very pale, but perfectly 
 calm and tearless, setting forth to accom- 
 pany her uncle back to England. Leon, 
 whose leave of absence was up, bore them 
 company as far as Paris, Mr. Deveron 
 having determined to return by that route, 
 and avoid the necessity of sleeping at 
 Angers or Havre. 
 
 Pansy watched with sad eyes the fertile 
 Loire country which she was leaving 
 behind fly past her. The vintage was
 
 112 LITTLE PANSy. 
 
 over, but the woods were in all the glorjr 
 of their early autumnal dress, the day was 
 ^varm, calm, and still, and the beautiful 
 windinor river was as blue as the cloudless 
 
 o 
 
 sky which it reflected. She sat very quiet, 
 looking out of the window, and her uncle, 
 who was secretly rather shy of her, was 
 not sorry to leave her to her own thoughts, 
 and to talk to his nephew, of whom he had 
 naturally seen more, and whom he liked 
 excessively. Leon rather startled him 
 sometimes by his open Bonapartism, and 
 his avowed belief that the re-establishment 
 of the Imperial regime was only an affair 
 of months. It did not seem to him alto- 
 gether right for a young man who was 
 actually serving the Eepublic, yet so firm 
 was his own conviction that Bonapartism 
 was the only hope for France that he could 
 not reprove his nephew, as he felt he 
 ought to do. Leon's regiment was at 
 present at Lyons, and, after spending one 
 day in Paris, he left to rejoin it, his uncle
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 113 
 
 and sister setting out the ensuing day for 
 England. 
 
 It was a great struggle to Pansy not to 
 throw her arms round his neck and cry as 
 if her heart would break ; it was only the 
 thought of her mother, and of the self- 
 control which she had always striven to 
 teach her, that enabled her to restrain 
 herself. But, as might be expected, the 
 strong effort by which alone she controlled 
 herself rendered her manner cold and un- 
 natural, and Mr. Deveron, while thankful 
 to escape the lamentations he had antici- 
 pated, thought that his niece could have 
 little natural affection. 
 
 Their journey was somewhat wearisome 
 to both, for Pansy was naturally hardly in 
 the mood for asking questions or making 
 conversation, and her uncle did not know 
 what to talk to her about. He was greatly 
 surprised and relieved to find that she 
 proved a good sailor, and when they were 
 once on English soil, conversation, of a 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 kind, was easier, as be was able to point 
 out places to ber, and tell ber tbeir names. 
 He noticed witb approval tbat sbe did not 
 merely say " Yes," or, " Ob, indeed !" but 
 generally knew sometbing of tbe places be 
 mentioned, or asked a question as to wby 
 tbey were wortb noticing. Tbey spent 
 one nigbt in London, in an botel tbat 
 seemed to Pansy tbe darkest and grim- 
 mest place sbe bad ever seen ; and tben, 
 to Mr. Deveron's infinite rejoicing, be 
 found bimself on bis road borne. His ab- 
 sences were so rare, and generally so sbort, 
 tbat be could not divest bimself of tbe 
 idea tbat all sorts of tbings must bave 
 bappened since be left borne, and tbat be 
 sbould find bis presence greatly needed. 
 
 As tbe day wore on, Pansy's nervous- 
 ness increased. Sbe bad by tbis time 
 grown somewbat accustomed to ber uncle, 
 but wbat sbe dreaded was tbe introduction 
 to ber cousins. Sbe knew notbing of any 
 young people, and sbrank from tbe un-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 115 
 
 known with nervous timidity. Of Mrs. 
 Deveron she felt nothing like the same 
 apprehension : of course she would not be 
 like her darling mother — no one ever could 
 — but still she had some experience to 
 guide her in her ideas of elderly people, 
 while of young ones she knew absolutely 
 nothing. She felt it quite a relief that no 
 one met them at the station, but her uncle 
 seemed considerably surprised and rather 
 annoyed. 
 
 There had been much astonishment in 
 the market-place on the receipt of Mr. 
 Deverons letter, announcing that his 
 sister had left Pansy to his guardianship, 
 and that she would return with him to 
 Arncester. 
 
 " Well ! I'm not easily surprised," said 
 Mrs. Deveron, laying down the letter ; 
 "but that Clare should have thought of 
 such a thing, and still more that your Papa 
 should have consented, takes my breath 
 away." 
 
 i2
 
 116 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Mr. Deveron's letters were of tbe most 
 cursory description, and he had said no- 
 thing about his sister's reasons for wishing 
 her daughter to leave France. 
 
 "That he should be willing to have a 
 Koman Catholic after all I've heard him 
 say !" continued Mrs. Deveron. " Well, 
 well ! when all's said and done what odd^ 
 contradictory creatures men are, to be 
 sure !" 
 
 *'Does he say whether she is pretty or 
 not, Mamma ?" asked Julia. 
 
 " My dear, he says nothing but just the 
 fact. Men never do write letters that tell 
 you anything. He couldn't have been 
 busy either." 
 
 "It will be a bore having a third to 
 divide the going out; we have none too 
 much as it is," said Julia, discontentedly. 
 
 " "Well, she will be in too deep mourning 
 to interfere in that way yet awhile," said 
 her mother; ''but that is a sort of thing 
 that would never enter your Papa's head
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 117 
 
 as an objectioD. I doubt if he Avould 
 understand it if be was told." 
 
 " Of course a French girl will be very 
 frivolous and silly," said Sophronia; "she 
 will be no companion for me, I'm sure." 
 
 " I only hope she mayn't be a great 
 upset in the house," said Mrs. Deveron ; 
 "her mother and I never got on well 
 together. Clare had a sharp tongue." 
 
 "What is she called?" asked Julia. 
 " If she were English, she would be Lady 
 Pensee as a Marquis's daughter. What is 
 it in French ?" 
 
 " I'm sure I haven't a notion," owned 
 her mother, reluctantly. " Soph ! you 
 know everything — what is it ?" 
 
 This phrase, "you know everything," 
 was quite a household word of the Dev- 
 erons with regard to Sophronia, and she 
 had heard it until she implicitly believed it 
 to be true. Her infinitesimal smattering 
 of knowledge so often enabled her to 
 enlighten those of the family who knew, if
 
 118 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 possible, less, that she had grown to believe 
 herself quite infallible, and was always 
 ready to contradict anyone who ventured 
 to differ from her. Even when, as in the 
 present instance, she was right, she gave 
 the information in a manner that testified. 
 contempt for anyone less well instructed. 
 
 *' Dear me, Julia, I wonder you can ask 
 such a thing ! Of course there is no title 
 like ' lady ' in France ; all their peerage is 
 different. She is Mademoiselle de la 
 E-ochecaillou. Even the daughters of 
 royal dukes are only Mademoiselle. You 
 might remember that in History !" 
 
 '' I do remember something about ' La 
 grande Mademoiselle,' " said Julia, meekly. 
 *' Of course you're right, Soph ; you always 
 are. 
 
 " And she has no precedence in England," 
 continued Sophronia, who was considered 
 to be an authority on etiquette ; "it is 
 only by courtesy that any foreigner ever 
 has any."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 119 
 
 " Oh, well ! that makes matters* very 
 easy," said Mrs. Deveron ; " I shan't be 
 always afraid of forgetting. Which room 
 had she better have ?" 
 
 " The blue," said Julia ; *' it is very 
 comfortable, and perhaps she may take a 
 fancy to sit there, and not always want to 
 be with us. It will be a bore having a 
 stranger always. I wonder if she can talk 
 English?" 
 
 " It will be a very good thing for your 
 French if she cannot." 
 
 ''Oh, bother! What is the use? It 
 would be as bad as school over again." 
 
 From the time of the first announce- 
 ment till the day when the travellers were 
 expected, speculations concerning the new 
 cousin were the chief topic of conversation 
 in the market-place. A few further de- 
 tails were gleaned from Mr. Deveron's 
 letters, namely, that Pansy was a Protest- 
 ant, had inherited her mother's fortune, and 
 seemed very quiet. Mrs. Deveron invested
 
 120 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 herself in most orthodox mourning, v>^ith a 
 larger amount of crape than she would 
 have deemed necessary had her sister-in- 
 law not been a Marquise, and consequently 
 a pleasant subject of conversation. She 
 wished her niece had been left quietly in 
 Trance, but it could not be helped, as she 
 told the girls, and so had better be made 
 the best of. After all, it would not inter- 
 fere with their going out at present, and, 
 before Pansy's mourning allowed of her 
 going into society, perhaps one of them 
 might be married. 
 
 It was into this household, inclined to 
 receive her as an inmate to be endured 
 rather than enthusiastically welcomed, that 
 Pansy made her entry at the end of her 
 long day's journey. 
 
 Her uncle did not seem to think much 
 introduction necessary. He kissed his wife 
 and daughters, and then, saying, " Here is 
 Pansy. Pansy, my dear, here are your 
 aunt and cousins," asked if his letters were
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 121 
 
 in the study, and went off immediately in 
 search of them. 
 
 Perhaps it is hardly correct to say that 
 Pans}^ was shy, but she had seen very few 
 strangers in her life, and felt very strange 
 and out of place. She longed for some one 
 to take her in her arms aud kiss her, as her 
 mother or Bonne Maman w^ould have done, 
 and her heart swelled, and the tears rose 
 in her eyes, when she was received much 
 as if she had come to pay a morning visit. 
 To do Mrs. Deveron and her daughters 
 justice, they did not mean to be unkind 
 or inhospitable ; they were only stiff and 
 uncomfortable, and hardly knew what to 
 say to their new inmate. They were all 
 relieved to find that she spoke perfect 
 English, and were quite satisfied that her 
 personal appearance would in no way inter- 
 fere with the girls' prospects. Pansy's 
 slender, high-bred look was entirely thrown 
 away upon them, their canons of beauty 
 being of an infinitely larger and more
 
 122 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 florid type. They felt quite at a loss wHat 
 to say to bcr, and it was a relief when Mrs. 
 Deveron took her upstairs, and told her 
 dinner would be ready in half an hour.
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is success that colours all in life : 
 Success makes fools admired, makes villains honest. 
 All the proud virtue of this vaunting world 
 Fawns on success and power, howe'er acquired. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 ''' A NNETTE," said Mr. Delmar, coming 
 -^^ into the drawino^-room at Daleford 
 one very cold evening in January, on bis 
 return from hunting, *' do you remember 
 that young Marquis and Marquise de la 
 Rochecaillou that we met once at Horn- 
 burg ?" 
 
 '* Eemember them ! Why, yes, Henry, 
 I should think so ! Don't you remember 
 how kind she was in lending me her little 
 girl's nurse, when Edith was so ill and we
 
 124 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 €Ould get no one ? But what makes you 
 think of them now ?" 
 
 "Because I never knew till to-day that 
 Madame de la E;Ochecaillou was a sister of 
 Deveron, the banker in Arncester — you 
 know she was English." 
 
 " Yes. How strange it is how very 
 small the world is ! IIow came you to 
 hear it ? I should be 2:lad to see her 
 
 again. 
 
 " You will never be able to do that, she 
 died last September. Her husband, it 
 seems, was killed in the Franco-German 
 war, at Gravelotte, I think. The way I 
 came to hear of it was that I asked who 
 an interesting-looking girl in deep mourn- 
 inor was, who was with Mrs. Deveron at 
 the meet to-day, and I heard it was Made- 
 moiselle de la Eochecaillou, who, it seems, 
 is to live with her uncle. You said you 
 would like to have seen Madame de la 
 Rochecaillou again — couldn't we do some- 
 thing kind to her child ?"
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 125 
 
 Mrs. Delmar hesitated ; she saw at once, 
 which her husband did not, that no civility 
 could be offered to Mademoiselle de la 
 Eochecaillou while she resided under her 
 uncle's roof, without including that uncle's 
 wife and daughters. She had, as she re- 
 flected, no reason against knowing Mrs. 
 Deveron, except that it was somehow the 
 custom of the county only to recognise the 
 banker himself; but Mrs. Delmar was 
 quite independent-spirited enough, and of 
 sufficient importance in the county, to have 
 no fears of compromising her position. 
 Still it was a new idea, and she said — 
 
 " I suppose you don't remember that if 
 I call on the girl I must also call on Mrs. 
 Deveron. What do you say? I have 
 really no objection, and I should like to 
 do something for the daughter of the 
 woman who was so sympathising and help- 
 ful to me. But you must realise where it 
 leads us." 
 
 " Well, really, Annette, if as you say
 
 326 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 j-ou have no objection, I don't see why you 
 shouldn't do it; I believe she is a very 
 worthy sort of woman, and it will do us 
 no harm. Deveron is a very good fellow, 
 and I daresay it will please him. He has 
 rather a pretty daughter out now, who 
 was riding to-day, and went well. Then 
 you will call ?" 
 
 ** I think it would be rather awkward to 
 call suddenly, having omitted to do so all 
 these years. The Deverons are sure to be 
 at the Hunt Ball next week, and I will 
 make Mrs. Vernon introduce me, and say 
 something civil about Mademoiselle de la 
 Rochecaillou." 
 
 " Yes, and then you can look at her first 
 and see what you think of her." 
 
 " Hardly likely that she will be there if 
 her mother only died in September." 
 
 ** Ah ! I daresay you are right. Well, 
 it is time for me to go and dress." 
 
 More than three months had elapsed 
 since Pansy's arrival beneath her uncle's
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 127 
 
 roof, and she had grown quite used to the 
 routine of the family, different as it was 
 from anything to which she was accus- 
 tomed. The last seven years of her life 
 had been passed entirely in a fine old 
 chateau, with well-kept formal gardens, in 
 which she wandered at will; and among 
 peasants with almost all of whom she was 
 familiar. She was accustomed to going, 
 either with her mother, or, after Madame 
 de la Eochecaillou's health began to fail, 
 by herself, to all the cottages, and to being 
 regarded as a sort of good fairy when she 
 brought a shawl which Bonne Maman had 
 knitted for one old woman, or a pair of 
 stockings for another, or a little frock 
 made by herself, under her mother's direc- 
 tion, for one of the children. She had 
 known them all so well, and been so 
 adored by them, as cette petite ange Made- 
 moiselle Pensee, that she greatly missed the 
 constant interest and occupation. It 
 seemed a strange confinement to live in a
 
 128 LITTLE PA^SY. 
 
 town, and the garden, charming as it was, 
 seemed very restricted after the handsome 
 grounds of La E;Ochecaillou. 
 
 The winter set in early, and with con- 
 siderable severity; and, before it did so, 
 Pansy was hardly sufficiently accustomed 
 to her surroundings to find out any of the 
 pretty spots which abounded in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Her cousins abhorred a country 
 walk ; their only idea of pleasiire in exer- 
 cise was the people whom they might meet, 
 and the monotonous length of Arne Street 
 was far more fascinating to them than the 
 most beautiful lane or river walk. 
 
 When Pansy went out with them, they 
 always scrupulously introduced anyone 
 they met to her, but then proceeded en- 
 tirely to monopolise the stranger's atten- 
 tion ; and when Pansy listened to the 
 conversation, it had little interest for her, 
 consisting, as it did, of jokes and pieces of 
 chaff, comprehensible only to the initiated. 
 Both her mother and grandmother were
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 129 
 
 very cultivated and well-read women, for 
 Clare, always intellectually inclined, had 
 read immensely after her marriage. Pansy 
 was exceptionally well educated, and had 
 read more than most girls of her age, and 
 she found a great contrast between the 
 talk about books and the thoughts which 
 they suggested to which she had been ac- 
 customed, and the trashy chit-chat which 
 seemed to be her cousins' only idea of con- 
 versation. Sometimes some utterance of 
 Sophronia*s would give her a hope of some 
 interesting conversation, and she would 
 endeavour to pursue the subject, but al- 
 ways found her wishes evaded. She had 
 not the experience and knowledge of the 
 world requisite to enlighten her as to the 
 reason why her cousin so abruptly changed 
 the subject. Really, Sophronia was afraid 
 of being drawn beyond her depth, and 
 perhaps proved to be fallible ; but Pansy, 
 who was very diffident, imagined that her 
 cousin was far too clever to be troubled 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 by discussing the subject witb anyone so 
 ignorant as herself, and only wished that 
 she knew more, so as to be more compan- 
 ionable. 
 
 When all her possessions were sent to 
 her from La Rochecaillou, her cousins were 
 amazed at her large library. 
 
 "Whatever did you trouble to bring all 
 those books for?" said Mrs. Deveron. 
 *' There's a capital circulating library in 
 the town in connection with Mudie, and 
 you could get anything you want." 
 
 •'But these are my own pet books," said 
 Pansy, " all given me by mamma and 
 Bonne Maman ; ifc would be like being 
 without friends. Indeed I will keep them 
 all quite tidily in my own room." 
 
 They were all good standard works — 
 Racine and Corneille, Tasso, Dante, Moliere, 
 Metastasio, Shakespeare, and all the best 
 English poets. Madame de la Rochecail- 
 lou had been devoted to poetry, and her 
 daughter had been accustomed to read to
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 131 
 
 her a great deal, and to have her taste 
 formed by afterwards discussing the beau- 
 ties of what she had read. There were 
 books of history, travels, and essays as 
 well, all bearing marks of diligent use, 
 and very unlike the works selected by 
 Mrs. Deveron from the Arncester Library. 
 She and Julia read nothing but the lightest 
 fiction : Sophronia was fond of ordering 
 books with appalling scientific titles ; these 
 she skimmed occasionally, taking notes of 
 the longest and hardest words, but they 
 generally lay ostentatiously on the table, 
 where they could not fail to be seen by 
 visitors. None of Pansv's books were 
 familiar to either of the sisters ; all they 
 knew of the standard literature of their 
 own or any other country being the ex- 
 tracts which they had been required to 
 learn at school, and which had not awaken- 
 ed in them the slightest desire to know 
 more of their authors. 
 
 In the four months she had spent at 
 
 k2
 
 132 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Arncester, Pansy bad settled down into 
 her place in the household. She had none 
 of the trials to endure which she had half 
 anticipated from her mother's warnings ; 
 her aunt was very kind to her, and her 
 cousins, though not congenial, were always 
 amiable to her. There was really nothing 
 to bear, except the want of companionship, 
 which she felt bitterly — the absence of 
 anyone to whom she could talk, either of 
 the books she read, or of her own thoughts 
 and fancies. Like most girls who have 
 been brought up without young compan- 
 ions, Pansy was very imaginative, her own 
 thoughts and visions having stood to her 
 in lieu of playfellows. Her mother had 
 always encouraged her to talk to her of 
 her day-dreams, and she missed terribly 
 the power of talking openly of all her 
 thouorhts and feeliuo^s. 
 
 Once or twice when she had imparted 
 some of her fancies to Julia, her cousin 
 had laughed and said, " How odd !" and
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 133 
 
 what was worse had referred to " Pansy's 
 whims " before the others, and had ''chaff- 
 ed " her about them. It was all very good- 
 humoured and not at all unkindly meant, 
 but Pansy was extremely sensitive, and 
 shrank from being laughed at, even more 
 than young girls in general. Her uncle 
 was always kind, but she saw very little of 
 him, and it never seemed to be thought of, 
 even by his own daughters, to talk to him 
 of their thoughts and feelings. Conversa- 
 tion always turned on what had been done 
 and what had been seen during the day, 
 or any anticipated gaiety in the town. 
 
 Of course at first Pansy's deep mourning 
 rendered it impossible that she should 
 share in any of the gaieties that took 
 place, and for the first three months she 
 was allowed to dine upstairs whenever 
 there was a dinner-party at home ; but at 
 the expiration of that time her aunt 
 decreed that she was not to " mope " any 
 longer, and insisted that she should appear
 
 13 i LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 at home, even though she did not go out. 
 The one dinner-parfcy that had since been 
 given in the market-place had therefore 
 been graced by her presence, and to her 
 had not seemed a very amusing entertain- 
 ment. She was at a complete loss to 
 understand why both her cousins, on the 
 departure of the guests, seemed annoyed 
 and put out. She had no conception that 
 the reason why they had hitherto got on so 
 well was that she, having seen no one, 
 had been unable to interfere with any of 
 their friends. Julia, herself a born flirt, 
 and always desirous of attracting anyone 
 who seemed to be paying attention to one 
 of her friends, was excessively jealous of 
 any interference with anyone whom she 
 herself liked, and young Mr. Vernon had 
 evinced a most unwelcome admiration of 
 Pansy's singing of two little French songs. 
 Pansy had no pretension to be a great 
 performer, but she had a very sweet 
 though not powerful voice, and as she had
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 135 
 
 never learnt the art of refusing to do what 
 she was asked in order to make her 
 compliance on entreaty a greater favour, 
 she had sat down as soon as she was 
 requested and sung two little peasant 
 chansons, which, being quite a novelty and 
 sung by a stranger, had created a sensation 
 which Julia's better-known songs had failed 
 to do. Mr. Harry Yernon had been 
 specially enthusiastic, and had hung about 
 her during the rest of the evening, in a 
 way that had greatly roused Julia's wrath. 
 Sophronia had been offended in another 
 way. A discussion had arisen as to the 
 source of a line which Mr. Musgrave had 
 quoted. 
 
 *' Although the day be never so long, 
 At length it ringeth to evensong." 
 
 He said himself that he did not know 
 whence it came, and two or three sugges- 
 tions had been made, when he appealed to 
 Sophronia as certain to know. Such au
 
 136 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 appeal was never made in vain, and slie 
 answered at once and without hesitation 
 that Whittier was the author. No one 
 knew better, and very few liked to 
 acknowledge their ignorance of the very 
 name of the American poet. But Pansy, 
 who sat on the other side of Mr. Musgrave, 
 said to him quietly, when the conversation 
 had been resumed, 
 
 " I think Sophronia has confused the 
 line you quoted with another — it is not by 
 Whittier, but in an old poem by Stephen 
 Hawes — ^ Passe Tyme of Pleasure.' " 
 
 If Mr. Musgrave had been wise he 
 would have kept the information to him- 
 self, but, like Pansy, he was innocently 
 unconscious that Sophronia's claims to uni- 
 versal information were quite imaginary, 
 and coDceived that she would be only too 
 glad to have her mistake corrected ; he 
 therefore proceeded to impart to her what 
 Pansy had just said. Unfortunately, there 
 was at that moment a pause in the conver-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 137 
 
 sation, several persons heard the commu- 
 nication, and Arthur exclaimed, 
 
 " So, Soph, you're not always right, 
 after all !" 
 
 Sophronia was very angry, but Pansy, 
 who happened to be talking to her neigh- 
 bour, did not hear what passed, and never 
 connected her observation to Mr. Musgrave 
 with Sophronia*s evident ill-temper after 
 the departure of the guests. She had yet 
 to learn that much of her cousins' amia- 
 bility was owing to her never yet having 
 crossed their path. When she did so, no 
 matter how unconsciously, she would find 
 that selfish and frivolous natures were 
 capable of a good deal of petty spiteful- 
 ness, which, though she hardly understood 
 its cause, would considerably mar her 
 comfort. Her Cousin Arthur was the one 
 of the family whom she liked the best ; he 
 was honest and straightforward, far more 
 refined than his sisters, whose flirting and 
 somewhat underbred manners he greatly
 
 J 38 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 disliked ; and, though by no means well- 
 read himself, yet quite capable of appreci- 
 ating culture in others. He had a very 
 high ideal standard of what women should 
 be, which must certainly have been evolved 
 out of his inner consciousness, for it could 
 not have been founded on any of the 
 young ladies in Arncester ; and Mrs. Mor- 
 dan, who most nearly approached his 
 views, yet did not quite fulfil them. 
 Pansy's gentleness and extreme courtesy 
 charmed him ; she always seemed anxious 
 to smooth over anything disagreeable, and 
 to say what was pleasant if it was possible ; 
 if it was not, she carefully'- kept silence. 
 He contrasted her with his sisters, who 
 were both addicted to sharp speeches 
 which they believed to be clever, and to 
 reminding people of what they wished 
 particularl}^ to forget, by way of '' fun and 
 chaff;" and Pansy's virtues rose in his 
 estimation by the comparison. He was 
 the only one of the household who thought
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 139 
 
 her pretty ; his mother, herself a large 
 womaD, exclaimed in amazement at his 
 finding any beauty in '' such a scrap of a 
 child." Julia, whose complexion was love- 
 ly, wondered at his admiring anyone " as 
 brown as a berry;" and Sophronia '' could 
 not admire a face where there was no sign 
 of intellect." 
 
 After bis first expression of opinion, 
 Arthur was wise enough to keep his own 
 counsel, but, perhaps owing to his silence, 
 he thought the more, and by the time Pansy 
 had been with them four months was very 
 far on the way to being seriously in love 
 with her. His companionship was a great 
 comfort to Pansy. He attended very 
 assiduously to business in the Bank, and 
 she did not see a very great deal of him - 
 but he discovered that she was very fond 
 of exercise, and enjoyed country walks 
 amazingly, though she did not care for the 
 promenades up and down High Street and 
 Arne Street that delis^hted his sisters^
 
 340 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 'From the time when he made this discov- 
 ery, he generally offered to take her for 
 a walk once or twice a week, and in 
 this way she made acquaintance with all 
 the prettiest spots in the neighbourhood. 
 ■Gradually she learnt to talk to her cousin 
 more openly than she had ever done to 
 anyone except her mother, and though of 
 course it was not the same thing, still it 
 was a very great comfort to her. Julia 
 and Sophronia soon began to joke her 
 about Arthur, but, fortunately for her 
 comfort and serenity, she did not in the 
 least understand what they meant. 
 
 She had been brought up without ever 
 hearing any of the silly vulgar jokes about 
 love and lovers in which under-bred people, 
 and indeed sometimes even those who have 
 not the excuse of being such, so often in- 
 dulge, with the inevitable result of destroy- 
 ing the delicacy of mind of any young 
 people who may hear them. Sophronia 
 and Julia had been joked about their
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 141 
 
 lovers, real or imaginary, by tlieir mother 
 and her friends, ever since their first 
 child's party; as a natural consequence 
 lovers were always in their minds, pretty 
 well to the exclusion of love itself. There 
 was no mystery, no delicate reserve in 
 their thoughts of the great passion, they 
 had a trick of regarding every man who 
 spoke to them civilly as a lover, and were 
 rather mortified if they were not '' chaffed " 
 about him by their friends. 
 
 Pansy, on the contrary, had heard no- 
 thing of love but what she had read in 
 books, and when she thought of it at all, 
 which was very seldom, for her mind was 
 still singularly childlike, it was as a sacred 
 mystery which made her heart beat and 
 her cheeks burn. When she heard her 
 cousins and their young friends laughing 
 at each other about different gentlemen, it 
 never occurred to her that there was any 
 love in the matter ; it sounded very strange, 
 and it somehow jarred her, but she never
 
 142 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 connected it Tritli love or marriage. Arthur 
 saw that she was quite unconscious, and 
 refrained from speaking to his sisters so 
 sharply as he otherwise might have done, 
 lest their answers should enlio^hten her. 
 
 The drive to the meet with her aunt had 
 been a great pleasure to Pansy, who had 
 never seen anything like it before. The 
 hounds had met at Arthington Common, a 
 tract of oforse and heath some six miles 
 from Arncester; the meet was under a 
 clump of splendid oaks at one end of the 
 <;ommon, which aiforded a certain amount 
 of shelter for the spectators, and from 
 which there was a view over the heath up 
 the Valley of the Arne, with the castle and 
 <5hurch of Arncester in the middle distance, 
 and the hills of Eockshire closing in the 
 view. There was a bright sun and a large 
 field, the red coats showing well on the 
 dark heath, and altogether it was a bright 
 spectacle that gave Pansy infinite pleasure. 
 She did not in the least envy Julia, who,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 143 
 
 mounted on a pretty chestnut, was receiv- 
 ing much attention from Mr. Harry 
 Vernon and one or two others, and who, 
 despite her father's directions that she was 
 to keep close to him, had every intention 
 of distinguishing herself by going straight. 
 
 Pansy had heard enough to make her 
 aware that the " county people " did not 
 call on her aunt, and that the latter was 
 very anxious that they should do so. She 
 knew nothing of English life, and did not 
 in the least understand all that was im- 
 plied, but she could not help wondering 
 why her aunt should wish to be visited by 
 anyone who apparently did not wish to 
 know her. 
 
 The Hunt Ball gave rise to an immense 
 amount of conversation ; it was always a 
 great event in Arncester, for all the houses 
 in the neighbourhood were filled for it, 
 and the townsfolk liked to see the smart 
 London people who came down to stay 
 with their friends for the occasion. But
 
 144 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 this year there was a drawback to the 
 perfect felicity of the occasion in the fact 
 that one of the great ladies of the county, 
 Lady Peveril, of Stanmore, was going to 
 give a ball two nights after, and to this 
 the Deverons were not invited, with the 
 exception of Arthur, who had been at 
 Rugby with young Sir Julian, Lady Peve- 
 ril's son. His being asked made his sisters 
 even more unhappy at their exclusion. It 
 really seemed too hard, Julia said, with 
 tears in her eyes, that he, who cared so 
 little for gaiety, should have such a treat, 
 and that they, who would give anything to 
 go, should be omitted. He might ask Sir 
 Julian. 
 
 ''No, that I certainly neither can nor 
 will do," said Arthur, decidedly : ^' but I'll 
 tell you what, Julia, if I possibly can, I'll 
 introduce Peveril to you at the Hunt Ball." 
 
 Pansy saw her aunt and cousins attired 
 in all their finery before she went to bed, 
 and thought Julia looked excessively
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 145 
 
 pretty — sbe was tlie sort of girl who almost 
 always looked her best in a ball-room. A 
 sort of wish that she were going too, cross- 
 ed Pansy's mind : it seemed as if it would 
 be so pleasant to see the lights, and hear 
 the music, and feel herself flying round in a 
 valse. It pleased her to hear Arthur say, 
 
 "I wish to goodness you were coming 
 with us, Pansy !" though she felt almost 
 shocked at herself for wishing such a 
 thing. Had she forgotten poor mamma 
 so soon ? 
 
 The next morning Pansy, her uncle 
 and Arthur, breakfasted alone. Arthur 
 testified that the ball had been capital, 
 that they had all enjoyed themselves ex- 
 cessively, and that his mother had been 
 much pleased by Mrs. Delmar asking to 
 be introduced to her. 
 
 *' She knew something of you, Pansy, 
 that was the reason," he said. 
 
 *' Of me !" said Pansy, looking up in 
 surprise : *' how can that be ?" 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 LITTLE PAI5SY. 
 
 " I don't know, but mother said some- 
 thing about it ; yes, I'm sure it was for you 
 that she wished to make the aquaintance." 
 
 "I never heard of such a person," said 
 Pansy ; '' at least I have heard Aunt Ma- 
 tilda mention the name, that is all." 
 
 But when Mrs. Deveron and the girls 
 made their appearance, the matter was 
 explained ; and Pansy found that, owing 
 to no act of her own, she was in the high- 
 est favour. It was owing to her that Mrs. 
 Delmar of Daleford, one of the most 
 exclusive of the Meadowshire ladies, had 
 asked to be introduced to Mrs. Deveron, 
 and had intimated her intention of calling. 
 This in itself, before the eyes of assembled 
 Arncester, was much, but there was even 
 more to come. Arthur had fulfilled his 
 promise of introducing Sir Julian Peveril to 
 Julia, and that young man being rather 
 impressible, and easily smitten by a pretty 
 face, had paid her a great deal of attention. 
 He had asked her to dance with him at his
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 147 
 
 mother's ball, and on hearing that they 
 had not the pleasure of knowing Lady 
 Peveril, and were not invited, he had said 
 something about seeing about that. Short- 
 ly after they had seen him go to his mother 
 and say something, which, by her look, 
 was evidently about them. When, a little 
 after, Mrs. Del mar had been introduced 
 and was talking to Mrs. Deveron, Lady 
 Peveril had joined the group, had asked 
 her to present her to Mrs. Deveron, and 
 had said some gracious words about 
 hoping to see her and her daughters at 
 her ball, intimating that a card should 
 be sent. 
 
 " And I don't believe she'd have asked 
 us if she hadn't seen us talking to Mrs. 
 Delmar !" cried Julia ;" she didn't look 
 a bit like it when Sir Julian went to 
 her; so you see, Pansy, we owe it all to 
 you :" and she gave her cousin a hug that 
 nearly took away her breath. 
 
 " It's a good beginning, the two best 
 
 l2
 
 148 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 houses in the county," said Mrs. Deveron^ 
 with infinite satisfaction ; " but come, girls, 
 we have no time to lose, if you are to have 
 new dresses for Stanmore. Come along 
 to Miss Dent's and let us see what we can 
 do in the time," and the three ladies 
 bustled away to the dressmakers with 
 their hearts full of the utmost satisfaction.
 
 149 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 That incessant envy wherewith the common rate of 
 mankind pursues all superior natures to their own. 
 
 Swift. 
 
 Envy will merit as its shade pursue, 
 
 But, like a shadow, proves the substance true. 
 
 Essay on Criticism — Pope. 
 
 ^'TTTILL you come out for a walk, 
 * * Pansy?" said Arthur, coming 
 into the drawing-room rather late in the 
 afternoon after Lady Peveril's ball. 
 
 " What, now ?" exclaimed Julia, as Pansy 
 rose. " Why, you'll be benighted !" 
 
 " There's plenty of time for a turn if 
 Pansy likes," said Arthur, as his cousin 
 left the room. " She looked very pale this 
 morning, but I couldn't get away sooner.
 
 150 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Why, Pansy, you are quick !" as she looked 
 in, ready equipped. 
 
 They walked quickly along the frosty 
 road tkat led by the shortest route into 
 the country. Pansy was glad of the exer- 
 cise. She had heard of nothing the whole 
 day but the delights of the ball, and some- 
 how the way in which her cousins had 
 talked of their different partners had jarred 
 her without her being aware of the cause. 
 The sharp frosty air had a reviving effect, 
 and after ten minutes she felt as brisk and 
 fresh as possible. 
 
 "lam so glad you came for me," she 
 said. " I do feel so much the better." 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, Pansy, I 
 expected you'd have had about enough of 
 the ball. I suppose you've heard of nothing 
 else all day, have you?" 
 
 " Well, not much else," Pansy was forced 
 to confess. 
 
 '' I guessed as much. Well, I'm sure 
 I'm very glad the girls had the pleasure.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 151 
 
 but someliow I wish — I don't quite know 
 what I do wish ; but I feel as if it were 
 lowering ourselves to make such a fuss 
 about the ' county people.' We're quite as 
 good as they are in our own way, and I 
 don't like seeing my mother so regularly 
 upset because by chance — it really is no- 
 thing else — two county ladies are going to 
 call on her." 
 
 "I don't suppose I quite understand," 
 said Pansy, not liking quite to agree, be- 
 cause that might be construed into dis- 
 approval of her aunt and cousins. ''I do 
 not understand all your English ways. 
 Are not these county people nice ?" 
 
 *' Yes, Pansy. I honestly confess they 
 are much nicer than the generality of the 
 people in Arncester. You see, they are in 
 an assured position ; they are not always 
 aspiring to 'get on,' to know some one 
 finer, or to go somewhere where others 
 are not invited. Their manners are better 
 and quieter, and they have the appearance
 
 152 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 of never thinking of themselves at all. If 
 it were because of their superior attrac- 
 tions that my mother and sisters were so 
 anxious to know them, I should not mind ; 
 but it is because they think it is ' getting 
 on,' because other people in our set don't 
 do it. They don't care in the least for the 
 people themselves, — it is only their posi- 
 tion. It is terribly vulgar." 
 
 Pansy hardly knew what to say. In so 
 far as she understood the case, she quite 
 agreed with him, but she would not con- 
 demn her aunt and cousins. 
 
 Before she could speak Arthur went 
 on — 
 
 "It is such a comfort to have you to talk 
 to. Pansy ; you are so different. Somehow 
 last night I felt almost ashamed of the 
 girls. Their manners are not quiet like 
 the Miss Peverils or the Miss Delmars. I 
 don't know what it is, one seems to see 
 tbem all over the place." 
 
 Poor Arthur! he felt, though he could
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 153 
 
 not quite express, his sisters' lack of re- 
 pose. 
 
 "It is the same in a way always," he 
 went on. " What is it that they do, Pansy? 
 You are quite different ; one never seems 
 to see you move about. You are always 
 still and quiet. Why are they so unlike 
 you and — and others ?" 
 
 It was an awkward question, and also 
 one which Pansy knew far too little of the 
 world to be able to answer clearly ; so she 
 could only laugh and say that it required 
 some one who knew more of the habits of 
 society than she did to enlighten him. And 
 then she suggested that it was almost time 
 to turn their faces homeward, or they should 
 be benighted. 
 
 " I do enjoy these walks so much," said 
 Arthur, as they began to retrace their 
 steps. " You mustn't let me tire you. 
 Pansy, but it is such a pleasure having 
 you to talk to ; somehow you always seem 
 to understand me."
 
 154 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 '' I am very glad," said Pansy, half 
 laughing ; " somehow these walks make 
 me feel more like home than anything 
 else. You know " — half apologetically, as 
 if afraid she might seem to speak slight- 
 ingly of Sophronia and Julia's society — " I 
 have never had anyone young to talk to 
 but Leon, and I don't think I know the 
 things girls in general like to talk about. 
 I must seem very dull to the girls, for I 
 know nothing of balls or picnics as they 
 do." 
 
 " You'll begin to go out a little soon, 
 though, won't you ? I'm sure you dance 
 beautifully. I'm afraid it must be very 
 dull for you here, knowing no one, and 
 you must miss your brother awfully. I 
 suppose he'll come and see you ? I hope 
 you don't hate being here instead of at La 
 Eochecaillou ?" 
 
 *' Mamma wished it — I could never dis- 
 like what she wished," said Pansy. '' Be- 
 sides," she added, hastily, '* indeed you
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 155 
 
 must not think I am not Happy. At first, 
 of course, it was all strange, and I missed 
 the gardens, and the poor 23eople, and 
 Bonne Maman, and Leon ; and even now, 
 sometimes, I feel as if I would give any- 
 thiug;' to see them ao'ain : but indeed I am 
 quite bappy — you are all so kind to me." 
 
 "I'm sure we should be brutes if we 
 weren't. I say, Pansy, promise me, if 
 ever anything annoys you, or you want 
 anything done, you'll come straight to me, 
 and I'll put it right for you, if it is to be 
 done. Promise T' 
 
 " Indeed I will," said Pansy ; " but why 
 should you fancy I should want anything ?" 
 
 *' I don't know — you might — and I 
 should like to do anything I could for 
 you. Hullo ! how fast we must have 
 walked ! Here we are at home. I'm very 
 sorry." 
 
 '^ Cousin Arthur" was mentioned so fre- 
 quently in Pansy's letters to her grand- 
 mother that Madame de la Rochecaillou
 
 156 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 began to imagine that, unknown to her- 
 self, the child was falling in love with the 
 cousin who seemed so kind to her. She 
 regarded with aversion the idea of a mar- 
 riage between cousins, but she felt that it 
 was not her place to interfere. Pansy had 
 been deliberately placed in her uncle's 
 family by her mother, and anything that 
 resulted therefrom must, the old lady felt, 
 be accepted by her without remonstrance. 
 She wrote the girl long letters, and con- 
 trived with infinite tact, Avhile always 
 seeming interested in what Pansy wrote 
 about, never to make any comment on 
 what she said about her relatives. 
 
 Madame de la Eochecaillou was a very 
 shrewd woman, and knew the world well ; 
 allowing for her slight acquaintance with 
 English manners, she had a very tolerable 
 idea of the Deveron household. Mr. 
 Deveron she had liked : he was hon hour^ 
 geoWj or perhaps something rather above 
 it ; his wife was inferior to him in birth
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 157 
 
 and breeding, and anxious to be a fine 
 lady ; her daughters evidently followed in 
 her steps, and the son in his father's. He 
 was doubtless hon enfant, but not a proper 
 match, even apart from the relationship, 
 for Pensee de la Eochecaillou. Still the 
 old lady felt that she could do nothing, 
 least of all give Pansy herself any warning 
 on the subject. She would have seen no 
 impropriety in marrying the girl, without 
 once consulting her, to a man whom she 
 had never seen, and for whom it was 
 hardly probable that she could ever care, 
 such was the French plan to which she 
 was accustomed ; it had answered well in 
 many instances with which she was ac- 
 quainted, and she saw no harm in it ; but 
 it would have seemed to her the gravest 
 indecorum to speak to the girl of love, 
 even if it were only to warn her against 
 possible entanglement. She was now 
 entirely under the strange English sys- 
 tem of freedom, with which Madame de
 
 158 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 la Eochecaillou felt her incapacity to in- 
 terfere. 
 
 Pansy was sitting in her own room on 
 the afternoon of the day after her walk 
 with Arthur. She spent a good deal of 
 time there, for it was pleasanter to read 
 alone than when disturbed by the chatter 
 in the drawing-room. It was a pretty, 
 old-fashioned room, panelled with oak and 
 having deep window-seats, which, being 
 covered with cushions, formed luxurious 
 lounges. In one of these was Pansy's 
 usual nest, and she was there established 
 on this particular afternooUj with a volume 
 of Lamartine's poems in her hand. She 
 had been reading, in " Les Premieres 
 Meditations," " Le Poete Mourant," which 
 had been an especial favourite of her 
 mother's, and which was the last poem she 
 had read to her. Pansy knew it by heart, 
 but she liked to hold the book open, and 
 go back in imagination to the time when 
 she had last read it.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 159 
 
 ^' Ah ! qu'il pleure, celui dont les mains acharnees, 
 S'attachant comme un lieiTe aux debris des annees, 
 Voit avec I'avenir s'ecouler son espoir ! 
 Pour moi qui n'ait point pris racine sur la terre, 
 Je m'en vais sans effort, comme I'herbe legere 
 Qu'enleve le souffle du soir." 
 
 As she read this, her mother's favourite 
 verse, the scene of that last day at La 
 Eochecaillou rose up before her eyes. Her 
 mother, white and feeble, lying in her bed 
 in the alcove surrounded with lace curtains 
 lined with pink, the view from the win- 
 dows of the formal gardens, the trees in 
 their autumnal garb, the distant windings 
 of the silvery Loire — she seemed to see it 
 all, even the brown sail of one of the great 
 hay-boats, showing a bright tawny yellow 
 in the afternoon sun. She heard the 
 whispering of the wind among the trees, 
 and the sound of the Angelus from the little 
 church at the foot of the castle hill, while 
 her bodily eyes rested on the leafless trees, 
 the dark cedar and the grey walls of the 
 old castle standing out sharply against the
 
 160 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 clear frosty sky, and tbe only sounds were 
 the bum of the town and the whistle of a 
 shunting goods' train. Her reverie was 
 broken by Julia, who came to summon her 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 "Mamma wants you to come down and 
 see Mrs. Delmar, Pansy. She says she 
 knew your mother, and remembers you as 
 a child. Why, I declare you re going down 
 without looking in the glass !" 
 
 " Am T untidy ?" asked Pansy, stopping 
 short and looking dismayed. 
 
 " Oh, no ! you are all right — only it 
 seemed so odd," answered Julia, who her- 
 self never missed an opportunity of con- 
 templating her own charms. 
 
 Mrs. Delmar had come to the conclusion 
 that she did not particularly care about 
 Mrs. Deveron or her daughters, and was 
 almost beginning to wish that she had not 
 been so precipitate in making an acquaint- 
 ance which she well knew she should never 
 be able to drop, when Pansy entered. Mrs.
 
 IJTTLE PANSY. 161 
 
 Delmar at once saw how different she 
 seemed from her relatives, and was struck 
 bj the self-possession and utter absence of 
 self-consciousness in her manners. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you, Mademoiselle 
 de la Rochecaillou," she said ; " your 
 mother was more than kind to me when I 
 was in trouble years ago at Homburg. 
 She lent me your nurse when my girl 
 Edith was very ill. I remember you then 
 a tiny little child, but you were too young 
 for it to be possible for you to remember 
 me." 
 
 " I do not even recollect Homburg,'^ 
 said Pansy. 
 
 '' No, I should think not. I doubt if 
 you could have been more than three years 
 old. I have always wished so much to see 
 your mother again, but, as I regret to 
 hear that is impossible, you must let us 
 see something of you. I have been ask- 
 ing your aunt to bring you to dine with us 
 next week." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 " But I am in sucli deep mourning ; I 
 have been nowhere yet," said Pansy, blush- 
 ing; "but it is very kind of you to think 
 of me. I am so glad to see anyone who 
 knew Mamma." 
 
 " It is not a large party ; you must not 
 let your mourning interfere. You are 
 not like your mother, nor, so far as I can 
 recollect, very like your father." 
 
 '' I am more like him of the two," said 
 Pansy. "I am supposed to be so very 
 like Grandmamma, his mother." 
 
 '' Your colouring is so different from 
 your mother's, but I fancy I see some 
 likeness when you smile ;" said Mrs. Del- 
 mar, and was rewarded by the look of 
 delight that overspread the girl's face ; 
 nothing could have pleased Pansy more. 
 
 " Then we shall hope to see you on 
 Wednesday," said Mrs. Delmar, after a 
 little more conversation, rising to take her 
 leave, and declining Mrs. Deveron's press- 
 ing invitation to stay to tea, on the plea
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 163 
 
 that she had promised to look iu for that 
 meal upon Mrs. Mordan. " Good-bye, 
 Mademoiselle de la Rochecaillou. I wonder 
 if, in consideration of my having known 
 you so long ago, you would let me call you 
 Pensee ; it is such a pretty name, and so 
 much less formal." 
 
 ^* I shall be only too pleased," said 
 Pansy, smiling. " I hardly know myself 
 yet as Mademoiselle de la Rochecaillou. I 
 was always Pensee at home." 
 
 " We call her little Pansy," said Mrs. 
 Deveron ; " she is such a slip of a girl." 
 
 " Mamma used to call me that too," 
 said Pansy, in a low voice. 
 
 " "Well, then, good-bye, Pensee. I hope 
 you and my girls will be great friends." 
 
 Mrs. Deveron and her daughters were 
 full of delight at the idea of dining at 
 Daleford, and during the next few days 
 man}^ visits were paid with the object of 
 promulgating the fact among their less 
 fortunate friends and arousing their envy 
 
 M 2
 
 164 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 of tlieir superior good fortune. On the 
 strength of this, of the Stanmore ball, and 
 of Lady Peveril having left cards in the 
 market-place, the two girls, to their 
 brother Arthur's intense annoyance, began 
 to give themselves little airs of import- 
 ance, as if some of their town friends 
 w^ere no longer good enough for them. 
 
 *' How can you be so silly and vulgar?'* 
 he said, impatiently, one day, when Julia 
 remarked that " she wished Lizzie Bran- 
 don would not come and talk to her at 
 the Covert-side ; she was not at all a per- 
 son she wished to be seen talking to." 
 " Lizzie Brandon is a very good sort of 
 girl, and has been a friend of yours ever 
 since you could speak. Is it because she 
 is shabbily dressed that you are ashamed 
 of her? And how is she different from 
 what she has always been that you want 
 to cut her now ? Surely it can't be 
 because, by the mere accident of Mrs. 
 Delmar's having been acquainted with
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 165 
 
 Aunt Clare, she has called upon us ! She 
 would never have thought of doing such a 
 thing, which she has not done all these 
 jears, if Pansy had not been here, and you 
 know that quite w^ell." 
 
 " Lady Peveril did not call because of 
 Pansy," said Sophronia. 
 
 " No ; but that again was an accident. 
 I happened to be at school with Peveril, 
 and he always was a good-natured fellow ; 
 when 1 introduced him to you, he didn't 
 like to leave you out. Don't fancy it was 
 any wish on Lady Peveril's part to know 
 us ; it was just kindness." 
 
 " I wish papa would leave this horrid 
 market-place," said Julia, discontentedly ; 
 *' I'm sure I don't wonder at no one liking 
 to come here, nasty vulgar place ! If it 
 were only Arne Street, like the Vernon s ! 
 But we ought to have a country place, and 
 take a position as county people." 
 
 " It would take two generations to do 
 that," said Arthur j "besides, it would be
 
 166 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 very inconvenient for tlie business, but of 
 course you never think of that." 
 
 It was Sophronia's turn to dine out the 
 night of the dinner at Daleford, and Julia 
 lamented it so much, and envied her so 
 openly, that Pansy felt quite uncomfortable, 
 and apologised for usurping one place. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't your fault," answered 
 Julia; *'we should never have known 
 them but for you, and of course you must 
 go, but it is hard it shouldn't be my turn ; 
 if Soph were a bit nice, she'd change with 
 me." 
 
 Pansy said no more, but it gave her the 
 first uncomfortable feeling of being in her 
 cousins' way. Hitherto her mourning had 
 prevented any clashing of their interests, 
 and it had never occurred to her inex- 
 perience that one young lady more or less 
 made any difference. She was sorry. She 
 was young, and the thought of society was 
 extremely pleasant to her, still it would be 
 a great drawback to her pleasure if her
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 167 
 
 enjoyment was to be purchased at the ex- 
 pense of her cousins' amusements. 
 
 The party at Daleford was not a very 
 large one ; Mr. and Mrs. Delmar, their 
 two daughters and two sons, Sir Julian 
 Peveril and his eldest sister, Mr. Mus- 
 grave, the clergyman of the parish, Mr. 
 Aldworth and his wife, and a Mr. Camp- 
 bell, a college friend of young Mr. Del- 
 mar, with the Deverons, formed the party. 
 Mr. Delmar of course took Miss Peveril, 
 Mrs. Deveron being placed on his left hand, 
 and Pansy, who fell to the share of Mr. 
 Laurence Delmar, found Sir Julian Peve- 
 ril, of whom in the last few days she had 
 heard so much, on her right hand. She 
 did not wonder that the girls had liked 
 him, for he seemed most cheerful and 
 pleasant, and he and Mr. Delmar between 
 them made the dinner time pass so enjoy- 
 ably that she was quite sorry when Mrs. 
 Delmar gave the signal for adjournment 
 to the drawing-room. But there, too, she
 
 168 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 enjoyed herself. Mrs. Delmar took par- 
 ticular notice of her, and her eldest daugh- 
 ter and Miss Peveril made her feel as if 
 she had known them all her life. 
 
 ''You sing, I am sure," said Sir Julian, 
 coming to her when the gentlemen appear- 
 ed. " Miss Delmar, do ask her." 
 
 Pansy made none of the difficulties 
 which Julia would have considered ortho- 
 dox ; she rose at once and went to the 
 piano, without the slightest nervousness or 
 self-consciousness. Her sweet voice caused 
 an immediate silence, and at the end of her 
 little French song another was requested. 
 
 "Does your cousin play or sing?" asked 
 Miss Delmar, when the expressions of 
 admiration had died away ; and Pansy 
 having replied that she played beautifully, 
 Sophronia was requested 'to favour the 
 company, and, after considerable pressing, 
 consented to send for her music. The 
 piece she selected was appallingly difficult, 
 absolutely destitute of air, dismal, depress-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. ] 69 
 
 iDsf, and ugly to the last degree. After 
 the first half-page everyone was talking 
 loudly, with the exception of Miss Delmar, 
 who sat by the piano listening politely, and 
 wondering to herself how anyone could 
 have taken all the trouble requisite to learn 
 anything so truly hideous. 
 
 Sophronia stopped at last, and looked 
 round with an air of triumph, but was 
 mortified to perceive that, excepting Miss 
 Delmar, who said all that was requisite 
 about the difficulty of the piece, no one 
 seemed even aware that she had stopped. 
 How different it had been when Pansy 
 had finished her songs, and Sophronia 
 began to feel jealous and discontented. 
 Mr. Musgrave came presently and began 
 to talk to her, but she was watching the 
 group of which Pansy was the centre, and 
 was hurt that both the young men of the 
 house and Sir Julian were laughing and 
 talking with her and Miss Peveril, instead 
 of paying her any attention. Her thoughts
 
 170 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 wandered from what Mr. Musgrave was 
 saying to her, and she once or twice 
 answered so completely at random as to 
 surprise him greatly. 
 
 *'You must come over and spend the 
 day with us, and let us make real acquaint- 
 ance," said Mrs. Delmar to Pansy, when 
 Mrs. Deveron rose to take leave. " I will 
 write to your aunt in a few days, and. ask 
 her to settle a convenient day. . Good 
 night. I am very glad indeed to have 
 seen you." 
 
 " A very pleasant party," said Mr. 
 Deveron, when they were settled in the 
 carriage — " did you not think so, Matilda?" 
 
 ''Pretty well," replied his wife, who, 
 studiously polite as everyone had been to 
 her, had felt sometimes a subtle something 
 that divided her from them ; " but what in 
 the world was Mrs. Delmar about to send 
 a girl like Miss Peveril in to dinner first ? 
 Mr. Delmar should have taken me : I was 
 the greatest stranger."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 171 
 
 " NonseDse, Mamma — she is a baronet's 
 daughter. Mrs. Delmar was quite right," 
 said Sophronia. "Precedence has nothing 
 to do with being married, or strangers, 
 or anything but birth. But did you see 
 all those plates and cups put in a glass 
 case in the drawing-room ? They're just 
 the same as we have in the housekeeper's 
 room. I'd have something better in a 
 glass case if I were Mrs. Delmar." 
 
 '^ Mr. Delmar told me they were very 
 old, and they valued them very highly," 
 said Pansy. '' He asked me if I under- 
 stood china, and I said no — that I only 
 knew what I thought pretty — and he 
 laughed, and said then he supposed I 
 should not appreciate them any the more 
 for hearing they were Chelsea with the 
 raised anchor." 
 
 " A raised anchor ! — that is on the back 
 of all ours," said Mrs. Deveron. " Chelsea I 
 — why, that is what is so fashionable now, 
 what people give no end of money for at
 
 172 IJTTLE PANSY. 
 
 .sales. To think of our having such a 
 thing, and never knowing it ! I'll get a 
 common set for the housekeeper's room 
 to-morrow, and we'll put this up in the 
 drawing-room — it will look well over the 
 fireplace." 
 
 "Julia," said Sophronia, when the sisters 
 were together in their room, " for all her 
 looking so quiet, Pansy'll be a bore. She 
 got all the men round her to-night, 
 looking as innocent as a baby all the 
 time." 
 
 " What can they see in a little insignifi- 
 cant thing like that ? She isn't a bit 
 pretty." 
 
 " No, nor at all clever ; she can't talk 
 science at all." 
 
 " You see what Arthur thinks of her — 
 he said yesterday he wished we'd copy her 
 manners, she was so quiet." 
 
 ''And she has no style." 
 
 " You hardly see her in a room." 
 
 -"' And yet, as I tell you, Sir Julian and
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 173 
 
 both the Delmars stuck to her all the 
 evening." 
 
 '' I'm afraid you didn't enjoy yourself, 
 Soph." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I did ; they were very civil ; 
 the 3^oungest, Ernest, took me in to din- 
 ner, and was good fun, but he called Pansy 
 pretty." 
 
 "Pretty! — what odd creatures men 
 are !" 
 
 Mrs. Deveron the next morning fulfilled 
 her intention of seizing on the house- 
 keeper's room china ; it really was the 
 very finest Chelsea, and any connoisseur 
 would have wrung his hands at the thought 
 of the ill-usage it had received, and the 
 quantity of it that had been broken. Still 
 there was a good deal of it left, and though 
 in their hearts Mrs. Deveron and her 
 daughters thought it perfectly hideous, it 
 looked very beautiful on the carved oak 
 shelves and brackets which covered the 
 wall over the drawing-room chimney-piece..
 
 174 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Often and often Mrs. Deveron, whose taste 
 was all for modern forms and garish 
 colours, had tried to persuade her hus- 
 band to let her remove the beautiful oak 
 panelling, and replace it with a white and 
 gold paper, and a mirror over the fireplace, 
 but he had always refused, not so much 
 from superior knowledge or good taste as 
 from a conservative liking to see things 
 about him as they had always been. Even 
 Mrs. Deveron's taste in carpets and cur- 
 tains was unable utterly to vulgarize a 
 room toned down by exquisitely carved 
 oak walls and ceiling, and the old Chelsea, 
 when placed in its new home, gave a re- 
 iinement to the room of which she was 
 little aware. 
 
 Pansy, who knew nothing whatsoever 
 of taste in theory, had yet an extremely 
 sensitive eye, and her delight at the new 
 arrangement quite surprised her aunt, who 
 herself thought her priceless treasures 
 more ugly than she could say.
 
 LITTLE PAKSY. 175 
 
 Now that she had once dined out, Mr. 
 Deveron told his wife that Pansy must 
 take her share with the girls in all gaieties, 
 and that her name must be on the visiting- 
 cards. Mrs. Deveron demurred, and said 
 she did not think Pansy would care to go 
 out so soon ; but, when her husband was in 
 earnest about anything, she had always to 
 give way, and the present circumstance 
 was no exception to the rule. Pansy, 
 always thoughtful of others, begged her 
 cousins to go to those parties they liked 
 and leave her those for which they did not 
 care; but this resulted in their always 
 liking everything and in her uncle's inter- 
 ference, with the decree that there should 
 be no choosing, but that they should take 
 everything in its regular turn. This was 
 the source of much heartburning to the 
 two daughters, and quite oblivious of how 
 amiable Pansy had been, and how desirous 
 not to interfere with their pleasures, they 
 grumbled a good deal to their mother and
 
 176 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 to each otlier about how much she was in 
 the way. Mrs. Deveron entered into their 
 feelings, but she did not dare to disobey 
 her husband. She had never been pleased 
 at the idea of his having consented to 
 receive Pansy without even consulting her, 
 and had at once foreseen the annoyance to 
 her own girls of having a third young lady 
 in the house. 
 
 Now that the first delight at having 
 secured the entree at Daleford was over, 
 she conveniently forgot that it was to 
 Pansy's presence in her house that she 
 owed it ; and when Mrs. Delmar wrote 
 to hope that Mademoiselle de la Roche- 
 caillou might spend a day in the ensuing 
 week with her daughters, one of whom 
 would call for her in the pony-carriage at 
 eleven o'clock, she chose to be offended 
 that one of her own daughters was not 
 asked as well, and said such unkind things 
 that Pansy, totally unused to hearing any- 
 thing of the kind, was appalled, and begged
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 177 
 
 to be allowed to refuse. But this did not 
 suit Mrs. Deveron. 
 
 " No ; as you are asked, I suppose you 
 must go — it will not do to offend Mrs. 
 Delmar, but sbe ought to know better 
 than to single you out, and put such a 
 slight on your cousins. You should let 
 her see what we think of it ; but there ! I 
 daresay you think it is all right. Your 
 mother always seemed to think she was to 
 be treated differently from other people !" 
 
 Poor Pansy was too bewildered quite to 
 understand all that her aunt meant ; she 
 would have liked to appeal to Arthur for 
 explanation, but feared it would pain him 
 if she repeated any of the speeches which, 
 though but imperfectly comprehended, 
 were, she could not help feeling, unkind ; 
 so she said nothing, and only kept even 
 more than usual to her own room. 
 
 Her day at Daleford, alone with Mrs. 
 Delmar and her daughters, was extremely 
 pleasant ; they were genial, cultivated wo- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 men, not remarkably clever, hut quite 
 capable of appreciating talent in others, 
 and their ordinary conversation was of a 
 far higher type than that to which Pansy 
 was accustomed in the market-place. 
 Pansy was far more at borne with them on 
 this their second meeting than she was 
 with her aunt and cousins after nearly 
 five months' intercourse ; on such topics as 
 books, music, and work she could talk and 
 understand what was said, which was far 
 from being the case with the constant 
 gossip about their acquaintances, which 
 was Julia and Sophronia's only idea of 
 conversation. The only drawback to her 
 pleasure was the feeling that, owing to it, 
 she had, in some incomprehensible manner, 
 displeased her aunt ; and, accustomed to 
 say whatever was in her mind to her 
 mother and grandmother, she exclaimed, 
 when Mrs. Delmar, on her departure, 
 expressed a hope that they should often 
 see her again in the same way.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 179 
 
 " It is very kind of you, and it is so 
 pleasant, I cannot tell you how pleasant, 
 but I am afraid — that is, I think — my 
 aunt thought it ought to be one of my 
 cousins." 
 
 Mrs. Delmar smiled ; she saw the state 
 of things at a glance. 
 
 " I understand, my dear," she said ; " do 
 not distress yourself, but it is your mo- 
 ther's daughter I wish to see, and we 
 must indulge ourselves by having you 
 sometimes." Then, as Pansy, somewhat 
 comforted, departed, she said to her 
 daughters — 
 
 " Poor little girl ! I am afraid it will not 
 be a very congenial home ; she is so gentle 
 and refined, and Mrs. Deveron and her 
 girls — well ! I suppose what one would 
 expect a Miss Morris and her daughters to 
 be. We will do what we can for her ; but, 
 if she is exposed to annoyance at home, 
 perhaps we shall be doing her no real 
 kindness." 
 
 n2
 
 180 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 As soon as she reached home, Pansy 
 was subjected to a rigorous cross-examina- 
 tion as to whom she had seen and what she 
 had done ; and when her cousins had 
 elicited that neither Mr. Delmar nor his 
 sons had been at home, and that Pansy 
 had seen no one but the three ladies, they 
 were less inclined to be envious, and did 
 not grudge her her solitary visit. 
 
 " How odd to ask anyone when the men 
 were out!" said Julia. '* Where were they 
 gone, Pansy ?" 
 
 " I don t know, I am sure ; I never 
 thought about them.'' 
 
 "Well, at any rate, I suppose you heard 
 some news," said Mrs. Deveron, somewhat 
 mollified by the discovery of what a very 
 dull visit her niece must have had. ^' Come, 
 Pansy, let us hear all you heard." 
 
 But Pansy had no news to tell. 
 
 " They talked of books and music and 
 work, and Miss Delmar showed me her 
 sketch-book, all the drawings she had done
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 181 
 
 in Switzerland last year, and her sister 'had 
 painted all the wild flowers they found, 
 and they told me all about the places, and 
 how much they had enjoyed themselves, 
 until I almost fancied I had been there 
 too." 
 
 '•' Had Miss Delmar drawn the flowers 
 botanically?" asked Sophronia ; "had she 
 drawn all the parts separately ? the corolla, 
 and the calyx, and the stamens and pistils ? 
 And had she classed them in the natural 
 orders, or according to Linngeus ?" 
 
 "I am afraid I don't know," said Pansy, 
 looking puzzled. " She had drawn sprays 
 of the flowers — I don't remember seeing 
 any pieces of them, and I know the names 
 were in English, not in Latin, for I was 
 glad because I could understand them." 
 
 " Oh ! just school-girls' drawings," said 
 Sophronia, contemptuously.
 
 182 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 Oh. sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
 EverYthing is spoilt by use : 
 Where's the cheek that doth not fade, 
 Too much gazed at ? Where's the maid 
 Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
 Where's the eye, however blue, 
 Doth not weary ? Where's the face 
 One would meet in every place ? 
 Where's the voice, however soft, 
 One would hear so very oft ? 
 At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 
 Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 
 
 Let the winged Fancy roam. 
 Pleasure never is at home. 
 
 i^aw^— Keats. 
 
 "r)AXSY found that her life was decidedlj 
 -■- less pleasant, now that she had be- 
 gun to go into society, than had previously 
 been the case. It was not that she did
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 183 
 
 not enjoy it, but her cousins were by no 
 means so amiable to her, and sometimes 
 her aunt complained that she was ''for- 
 ward" and "flirting," when the poor girl 
 could by no means divine what her fault 
 had been. Such complaints were gener- 
 ally made when they had met the Delmars, 
 or any other of the county people, for with 
 the townsfolk Pansy was by no means 
 popular. She did not understand the 
 somewhat familiar chaff which, by the 
 young men of the town, was supposed to 
 represent wit ; and had no interest in dis- 
 cussing lovers and flirtations, which seemed 
 to be the only topics on which their sisters 
 could converse. 
 
 When they dined, therefore, in the town 
 set, Julia or Sophronia were tolerably cer- 
 tain to be preferred to her, and she spent 
 her evening either in silence, or in talking 
 to one of the older ladies ; but when they 
 met any of what her cousins, to Arthur's 
 infinite disgust, called " the swells," they
 
 184 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 were sure to gravitate to Pansy, and no- 
 thing would persuade Mrs. Deveron or her 
 daughters that she did not exert all her 
 endeavours to attract them. It was not 
 that the two young Delmars, or any of 
 their friends who asked to be introduced to 
 her, were in love with Pansy, but she suited 
 them better than the forward, flirting Miss 
 Deverons ; her manners had the calm re- 
 pose to which they were accustomed in 
 their own class, and she did not giggle. 
 But of course the Deveron girls, who were 
 extremely well satisfied with themselves, 
 never divined the real reason, and set 
 it down entirely to Pansy's " sly ways." 
 
 " She never takes the trouble, except for 
 the real swells," said Julia, angrily, one 
 evening. " She has such a way of using 
 those great eyes of hers ! Ernest Delmar 
 was coming to ask me to dance, I'm sure, 
 to-night, when she looked at him and he 
 turned off to her. Men are always fools 
 about eyes."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 185 
 
 *' I don't think you need complain," said 
 Sophronia, sulkily. "Ernest Delmar is 
 only a younger son, and no good, and you 
 say you danced twice with Sir Julian. She 
 never interferes either between you and 
 Harry Yernon, but she kept Mr. Musgrave 
 to herself all yesterday evening, arguing 
 about the women of Shakespeare ; as if he 
 cared what she thought I" 
 
 Pansy was too utterly unconscious of 
 the crimes of which she was suspected 
 to understand the innuendoes which her 
 cousins launched against her, but as no- 
 thing would have persuaded them of this, 
 her calmness under them only enraged 
 them the more. Arthur's persistent advo- 
 cacy and friendship, though very pleasant, 
 really availed her nothing, for his sisters 
 regarded it as a further aggravation that 
 Pansy should have "bewitched" him. 
 
 Sophronia had taught herself to consider 
 Mr. Musgrave as so completely her own 
 property that his defection even for one
 
 186 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 evening was a thing she could not endure. 
 He was a worthy but somewhat vain and 
 weak-minded young man, much attached 
 to the sound of his own voice, and So- 
 phronia's attraction for him lay chiefly in 
 the fact that, as she set up for being 
 scientific, and for reading books of which 
 no other young lady in Arncester knew 
 even the names, he could talk to her of the 
 subjects that interested him. So content 
 was he to talk himself that he had never 
 discovered that Sophronia's learning lay 
 chiefly in a few hard words and a little 
 scientific argoi, which she had sufficient 
 intelligence generally to produce at the 
 right moment. If he had really considered, 
 that is, if he had not been perfectly con- 
 tented with a monologue and an admiring 
 auditor, he must long ago have discovered 
 that her information was quite superficial, 
 and that she was totally ignorant of the 
 meaning of more than half he said. 
 
 His conversation with Pansy had been
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 187 
 
 the merest accident, and had certainly not 
 been courted by her, but he had taken up 
 somethiug which she had said to Arthur 
 about Rosalind, and had proceeded to hold 
 forth, much to his own delectation, on that 
 character, and on the rest of Shakespeare's 
 heroines. As to Pansy's arguing, that ex- 
 isted only in Sophronia's imagination, for 
 no opportunity was given her, even if she 
 had wished to do so. Mr. Musgrave, 
 pleased with his own eloquence, went on 
 complacently stating his opinions, which 
 were neither novel nor original, and re- 
 quired no response ; indeed he fully be- 
 lieved he had only been eliciting his com- 
 panion's views, and spoke of her as a very 
 intelligent girl. 
 
 Arthur's eyes were quite sharp enough 
 to perceive that Pansy was no longer the 
 favourite she had been with his mother 
 and sisters, and he exerted himself as much 
 as he could to make up to her for it ; but 
 Pansy felt, though she could not under-
 
 188 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 stand the reason, that, whenever she and 
 Arthur were much together, Mrs. Deveron 
 or one of the girls was sure to say some- 
 thing which, though she did not quite 
 comprehend it, made her feel shy and 
 uncomfortable. She regarded Arthur as a 
 sort of brother, and was as unembarrassed 
 in talking to him as if he had been Leon ; 
 indeed, much as at Arncester she heard of 
 love, or rather of lovers, it never seemed 
 to strike her that such things could affect 
 her. This is not unfrequently the case 
 with girls who have been brought up 
 without young companions, and free from 
 the silly jokes that tend so surely to 
 vulgarise the mind, and destroy all 
 poetry and tenderness of sentiment ; Pansy 
 simply never thought of marriage or of 
 possible lovers at alh She had a sort of 
 dreamy notion of the delight of being 
 loved, of being the first in some one's 
 affections, but the " some one " never took 
 form or shape, but remained as vague and
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 189 
 
 impersonal as a poet's vision. The way in 
 which her cousins talked jarred her taste, 
 and hearing once or twice her uncle 
 reprove them for talking of their male 
 acquaintances by their Christian names, 
 she wondered exceedingly to hear them still 
 talk of ''Harry Vernon" and ^'Ernest 
 Delmar," the latter more especially, as they 
 really hardly knew anything of him. 
 
 The return dinner to the Delmars had 
 been for some time on Mrs. Deveron's 
 mind, and would long since have taken 
 place if she had not been changing her 
 cook. Such a solemnity as entertaining 
 her new acquaintances could not be allowed 
 to run the risk of proving a failure ; so, until 
 the new artiste had been pronounced a suc- 
 cess, Mrs. Deveron was prudent enough to 
 wait. But at length she considered that all 
 was satisfactory, and an invitation was de- 
 spatched to Daleford. which was accepted 
 by Mr. and Mrs. Delmar and their eldest 
 son and daughter. The invitation which had
 
 190 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 been sent to Stanmore was less fortunate. 
 
 '^ Really, Julian," said Lady Peveril, 
 laying down the note, "it was -all very 
 well being civil when you wished it, and 
 asking the Deverons to the ball, and of 
 course I called afterwards : you might 
 take it into your head to stand for the 
 county some day, and then such things 
 are remembered ; but to go and dine there 
 is more than can be expected of me. Mr. 
 Deveron and his son are all very well, but 
 the ladies are — not good style." 
 
 '* There is rather a nice niece, Mademoi- 
 selle de la Hochecaillou, staying with 
 them," said Sir Julian ; *' she is quite a 
 lady. Didn't you think so, Aura ? we met 
 her, you know, at Daleford." 
 
 " Very nice, quite different from Miss 
 Deveron." 
 
 " The other sister Julia is nice, — she is 
 really pretty." 
 
 " Yes — in a certain style, — but no man-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 191 
 
 ners, you know. I saw her at the ball 
 here." 
 
 " Well, mother, I think I shall go," said 
 Sir Julian. 
 
 " My dear boy, it is quite different for 
 you," said his mother, who would gladly 
 have prevented his going, knowing that it 
 was his weakness to be caught by a 
 pretty face, and to be far more civil than 
 there was anj necessity for ; but who was a 
 very wise woman, and quite aware that 
 opposition was the one thing likely to fix an 
 undesirable idea in the masculine mind ; 
 "young Mr. Deveron was rather a friend of 
 yours at Rugby, and if you like to go there 
 is no reason you should not, but it is quite 
 another thing for Aura and me." 
 
 ^' I don't see what harm it would do 
 you," said Sir Julian, whose fancy was rather 
 smitten by Julia's pretty face, and evident 
 admiration of himself. 
 
 " Harm — well, no^ perhaps not, but we
 
 192 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 don't care to drive eight miles to dine witb 
 people with whom we have no interests in 
 common." 
 
 ''Well, I shall go," said Sir Julian, 
 shortly. " I don't mind the drive." 
 
 " How odd he should want to go !" said 
 Miss Peveril, when he left the room, 
 
 "My dear Aura," said her mother, "a 
 man will go anywhere where he is flatter- 
 ed ; and only think what a luminary Julian 
 is on the Deveron horizon. I should not 
 wonder if Miss — Julia, didn't he say? — 
 was fancying herself Lady Peveril al- 
 ready." 
 
 *' Mamma, you don't think he would !" 
 
 " My dear, a very little opposition would, 
 I have no doubt, make him do that, or 
 anything else that is foolish. If he even 
 guessed that I was in any alarm about 
 this girl, it might do mischief. You per- 
 ceive, I only spoke of them as not suiting 
 us ; if I had said anything about not liking 
 him to go, he would have thought it of im-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 193 
 
 portance ; now I hope he will go and amuse 
 himself, and yet no harm will be done. 
 The only hope of managing a susceptible 
 young man is to try the rule of contrary.'* 
 
 " It is rather hard on her." 
 
 '^My dear Aura, pray don't be senti- 
 mental on that score ! You saw yourself 
 what the girls were — loud, flirting girls, 
 without an idea of manners. Don't fancy 
 Miss Julia is in love with Julian ; she 
 would dearly like to be Lady Peveril, that 
 is all." 
 
 " But that doesn't make it right for him 
 to go there and flirt with her, and encour- 
 age such hopes, if she entertains them." 
 
 "I don't want him to go, but if I op- 
 posed it he would go twice as much ; my 
 only fear is of his letting himself be drawn, 
 too far; girls of that sort are always very 
 deep and designing. However, I hope my 
 refusing to go will keep him in mind that 
 he is out of his own set. Write the note, 
 dear, will you ?'' 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 > 
 
 194 LITTLE PANS>. 
 
 *' What excuse am I to make ?" 
 "I think you had better only say that 
 we 'regret we are unable.' You know, it 
 is rather presumptuous their asking us, as 
 if we were on an equality." 
 
 Mrs. Deveron was much mortified at 
 Lady Peveril's refusal. Julia was rather 
 relieved, as she thought she should enjoy 
 herself far more with Sir Julian without 
 the consciousness that his mother's cold 
 grey eye was resting upon her. The young 
 baronet was rather impressionable about 
 good looks, and Julia's prettiness was of 
 the type which at the moment (for he was 
 very changeable) he most admired. He had 
 a way of making flattering speeches, which, 
 though not such direct compliments as those 
 to which Julia was accustomed from her 
 Arncester admirers, were still satisfactory 
 to her vanity, and caused her to indulge in 
 pleasant day-dreams of the time when she 
 should be Lady Peveril, of Stanmore Chase, 
 and one of the great ladies of the county.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 195 
 
 It was true she had seen very little of Sir 
 Julian, but she had a very comfortable 
 belief in her own perfections, and enter- 
 tained no doubt that he had fallen in love 
 with her at first sight at the Hunt Ball. 
 Mrs. Deveron was nearly as sanguine as 
 her daughter, but Lady Peveril's refusal 
 of her invitation filled her with misgivings. 
 
 "It is clear she doesn't approve, Julia," 
 she said ; "and she is said to have such 
 influence over him." 
 
 '* Oh, don't worry, Mamma," returned 
 Julia ; " just leave me to manage him and 
 it will be all right. Keep Pansy out of his 
 way, and Harry Vernon out of mine, and I 
 shall do very well." 
 
 '' He must take me, of course, and you 
 must sit next him. Who shall take you ?" 
 
 *'Mr. Musgrave, and Sophronia must be 
 next him with Mr. Delmar. Give Harry 
 Yernon to Pansy, and, if you can, put him 
 on my side of the table." 
 
 These able dispositions were accurately 
 
 o2
 
 196 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 carried out to the satisfaction of everyone 
 but Mr. Delmar, wlio would have preferred 
 Pansy to Sophronia, and Mr. Vernon, who 
 could not understand why he did not as 
 usual take Julia. Mrs. Deveron devoted 
 all her conversation to Mr. Delmar, wha 
 sat on her right hand, and Sir Julian was 
 left free to make himself agreeable to his 
 neighbour, which he did not fail to do. 
 If Lady Peveril could but have seen him 
 hanging over Julia's chair in the drawing- 
 room after dinner, she might have felt less 
 confident than was the case as to the re- 
 collection that she had refused to honour 
 the banquet by her presence, preventing 
 her son from forgetting that she did not 
 consider his entertainers as equals. Before 
 he took his leave that evening, he had in- 
 vited Mrs. Deveron and the young ladies 
 to come to breakfast at Stanmore when 
 the hounds met there the ensuing week, 
 and had promised Julia to devote himself 
 especially to her service, and show her all
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 197 
 
 the short cuts through the rides of the 
 Chase. He seemed quite astonished that 
 she had never seen the grounds, forgetting 
 that the gates were, by his mother's order, 
 rigorously kept closed, the place being 
 hers for her life ; and began to make plans 
 for a grand picnic to be held in the Chase 
 when the season would permit. 
 
 The immediate effect of Sir Julian's 
 open admiration, and of Julia's evident 
 encouragement thereof, was that, when 
 she chanced to be out alone the ensuinof 
 day, she was waylaid by Harry Yernon. 
 Hitherto he had believed himself quite 
 sure of being first in Julia's regard — had 
 imagined that he had only to ask and 
 have, and had therefore been in no par- 
 ticular hurry about the matter. But the 
 sight of Sir Julian's devotion had alarmed 
 him, and he had resolved no longer to 
 trifle with his fate. 
 
 Julia had an uneasy feeling as soon as 
 he joined her that he had something more
 
 198 LITTLE PAXSY. 
 
 important than usual to say, and tried her 
 utmost to ward off any serious conversa- 
 tion by the laughing badinage for which 
 she was famous. But Mr. Vernon meant 
 to ask a question, and had no intention of 
 allowing himself to be prevented from 
 doing so. He passed by Julia's jesting 
 talk in silence, and when at length she 
 stopped, he said, 
 
 "I am glad to have met you alone; 
 there is something I want particularly to 
 say to you. Last night I thought — I 
 fancied — that there was something between 
 you and Sir Julian Peveril." 
 
 This was hardly how he had meant to 
 begin, but the words came almost before 
 he knew it. He had meant to break 
 ground more cautiously, but, now that the 
 words were uttered, he was hardly sorry : 
 it was well to come to the point at once. 
 
 Julia, on her part, was puzzled how to 
 answer. She believed that she had, in her 
 own inelegant phraseology, " caught " Sir
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 199 
 
 Julian, but of course he had as yet " said 
 nothing," and, after all, her hopes might 
 prove deceptive. The last thing she de- 
 sired was to have to refuse Harry Vernon, 
 whom she wished to keep as her devoted 
 adorer faute de mieiux. From the moment 
 when he had joined her she had been 
 dreading some decisive speech on his part, 
 and wondering how she should contrive to 
 parry it. She replied, after a slight pause, 
 
 " Between us ! — of course there was — a 
 great deal of fun. He is very amusing." 
 
 " It did not look much like fun when he 
 was leaning over your chair and whisper- 
 ing in your ear. I beg your pardon, Ju — 
 Miss Deveron, but it is a matter of moment 
 to me." 
 
 " How absurd ! — why, he is quite a 
 stranger ! We never knew him till the 
 Hunt Ball. Of course he is very pleasant 
 and amusing, but it is not like old friends." 
 
 He stopped short, and turned so as to 
 stand in front of her.
 
 200 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 '' You honestly mean tliat — you think 
 ■more of old friends than of new ?" 
 
 " Of course I do," said Julia, who was 
 rapidly revolving in her mind whether it 
 would not be better policy to accept Harry 
 Yernon if he absolutely proposed to her, 
 and then to throw him over when Sir 
 Julian "came to the point," than to 
 quarrel with one suitor before she was 
 sure of the other. " Of course new ac- 
 quaintances are very pleasant, and I don't 
 see why one shouldn't amuse oneself with 
 them, but it takes time to make friends." 
 
 Harry Yernon hesitated ; he knew that 
 for two years, until he was five-and- 
 twenty, when, by the terms of his god- 
 father's will, he would inherit a small 
 property in Rockshire, it was utterly out 
 of the question that he could marry, and 
 he had always strenuously determined 
 that, though he had loved her for four 
 years, he would never speak to Julia of his 
 love until he could ask her to marry him.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 201 
 
 It seemed to him unfair to bind her by a 
 long engagement. Jealousy of Sir Julian 
 had stung him so keenly on the previous 
 evening that he felt he could keep silence 
 no longer, but must ''put his fortune to 
 the touch," and learn if there were any 
 hope for him, or whether he had better 
 accede to his father's wishes and go abroad 
 for the next two years. But now that 
 Julia had so pointedly twice professed her 
 preference of old friends over new, he 
 paused before saying all that he had meant 
 to do, and that pause saved Julia the 
 question which she so dreaded having to 
 answer. Before he could make up his 
 mind whether to ask it or not, Sophronia 
 and Pansy came in sight, and Julia felt, 
 with a sigh of relief, that she was saved. 
 
 Of course Lady Peveril was not slow to 
 hear of her son's devotion to " the pretty 
 Miss Deveron ;" indeed, if kind friends 
 had not been ready to enlighten her, his 
 frequent rides over to Arncester would
 
 202 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 have made her suspicious. She was rather 
 disappointed that her refusal to accept 
 Mrs. Deveron's invitation should not have 
 at any rate prevented her son from asking^ 
 that lady and her daughters to the hunt 
 breakfast ; but beyond a slight elevation 
 of her eyebrows when he told her, which 
 made him feel that he had done what she 
 considered outre ^ she took no notice. But 
 she was none the less awake to the danger 
 that, while in his state of admiration for 
 Miss Deveron's pretty face, he might be 
 drawn into saying something which might 
 be taken hold of, and might find himself 
 entangled past recall, just as his fickle 
 fancy was leading him to worship at some 
 other shrine. Happily he was going to 
 spend a few days in Yorkshire; on his 
 return, she was determined that a counter- 
 attraction should be provided for him at 
 home. 
 
 The day of the meet at Stanmore was 
 an ideal hunting morning, and Pansy
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 205 
 
 enjoyed beyond everything the drive 
 through the fresh morning air. As they 
 entered the Chase she grew quite enthusi- 
 astic ; the ground rose and fell most 
 picturesquely, and the wintry sun turned 
 the dead bracken to burnished gold, and 
 lit up the fine old oaks and the Scotch fir& 
 that crowned several of the higher knolls. 
 In front of the house was a small sheet of 
 water, and on the turf between it and the 
 chief entrance were the hounds, the red 
 coats making a most picturesque point in 
 the landscape. Mr. Deveron had preferred 
 to ride, but Julia's horse had been sent 
 on. Acting on Sir Julian's invitation, the 
 ladies left the carriage and entered the 
 house. 
 
 The breakfast was laid out in the great 
 hall, and the tables were well-filled, but 
 neither Lady Peveril nor any other ladies 
 were present. Sir Julian came forward 
 and greeted them, and then they were 
 ushered by the butler into the saloon,
 
 204 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 where were Lady Peveril, some guests 
 staying in the house, and several ladies 
 from the neighbourhood, but no one with 
 whom they were acquainted. Lady Peveril 
 came forward at once. 
 
 *'Mrs. Deveron, this is an unexpected 
 pleasure !" she said, thereby leaving it to 
 be conjectured that Sir Julian had never 
 mentioned the invitation he had given. 
 *' It must be a very long drive for you. Ah ! 
 I see your daughter is going to ride. There 
 will be a good many ladies out to-day. My 
 eldest daughter is going out, and so is Lady 
 Violet Yalton, who is staying here. Will 
 you have some tea or coffee after your long 
 drive? It is in the next room. Is this 
 your niece of whom I have heard from 
 Mrs. Delmar ? I suppose. Mademoiselle 
 de la Rochecaillou, that you do not hunt? 
 Hiding is hardly so universal in France 
 for ladies as it is here." 
 
 And after a few more remarks about the 
 weather. Lady Peveril turned to welcome
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 205 
 
 some fresh arrivals, leaving her unwelcome 
 guests, who felt themselves out of place 
 among so many strangers, to make their 
 way to the smaller drawing-room, and 
 drink some coffee by way of something to 
 do. 
 
 After a very short interval, but which 
 seemed to them an age, Miss Peveril and 
 another young lady made their appearance 
 in their habits. Lady Yiolet Valton was a 
 very pretty girl, with a delicate complexion, 
 rich auburn hair, and a lovely, slender 
 figure, set off to the best advantage by her 
 well-fitting habit. Almost directly after 
 their entrance Sir Julian made his ap- 
 pearance, and announced it was time to 
 start. 
 
 "Now remember, Sir Julian," said a 
 handsome, well-preserved lady, in bronze 
 velvet, who sat by the fire, *'I have only 
 allowed Yiolet to go out to-day on the 
 strength of your promise to take care of 
 her. She is so timid, and with a strange
 
 206 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 liorse, and in a new country, I sball be 
 miserable till she comes back." 
 
 " You may trust her to me, Lady Vale- 
 hurst," said Sir Julian, laughing. *' I will 
 promise never to leave Lady Violet's side 
 unless she rides away from me. Firefly is 
 very fast. Will you come now ?" he con- 
 tinued, turning to the young lady. " The 
 Master is getting impatient." 
 
 And without another word to Julia, 
 without, indeed, seeming to notice her 
 presence, he led the way to the hall. 
 
 " Shall we go and see them start ?" said 
 Lady Peveril to Mrs. Deveron, who hap- 
 pened to be near her, and all the ladies went 
 out into the hall ; those who had on their 
 walking things grouped themselves out- 
 side on the steps, talking and laughing 
 with their mounted friends, the others dis- 
 posed themselves in the recessed windows. 
 Julia was just in time to see Sir Julian 
 mount his sister, and then turn to Lady 
 Violet with some jest ; they were evidently
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 207 
 
 on the best of terms. A beautiful bay 
 mare was led up for her, and he put her 
 up, taking, as Julia thought, a quite un- 
 necessary time in arranging her habit and 
 stirrup ; than he swung himself on to his 
 own hunter, and moved off at her side, 
 evidently with no thought of anyone else. 
 
 It was so different from what Julia had 
 pictured to herself ! She was to have had 
 all that attention, and now it really seemed 
 as if he had quite forgotten that he had 
 ever asked them to come over, or promised 
 to take care of her, and show her the Chase. 
 As her father put her on her horse, she 
 could have cried with vexation, and wished 
 most devoutly she had not come. 
 
 *' I suppose you will follow a lifctle? It 
 is really very pretty in the upper part of 
 the Chase, and very often you can see a 
 good deal of the run," said Lady Peveril 
 to Mrs. Deveron, as that lady advanced to 
 take leave. '' You should turn to the right 
 along the side of the lake, and take the
 
 208 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 second turning to the left. Good morn- 
 mg." 
 
 Pansy could not understand why, as 
 soon as they drove from the door, her 
 aunt and Sophronia began to abuse Lady 
 Peveril. To her, quite innocent of any 
 dessous des cartes^ she had appeared so civil ; 
 she had no idea of all the disappointment 
 under which her aunt was labouring. 
 
 " An unexpected pleasure, indeed ! As 
 if he hadn't told her !" 
 
 '• And she never introduced us as she 
 did the Levingtons, who came just after 
 lis ! I heard that girl in brown and yel- 
 low ask who the people were who evidently 
 weren't expected." 
 
 Following many other carriages, the 
 Deveron landau presently found itself at 
 the top of the highest ground in the Chase, 
 looking over some osier-beds, where the 
 hounds were just being thrown in. Pansy 
 was in delight with the exquisite view, for 
 over the low ground on the other side oP
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 209 
 
 the valley could be seen the Rockshire 
 hills, looking most picturesque in the soft, 
 clear February sunshine. If only she had 
 had some sympathetic companion ! Her 
 aunt and Sophronia cared nothing whatso- 
 ever for scenery, as she well knew, and 
 were only occupied in looking for any 
 acquaintances among those in carriages or 
 on horseback. Very soon Mrs. Deveron 
 perceived that the Daleford carriage was 
 near them, and, as its occupants had 
 alighted, she proceeded to do the same. 
 
 " I did not see you at Stanmore just 
 now," she began ; " were you late ?" 
 
 ** Oh, no ! but we only drove over to the 
 meet; we were not asked to breakfast." 
 
 " Oh, really ! Sir Julian asked us '^ 
 
 *' Ah, yes ! he always does say something 
 about it ; but then, of course, as the place 
 is Lady Peveril's, it is not quite the same 
 thing. Pansy, after what you said the 
 other day about colour, you must enjoy 
 this view," and Mrs. Delmar continued to 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 talk to her little frieod for some time, to 
 enable Mrs. Deveron to get over her 
 chagrin at finding that she had availed 
 herself of an invitation that was considered 
 a mere faeon cle parler by her more aristo- 
 cratic neighbour.
 
 211 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I cannot love him ; 
 Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
 In voices well-divulged, free, learn' d, and valiant, 
 And in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
 A gracious person ; but yet I cannot love him. 
 
 Ticelfth Night. Act 1, Sc. 5. 
 
 Didst thou know as I do 
 
 The pangs and tortures of a slighted love. 
 
 Thou wouldst not wonder at this sudden change ; 
 
 For when ill-treated it turns all to hate — 
 
 And the then darling of our soul's revenge. 
 
 Powell. 
 
 TULIA and her father returned early. 
 ^ There had been but poor sport, as 
 the fox that had been found in the osier- 
 beds had soon been lost, and, the two next 
 coverts being drawn blank, Mr. Deveron 
 
 r2
 
 212 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 had not thought it worth while to go still 
 further from home. Julia had no wish to 
 prolong the day ; whenever she caught 
 sight of Sir Julian he was in close attend- 
 ance on Lady Violet, and nothing could 
 exceed her mortification, unless indeed it 
 were her mother's. 
 
 It was unfortunate for Mrs. Deveron 
 that her introduction to Mrs. Delmar and 
 to Lady Peveril should have occurred 
 simultaneously. After having longed for 
 so many years for the entree into the county 
 set, it was more than her mental equilib- 
 rium could stand to be introduced to both 
 in one evening; and the envy of all her 
 Arncester acquaintances at her invitation 
 to the Stanmore ball, together with Sir 
 Julian's attentions to Julia, had fairly 
 turned her head. Perhaps she had never 
 in her life felt more thoroughly uncom- 
 fortable than when Mrs. Delmar intimated 
 that she should not think of going to a 
 hunt breakfast at Stanmore without a
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 213 
 
 ■special invitation from Lady Peveril ! How 
 heartily she wished that she had held ber 
 tonorue, and not admitted that they had 
 gone on Sir Julian's invitation. 
 
 It certainly was no fault of Pansy's, but, 
 in her annoyance, her aunt almost hated 
 her, as the friend of the woman who had 
 witnessed her mortification. 
 
 " I wonder you did not see, Pansy," she 
 remarked, as soon as they were settled 
 aorain in the carrias^e, and were on their 
 way homewards, ''that you were keeping 
 Mrs. Delmar standing there when she 
 wanted to go. It is a pity you have so 
 little tact." 
 
 " Mrs. Delmar was asking me to go and 
 spend the day there next week," said 
 Pansy ; " she said if you would let me go 
 on Wednesday, Nora should come over for 
 me in the pony-carriage as she did before. 
 Indeed, I don't think I kept her, it was 
 she who was talking, not I." 
 
 So great was Mrs. Deveron's present
 
 214 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 state of irritation that a refusal to allow 
 Pansy to go to Daleford rose to her lips^ 
 but she recollected in time that this was 
 the only tie she had to an acquaintance she 
 valued so highl3^ So she only said, 
 
 " Well, I think it is very rude to ask 
 you alone in that way ; I suppose she does 
 not think us good enough to associate 
 with." 
 
 " It is because of Mamma," said Pansy, 
 who was always puzzled to understand 
 what did or did not displease her aunt.* 
 
 It had always seemed so easy at home, 
 as she still in her heart called La Hoche- 
 caillou ; she knew exactly what Mamma 
 and Bonne Maman wished, there was 
 never any disturbing element that she 
 
 could not comprehend. But here 
 
 Pansy was especially humble-minded, and 
 not in the least inclined to fancy herself 
 superior to others; but, in spite of this and 
 of her very slight knowledge of the world, 
 she had somehow a feeling that her aunt
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 215 
 
 and cousins were — not quite nice. The 
 way in which the girls talked of their 
 various partners and acquaintances jarred 
 upon her notions of feminine modesty, and^ 
 though she took herself to task for this, 
 telling herself that it was merely the effect 
 of the difference between English and 
 French habits, yet the feeling remained, 
 and had been certainly intensified since 
 she had known the Delmars, and noted 
 how differently they talked. 
 
 The young men in Arncester, about 
 whom Sophronia and Julia chattered so 
 incessantly, appeared to her very uninter- 
 esting; they seemed only able to talk a 
 sort of jesting language, which never 
 referred to anything deeper than the last 
 party, or some old joke with which of 
 course she was unacquainted. They, on 
 the other hand, thought her very dull, 
 said she had no " go " in her, and was not 
 half so "jolly" as either of her cousins. 
 The only people to whom she talked with
 
 23 6 LITTLE PAKSY. 
 
 pleasure in the town were the rector and 
 his wife, and Mrs. Mordan was too busy 
 w^ith her children, and her multifarious 
 duties as a clergyman's wife, to be much 
 of a companion for her. She had indeed 
 asked her to go to see her whenever she 
 liked, and Pansy had done so once or 
 twice, but each time there had been some 
 interruption, Mrs. Mordan had been called 
 away on some errand or another, and had 
 left her with an apology, and Pansy felt 
 too shy to intrude on one whose time was 
 so valuable. Thus, until her acquaintance 
 with the Delmars, she had had no con- 
 genial companions, and enjoyed her visits 
 to Daleford accordingly, hardly compre- 
 hending how bitterly jealous her relatives 
 were of the favour shown to her. 
 
 The Deveron girls had been pacified, on 
 her first visit, by hearing that she had 
 seen only the ladies of the family, which 
 they would have considered very dull, but 
 on this second occasion, Pansy, when ques-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 217 
 
 tioned, narrated that not only had the tvro 
 sons been at home, but that two friends of 
 theirs — Lord Athrum and Mr. Dennis 
 were, she thought, their names — were 
 staying there, and, the afternoon having 
 proved wet, had spent the time between 
 singing glees and part-songs, and instruct- 
 ing her how to play pool. 
 
 " It is a good thing to be you, I must 
 say !" exclaimed Julia, discontentedly. 
 " You go out and amuse yourself for the 
 day, and here have we been as dull as 
 ditch water, without a soul to come and 
 see us." 
 
 Pansy felt that this was not her fault, 
 and did not know what to answer, so she 
 said nothing. 
 
 *'At any rate," said Mrs. Deveron, 
 crossly, " as you have such advantages, 
 you might at least tell us something amus- 
 ing, instead of sitting there with your lips 
 pursed up as if it was too much trouble to 
 speak."
 
 218 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Everyone must at some time have ex- 
 perienced the dreadful difficulty of being 
 expected to give any account of a conver- 
 sation which, although it seemed very 
 bright and sparkling at the time, had 
 nothing in it sufficiently valuable to render 
 it worthy of serious repetition. Pansy 
 hardly knew where to begin, but, feeling 
 that anythiug would seem more gracious 
 than to remain silent after such a speech, 
 she hastily began to retail such scraps of 
 the afternoon's talk as occurred to her. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Deveron observed, disdain- 
 fully, " I thought the Delmars were by 
 way of goijig in for intellect, and culture, 
 and all that sort of thing. I'm sure any- 
 thing you've told us might have been said 
 by anybody. How long do Lord Athrum 
 and the other stay ?" 
 
 " I did not hear." 
 
 *' Do you mean to say 3^ou didn't ask ?" 
 
 " No, Aunt Matilda ; I didn't know you 
 knew them, or would care to hear."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 219' 
 
 ''Gracious! child, one always wants to 
 liear everything — remember that in future, 
 and keep your eyes and ears open, so as 
 to be of some use." 
 
 It was a great annoyance to Pansy that, 
 ever since the famous evening when he 
 had held fast to her on the subject of 
 Shakespeare's heroines, Mr. Musgrave, 
 finding what an excellent listener she was, 
 which to him constituted '' an intelligent 
 companion," would attach himself to her 
 whenever they met. She did not dislike 
 him personally — indeed, as there was 
 always a topic of some sort in his conver- 
 sation, she infinitely preferred it to that 
 of the majority of the young men she 
 met ; but, little instructed as she was in 
 all her cousins' manoeuvres, she could not 
 help being aware that Sophronia regarded 
 him as her absolute property, and greatly 
 resented his talking to anyone else. Poor 
 Pansy exhausted all her ingenuity in en- 
 deavours to avoid him, but it did not pacif j
 
 220 LITTLE PANSY.. 
 
 Sophronia, who persisted in believing that 
 her cousin did her utmost to attract him, 
 and said bitter things about her flirtiug 
 propensities, more than half of which 
 passed without being understood over 
 Tansy's head, though she could not help 
 'beiug aware that she was unjustly held 
 responsible for Mr. Musgrave's defection. 
 
 This had gone on for some time, when 
 Julia one morning came into the drawing- 
 room, where Sophronia and Pansy were 
 sitting — Pansy painting some menu cards 
 with wreaths of wild flowers, and Sophro- 
 nia apparently reading one of Professor 
 Huxley's '' Science Primers." 
 
 " I say, Soph," she began, " I've got a 
 piece of news — guess what it is." 
 
 " The Lancers are going to give a dance 
 before they go ; Captain James told me 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Did he ? Why didn't you say so be- 
 fore ? No, it isn't that ; it interests you." 
 
 " Me ! Mrs. Youlis has withdrawn her
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 221 
 
 opposition to scientific books in the Book 
 
 Club ?" 
 
 ** Wrong again ; it's about a man." 
 
 " You know I hate nothing so much 
 
 as guessing," said Sophronia, peevishly. 
 
 " About a man, you say : Harry Vernon has 
 
 proposed to Emma Bellenden ?" 
 
 '' I said it interested you ; I don't know 
 
 what Harry would have to do with you,. 
 
 11 » 
 
 m sure. 
 
 '* Well, I shan't trouble myself to guess 
 any more. If you like to tell me you can, 
 and if you don't, I daresay I shall hear in 
 good time. I want to read this thing on 
 protoplasm." 
 
 " That means a poultice, doesn't it ? 
 Well, Soph, I know you're dying of curi- 
 osity, so I'll be merciful. It's about Mr. 
 Musgrave. His cousin has given him a 
 living in Yorkshire, a very good one, and 
 he's going away at once." 
 
 "You don't mean it! When does he 
 go ?" exclaimed Sophronia, springing up
 
 222 LITTLE PANSr. 
 
 ^and dropping her book, thereby revealing 
 to Pansy's astonished eyes that a novel 
 was sheltered inside Protoplasm, and that 
 it was that which her cousin was study- 
 ing. "Who is his cousin? where is the 
 living ? and what is it worth ?" 
 
 "I have told you all I know. It was 
 only announced to-day, Mrs. Dawson said." 
 
 " I'd give a great deal to know. Pansy, 
 did he say anything to you last night? 
 You kept him carefully to yourself." 
 
 " I suppose as everyone knows now, I 
 may say," said Pansy, '' he told me a week 
 ago that his cousin, Mr. Hemington, had 
 offered him the living of Woodthorpe, five 
 miles from York, and that it was worth 
 £1,200 a year, but he begged me to say 
 nothing about it until it was announced. 
 He had only just got the letter, and hadn't 
 even told Mr. Mordan." 
 
 " Perhaps he asked you to go there with 
 him?" said Sophronia, angrily, chagrined 
 'beyond measure that the disclosure had
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 223 
 
 been made to her cousin instead of to her. 
 
 Pansj looked up in amazement; then, 
 quietly saying, '* You are joking,**' she rose 
 and left the room. 
 
 " Do you think that there can be any- 
 thing between them?" asked Sophronia, 
 almost before the door was closed. 
 
 " No," answered Julia, positively. '' I 
 think she only liked to flirt with him to 
 tease you. She'll want Laurence Delmar, 
 or one of that set." 
 
 " Or Arthur." 
 
 " You mean because he's so silly about 
 her, — that's only to plague us. All men 
 like to find fault with their sisters and 
 thrust some other girl down their throats. 
 I don't believe he really thinks of her." 
 
 " Well, I daresay a little plain thing like 
 that would be glad enough to get him or 
 anyone else. But about Mr. Musgrave — I 
 wonder " 
 
 ''Well, Soph, if he doesn't propose to 
 you, I'm sure it'll be an awful shame, see-
 
 224 LITTLE P/VNST. 
 
 ing how he's always been hanging about 
 you. Why, I declare T believe he's coming 
 now ; that's just like his ring." 
 
 But it proved to be not Mr. Musgrave, 
 but one of the Yernon girls, who frequently 
 came in towards tea-time for a gossip. 
 While they were in the midst of a not 
 very edifying conversation respecting each 
 other s flirtations, interspersed with much 
 giggling, Mr. Deveron put his head into 
 the room. 
 
 " Is Pansy here ?" 
 
 "No, Papa," answered Julia ; " she went 
 upstairs about half an hour ago." 
 
 "Just ask her to come to me in the 
 study for a few minutes. I want to speak 
 to her." 
 
 "Wants me? Uncle George?" said 
 Pansy, looking up from her book in in- 
 tense surprise when Julia gave her 
 message. "What can he want with 
 me?" 
 
 "T don't know, I'm sure; but you'd
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 225 
 
 better make haste, Papa doesn't like to be 
 kept waiting." 
 
 " Can it be any bad news, — anything 
 about Leon or Bonne Maman ?" said Pansy, 
 turning very pale. *' Oh, Julia ! did he say 
 nothing?" 
 
 "Nothing at all, and the sooner you go 
 down the sooner you'll know what it is." 
 
 " Yes ; but," said Pansy, pausing on tho 
 landing, ''if it were to be bad news, Julia, 
 one would be glad to put it off as long a& 
 possible." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know-— I'd rather get it 
 over. Besides, who says it is bad news? 
 He only said he wanted to speak to you." 
 
 After a timid pause at her uncle's door^ 
 Pansy knocked and entered. He looked 
 up and smiled. 
 
 " Ah, Pansy, here you are. I sent Julia 
 for you." 
 
 "It — it isn't anything about Leon?"^ 
 asked Pansy, anxiously, her voice trem- 
 bling. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 LITTLE PANSy. 
 
 "Eh? What? About Leon? No, it 
 is something about yourself, Pansy. Mr. 
 Musgrave spoke to me to-day." 
 
 "Mr. Musgrave ?" 
 
 Pansy looked up in complete bewilder- 
 ment. What could anvthinof he miorht 
 have said to her uncle have to do with 
 her ? 
 
 " He made some apology for speaking 
 to me first," continued Mr. Deveron, quite 
 unconscious of his niece's astonishment ; 
 "he seemed to think that, having been 
 brought up in France, you would prefer it, 
 and also he wished to tell me how his for- 
 tunes had improved, though he said he had 
 told you a week ago. I told him that if 
 you liked him he had my good wishes, but 
 that I could not answer for you. T prom- 
 ised to tell you he had my approval. I 
 have always liked the young man, and be- 
 lieve him to be a really good fellow, but, 
 as I told him, I had never suspected this
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 227 
 
 love-affair. He will come to you for Ins 
 answer to-morrow morning." 
 
 Pansy sat transfixed with amazement. 
 
 " To-morrow morning ! His answer !" 
 she gasped. " Uncle George, what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 It was Mr. Deveron's turn to be as- 
 tonished. 
 
 "Why, my dear," he said, ''I think I 
 may rather ask what you mean by looking 
 surprised. Mr. Musgrave stopped me to- 
 day to beg my consent to his asking you 
 to be his wife, and, as I told you, stated 
 that he took the unusual step of speaking 
 to me first, because he thought it would 
 be more in accordance with your French 
 notions of propriety. He seemed to have 
 no doubt of what your answer would be." 
 
 " I don't understand — it is quite impos- 
 sible ! He could not have meant me 1" 
 exclaimed Pansy, in astonished dismay. 
 
 " But I tell you he did, my dear," said 
 
 q2
 
 228 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Mr. Deveron, quietly. **I believe it is the 
 correct thing for young ladies to profess 
 astonishment when they are proposed to, 
 but it seenQS to me a very silly custom ; it 
 is much more sensible to give a clear 
 answer at once. But it is really absurd 
 for you to pretend ignorance, Pansy. Did 
 not Mr. Musgrave confide to you his change 
 of fortune a week ago ?" 
 
 ^'Yes, he did, but " 
 
 "Well, my dear, it seems to me you 
 must have known tolerably well what that 
 meant. It is not likely he would have 
 made a confidante of you, if, from the en- 
 couragement you had given him, he had 
 not thought it would be of special interest 
 to you. Indeed, as I said just now, he 
 seemed not to have the slightest doubt as 
 to the answer you would give him to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "But I cannot, indeed — it is all a mis- 
 take. I never even thought of such a 
 thing," cried Pansy, in desperation.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 229 
 
 Her uncle began to perceive that she 
 was really in earnest, that it was by no 
 means a case of young ladyish coyness, as 
 he had at first supposed. Her appearance 
 and the accent of distress were too genuine 
 for him to doubt that she was really taken 
 by surprise. Still he thought that pro- 
 bably she was only startled. Mr. Musgrave 
 could never have been so confident without 
 eood orrounds. Mr. Deverou, beino^ himself 
 
 <) O I CD 
 
 anything but conceited or self-satisfied, 
 could hardly realize the powers of self- 
 deception of a young man on such excel- 
 lent terms with himself. He paused for a 
 minute or two, and then said, 
 
 " You surely do not mean, Pansy, that 
 Mr. Musgrave is mistaken, that you do not 
 care for him?" 
 
 " Not in the very least," answered Pansy, 
 promptly. 
 
 " Well, but, my dear, I am afraid, then, 
 that you have been flirting with him, and 
 leading him on in a — well, in a repre-
 
 230 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 hensible manner. He must have felt very 
 sure of you to take you into his confidence 
 so long before anyone else." 
 
 " He may have been sure, Uncle George, 
 but indeed it is no fault of mine. I never 
 once thought of such a thing." 
 
 *' But, my dear, he certainly has paid 
 you a great deal of attention. You surely 
 are aware of that ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but indeed I always tried to 
 prevent him." 
 
 " But why? he is a very superior young 
 man, of excellent family, with plenty to 
 say for himself, and he will now be in a 
 very good position. You might do much 
 worse, Pansy." 
 
 " But I don't want to be married at all," 
 cried Pansy, beginning to entertain a dread, 
 that her uncle was going to press her ac- 
 ceptance of a man to whom she was per- 
 fectly indifferent. 
 
 " But then, my dear, why did you give
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 231 
 
 him false hopes ? It will be a terrible dis- 
 appointment to him." 
 
 ^' Uncle George, it never once entered 
 my head that he came here to see me. I 
 thought — we all thought — he belonged to 
 Sophronia. Perhaps I oughtn't to have 
 said that — perhaps she wouldn't like it — 
 but indeed we did." 
 
 ''Sophronia!" said Mr. Deveron, in sur- 
 prise. The chatter about lovers was always 
 stopped in his presence, and, like many 
 other elderly gentlemen, he was not very 
 observant in such matters. Besides, he 
 had a firm belief that it was only pretty 
 girls who had attention paid them, and 
 Sophronia was undoubtedly plain ; if it 
 had been Julia he would not have been so 
 surprised. " Sophronia !" he said again ; 
 " what could have put such an idea into 
 your head ?" 
 
 " But he was always with her until quite 
 lately," said Pansy, earnestly; "and I
 
 232 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 know she did not like his talking to me 
 instead : that was one reason why I always 
 tried to keep out of his way. But, oh ! 
 please, you must not say anything of this ; 
 I only told you to show that indeed I never 
 once thought of his liking me." 
 
 " Well, it is very annoying," said Mr. 
 Deverou, who was greatly put out by the 
 idea of a daughter of his having been paid 
 attention to and then deserted even for his 
 own niece — ** very annoying indeed. You 
 will have to make your meaning very plain 
 to-morrow, Pansy, for, as I tell you, Mr. 
 Musgrave seemed to anticipate no diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 Pansy's wild-rose colour deepened, and 
 she held up her head ; her uncle was fairly 
 astonished to see how pretty she was. 
 
 *' There shall be no mistake," she said, 
 proudly ; then, with a look almost of terror 
 — " But surely, uncle, I need not see him? 
 You can tell him that it is all a mistake." 
 
 " No, indeed, my dear, I cannot do that,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 233 
 
 and I am sure he would never believe me. 
 No, he has a right to hear his sentence 
 from your own lips." 
 
 "But I do not know what to say. Oh, 
 Uncle George ! do please tell him yourself." 
 
 *^ Now, Pansy, be reasonable. I cannot 
 undertake such a task. There is nothing 
 to be afraid of; you have only to give a 
 plain answer to a plain question. Only, 
 remember this : do not let any hint re- 
 specting Sophronia escape you." 
 
 *' Oh, uncle, of course not ! You do 
 not think I would ! And you will not let 
 them know I told you." 
 
 '' No, you may rely upon my discretion," 
 said her uncle, smiling ; *' it is curious, 
 Pansy, how you remind me of your grand- 
 mother when you hold up your head as 
 you did just now." 
 
 '' Of Bonne Maman ?" said Pansy ; '' yes, 
 I know. Poor Mamma always said I was 
 so like her." 
 
 Fearful of being cross-questioned by her
 
 234 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 cousins as to wliat her uncle could possibly 
 have wanted with her so long, Pansy made 
 her escape to her own room, and sat down 
 by the fire to meditate on the astonishing 
 news she had heard. It seemed to her 
 perfectly incredible, and if Mr. Deveron 
 had not referred to Mr. Musgrave's having 
 confided to her his change of circum- 
 stances, she would have been inclined to 
 think that he must have misunderstood, 
 and that the young clergyman had been 
 talking of Sophronia, and not of herself. 
 The idea of love and marriage had not 
 been perpetually before Pansy's mind as it 
 had been before that of her cousins, and, 
 now that it was suddenly forced upon her, 
 she felt thoroughly bewildered. It seemed 
 as if she had grown years older since she 
 entered the study. The thought of the 
 next morning's impending interview haunt- 
 ed her like a nightmare ; her gentle, yield- 
 ing nature made it always difficult for her 
 to say No, and she was sure that in this
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 235 
 
 instance, when the answer bad to be given 
 to so important a question, it would be 
 even harder than usual. She sat meditat- 
 mg; till she was almost late for dinner, and 
 felt thankful, as she ran downstairs, that 
 there were two or three guests, so that 
 she could escape the dreaded questioning. 
 When she opened her eyes the next 
 morning, it was with a sense of something 
 unpleasant impending, what she could not 
 at first remember ; but gradually the re- 
 collection of what was before her became 
 distinct, and rendered her unspeakably 
 uncomfortable. She ate hardly any break- 
 fast, disappeared as soon as possible to her 
 own room, and sat there unable to do any- 
 thing, watching the hands of the clock, 
 and wishing devoutly that her ordeal was 
 over. Yet when she heard the door-bell 
 ring, and when a few minutes afterwards 
 the butler knocked at the door and 
 announced that his master would be glad 
 to speak with her in the study, she would
 
 236 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 gladly liave yet further postponed the evil 
 hour. Her uncle met her at the foot of 
 the stairs, and could not help smiling at 
 her woebegone countenance. 
 
 " Cheer up, Pansy," he said, kindly ; 
 '•'you look as if you were going to be 
 hanged. It is nothing so very dreadful, 
 and it will soon be over." 
 
 Pansy never knew how she found her- 
 self in the study with the door closed 
 behind her. Mr. Musgrave was standing 
 with his back to the fire, and at once 
 advanced to meet her. 
 
 " Your uncle has no doubt told you my 
 errand, Mademoiselle de la Rochecaillou," 
 he said. '' I trust you will forgive my 
 having, in deference to French customs, 
 spoken to him first, and that you will 
 accord me a favourable answer." 
 
 His tone implied a certainty of success 
 that would have been patent to a more 
 experienced ear than Pansy's, but she was 
 far too nervous to observe it.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 237 
 
 *' Silence they say gives consent,'.' lie 
 said, after a pause. "May I take yours in 
 that light ? Tt will make me the happiest 
 of men." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed you must not ; it is all 
 a dreadful mistake !" cried Pansy, shrink- 
 ing back as he tried to take her hand. 
 *' I — I never even thought of such a 
 thing." 
 
 **But will you not think of it now?" 
 asked Mr. Musgrave, inexpressibly aston- 
 ished at her words, and unable to realise 
 that he was actually being refused. "And 
 surely, Mademoiselle de la Eochecaillou, 
 you must have understood my meaning- 
 when I told you a week ago of my pros- 
 pects ? You have always given me such 
 sweet encouragement that you can hardly^ 
 be surprised that I should hope- " 
 
 " I never once thought of such a thing," 
 said Pansy, " and I begged Uncle George 
 to tell you so, but he said I must do it 
 myself, or you would not be satisfied. I
 
 2^8 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 never meant to encourage you. If I have 
 done wrong, I am very sorry, but I don't 
 know how, when you talked to me, I could 
 help answering." 
 
 *'But are you really in earnest? You 
 must surely have been aware of my devo- 
 tion, have noticed how I sought you in 
 preference to others." 
 
 " No, iudeed," said Pansy ; '' as I tell 
 you, I never thought of such a thing." 
 
 " But you will give me hope ? "You will 
 not refuse me altogether ?" cried the young- 
 man, absolutely bewildered at the unex- 
 pected turn of events. *' Pansy, say that 
 I may hope, that you will be mine some 
 day." 
 
 " I can say nothing of the kind, for it 
 would not be true," said Pansy; "and," 
 drawing herself up in a stately manner, 
 ''you have no right to call me by my 
 name; I am Mademoiselle de la Hoche- 
 oaillou." 
 
 ''And you really mean it?" said Mr.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 239 
 
 Musgrave, in whom astonishment was at 
 the moment more active than even morti- 
 fication. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then there is nothing further to be 
 said. Forgive me, Mademoiselle de la 
 Eochecaillou " — he gave a satirically pro- 
 longed emphasis to the name — *' for in- 
 truding upon you, but, had it not been for 
 your encouragement, I should never have 
 presumed to do so ;" and, with a low bow 
 and an ill-assumed air of indifference, he 
 quitted the room, leaving Pansy intensely 
 thankful that the ordeal was over, but 
 beyond measure indignant at his parting 
 words.
 
 240 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 He that wants money, means, and content, is with- 
 out three good friends. 
 
 As You Like It. Act 3, Sc. 2. 
 
 T)ANSY devoutly hoped that the fact of 
 -■- her interview with Mr. Musgrave 
 might not transpire ; she knew it would 
 be a great disappointment to Sophronia, 
 and felt that, though she was really per- 
 fectly innocent, she would yet be held 
 guilty of having encouraged him, and 
 diverted his allegiance from the proper 
 quarter. But, unfortunately for her hopes, 
 Mrs. Deveron saw his departure from the 
 window, and knowing that her husband 
 vras out, and finding that her daughters
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 241 
 
 had neither seen nor heard anything of 
 him, cross-questioned everyone till she 
 elicited that he had " asked for master," 
 who had sent up for Mademoiselle de la 
 Eochecaillou, and had gone out as soon as 
 she came down. 
 
 " Then they were alone together for 
 nearly half an hour !" exclaimed Sophro- 
 nia, angrily. '' I declare it is too bad !" 
 
 " I thought she was trying to get him 
 away from you," chimed in Julia. " Don't 
 you remember her saying yesterday he 
 had told her a week ago about this living 
 he has got ? I thought that sounded 
 suspicious." 
 
 '' And your father must have been in 
 their confidence," said Mrs. Deveron. " I 
 cannot think why he did not tell me. He 
 must know that it is quite different from 
 what we had a right to expect." 
 
 When Pansy made her appearance just 
 before luncheon, she felt at once that 
 something was wrong ; no one spoke to 
 
 VOL. I, R
 
 242 LITTLE PANSY-. 
 
 her all througli the meal ; but when, as 
 soon as it was over, she was going upstairs 
 again, her aunt called her back. 
 
 " Come here for a moment, Pansj. I 
 think you have something to tell me." 
 
 " No, Aunt Matilda, nothing," said Pansy, 
 quietly, but colouring violently. 
 
 " Nothing ! Perhaps, Pansy, you do 
 not realise that I stand in the place of 
 your mother, and have a right to demand 
 your confidence." 
 
 To think of Aunt Matilda claiming to 
 hold her mother's place ! Pansy could 
 hardly bear the thought, but she answered 
 quietly, 
 
 " I have nothing to tell you, Aunt 
 Matilda." 
 
 " Pansy, you are equivocating. Do you 
 think I don't know that you were shut 
 up alone with Mr. Musgrave in the study 
 for half an hour this morning? What 
 was he saying to you ? I insist upon 
 knowing."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 243 
 
 '^ Then you must ask him, Aunt Ma- 
 tilda," said Pansy, with the proud move- 
 ment that had so struck her uncle the day 
 before. '' I do not feel at liberty to repeat 
 a private conversation." 
 
 " Don't be saucy," replied Mrs. Deveron, 
 who was fast losing her temper. " Answer 
 me at once. Are you engaged to Mr. 
 Musgrave ?" 
 
 " No, certainly not." 
 
 " Did he not propose to you ?" 
 
 " I told you before, Aunt Matilda, you 
 must ask him. I can only answer what 
 affects myself." 
 
 *' Well, I think you are very impertinent. 
 I shall speak to your uncle." 
 
 But when Mrs. Deveron proceeded to 
 do so when he came in before dinner, she 
 obtained no sympathy from her husband. 
 
 '' Of course he proposed to her," said 
 Mr. Deveron ; " what else should he have 
 wanted to see her alone for? He spoke to 
 me yesterday, and asked me to prepare the 
 
 r2
 
 244 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 way for him. I never saw anyone so sur- 
 prised as she was ; slie would not believe 
 me at first. Of course I pointed out to 
 her that it was a very good marriage, and 
 that I was quite ready to give my consent, 
 but she would not hear of it. Poor little 
 thing! she seemed perfectly terrified at tbe 
 idea of seeing him, and begged me to give 
 him his answer ; but of course I could not 
 do that." 
 
 **Well, I call it a great shame. He 
 paid so much attention to Sophronia, I was 
 quite prepared for his proposing any day. 
 It is too bad to have him seduced away by 
 a little flirting minx who doesn't think 
 him good enough for her after all ! What 
 does she expect, I wonder !" 
 
 " It strikes me," said Mr. Deveron, 
 leaning back in his chair and yawning, 
 "that Pansy has none of that . breathless 
 anxiety to be married which so many girls 
 have. I daresay she will fall in love some 
 day like other people, but I fancy she
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 245 
 
 "will never marry for marrying's sake." 
 
 " More's the pity ! She'll take a fancy 
 to some one utterly unsuitable, and we 
 shall have that trouble on our hands! 
 And, meanwhile, here she stays flirting 
 and taking people away from the girls." 
 
 "My dear Matty, you are talking non- 
 sense. Pansy is no flirt, and, if Musgrave 
 had ever had any intention of proposing to 
 Sophronia, depend upon it he would have 
 done so. Men may be weak and easily 
 led astray by fascinating girls, but really 
 they are not quite such fools as you seem 
 to think. One thing I must insist upon : 
 however vexed you or Sophronia may be 
 at the failure of your hopes, you are not to 
 visit it upon Pansy, who has done no 
 harm. She certainly neither expected nor 
 wished to be proposed to." 
 
 ^' Stuff!" 
 
 " You are mistaken ; however, whether 
 you are so or not, bear in mind what I 
 say : Pansy is not to be annoyed in any
 
 246 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 way because you and Sophronia choose to 
 take an exaggerated view of whatever 
 attention Mr. Musgrave has paid her. 
 That is the worst of plain girls, they al- 
 ways fancy that if a man is ordinarily 
 civil to them he is desperately in love." 
 
 " A nice thing to say of your own 
 daughter !" 
 
 " Her being my daughter by no means 
 prevents my knowing that she is plain ! I 
 hoped that all her sciences and ologies 
 would have kept her clear of the usual 
 folly." 
 
 ** I assure you, George, he did pay her a 
 great deal of attention." 
 
 '' Well, he changed his mind, and he will 
 soon be gone now, so she had better forget 
 all about him. I never noticed any atten- 
 tion on his part." 
 
 After her husband's injunctions, Mrs. 
 Deveron could of course say nothing more 
 to Pansy, but the girl felt very plainly 
 that she was in disgrace, and kept even
 
 LITTLE PAXSY. 247 
 
 more to herself than usual. There was a 
 more than ordinary pressure of business 
 at the Bank jast at this time, and she saw 
 less of Arthur than was usually the case. 
 She missed the walks with him very much, 
 though she had now grown sufficiently 
 acquainted with the neighbourhood to take 
 exploring rambles by herself. Excepting 
 when in company with her cousins, she 
 carefully avoided the town, neither the 
 shops in the High Street, nor the chance 
 of meeting acquaintances in Arne Street, 
 having any charms for her. She often at 
 this time longed exceedingly to be back 
 once more at La Rochecaillou, reading to 
 her grandmother and going about among 
 the poor and sick whom she had known 
 from her childhood. She had once ex- 
 pressed a timid wish to ask Mrs. Mordan 
 whether there were not some poor people 
 in Arncester whom she might visit, but 
 Mrs. Deveron had at once taken alarm and 
 put a veto on her doing so.
 
 248 LITTLE PANSt. 
 
 " I have no opinion of district-visiting 
 for young girls, they liear and see a great 
 deal that they had better not ; besides, in 
 the long run, they always catch something. 
 ISTo, I can't have it, Pansy." And there, 
 of course, had been an end of it. 
 
 But the girl felt the utter objectlessness of 
 lier life, though most people would have 
 considered her life at Arncester far more 
 cheerful than it had been in the old French 
 chateau. There was a great deal of society 
 in the town, and as Mr. Deveron insisted 
 on his niece's taking her full share of the 
 gaiety there might be, she had a good deal 
 of going out, while at La Rochecaillou she 
 had never seen anyone but her mother and 
 grandmother, excepting during the summer 
 visits of Madame de Varennes to the cha- 
 teau. But then she had been in such full 
 union and sympathy with them, they read 
 together, talked together, liked the same 
 books, were interested in the same things. 
 But now with the young companions gener-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 249 
 
 ally judged so necessary for a girl's happi- 
 ness, slie did not seem to have any interests 
 in common. Even Arthur, kind as he was 
 to her, and much as she liked him, was not 
 very well able to talk about books, which, 
 knowing nothing of the world, and not 
 specially caring for the specimen of it now 
 presented to her, were all that she could 
 converse about with much interest. So 
 that, except when she spent the day at Dale- 
 ford, whose inhabitants were thoroughly 
 congenial to her. Pansy was thrown princi- 
 pally upon her own thoughts for companion- 
 ship, and often longed inexpressibly for 
 some change in her life. She was not to 
 go to La Rochecaillou till November, and 
 the nine intervening months seemed very 
 long to look forward to. 
 
 Madame de Yarennes had at first written 
 very frequently to her niece, hoping to 
 establish an influence over her, and not 
 altogether despairing, despite the difficul- 
 ties interposed by absence, of accomplish-
 
 250 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 ing her conversion, and also the marriage, 
 on which her heart was much set, with the 
 Due de la Caune. But gradually her 
 letters had grown both shorter and less 
 frequent, the reason being that an orphan 
 niece of Monsieur deVarennes had just come 
 to live with them, and Madame de Yarennes, 
 who took up everything in which she was 
 concerned with the greatest vehemence^ 
 was so occupied with plans for her proper 
 establishment in life that she had little 
 time or thought to spare for the distant 
 Pensee. Pansy realized that it was to the 
 advent of Marie de Yarennes that her aunt's 
 increasing intervals of silence were due, 
 and felt even more lonely than she had 
 done before. 
 
 It was about three weeks after Mr. Mus- 
 grave's interview with Pansy that Mrs. 
 Deveron gave an exclamation of delight 
 one morning on opening a letter. 
 
 " Oh ! how delightful ! Hubert is com- 
 ing home for a fortnight."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 251 
 
 " What has made him so gracious ?'' 
 asked Mr. Deveron, rather drily. " He 
 could spare us none of his long leave." 
 
 " Oh ! come now, George, you must not 
 be hard upon him. He is so popular, and 
 had so many invitations — Lord Aberton, 
 and Sir Henry Thateris, and Lord Sibber- 
 toft, and " 
 
 *' That will do, Matilda. The peerage 
 was much more attractive than his own 
 family." 
 
 '' Dear boy ! he is so fond of society !" 
 
 " Especially when it is a sphere above 
 him. Well, we shall be very glad to see 
 him, I am sure. I only hope it is affec- 
 tion, not money, that prompts his visit." 
 
 " You are always so hard upon him." 
 
 '' Hard ! Well, come, Matty, you have 
 hardly the right to say that. You know 
 how extravagant he has been, and that I 
 have paid his debts twice." 
 
 " Well, after all, it was not so very
 
 252 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 much. You forget it is a very aristocratic 
 regiment." 
 
 " No, indeed I do not, for I have good 
 cause to know it. If he gets into another 
 money scrape, I shall insist on his ex- 
 changing into an infantry regiment." 
 
 Mrs. Deveron gave an exclamation of 
 dismay. 
 
 *' George, you can't mean what you say ! 
 Think what a superior set he is in." 
 
 " I don't see that that is any advantage ; 
 indeed, if it makes him extravagant, it is 
 precisely the contrary. However, we need 
 not anticipate evil ; perhaps Hubert's visit 
 has nothing to do with money." 
 
 His mother and sisters seemed to regard 
 Hubert as such a model of all earthly 
 perfection that Pansy could not help feel- 
 ing her curiosity rather excited about him. 
 It would be very pleasant if he were as 
 nice as Arthur, who was her one real friend 
 in the family. Not an idea had Pansy 
 that Arthur's feeling for her was in any
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 253 
 
 way different from hers for him, of an 
 honest cousinly affection. He was not 
 very demonstrative, and it seemed so 
 natural that he should be her companion, 
 taking in a way the place that Leon had 
 hitherto filled, that she never gave a 
 thought to his possible feelings, and really 
 hardly understood the innuendoes in which 
 his sisters occasionally indulged. 
 
 Hubert arrived about three days after 
 the above conversation, and was received 
 with positive rapture. Why it should be 
 so rather puzzled Pansy, for he certainly 
 took no pains to ingratiate himself with 
 his mother and sisters ; distressing the 
 former by complaints of this, that, or the 
 other in the comfortably-ordered house, 
 and drawing comparisons between the 
 way in which " things were done," and 
 what he was accustomed to at the great 
 houses where he stayed ; and snubbing the 
 latter as to their dress, manners, and 
 associates.
 
 254 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 " Really, mother, I can't think how you 
 can let Julia go on as she does with that 
 Yernon fellow," he said, when he had been 
 at home two or three days ; *' she positively 
 throws herself at his head. It's awfully 
 bad form, such a cad as he is too !" 
 
 " Oh ! Hubert, we have kuown him so 
 long, and he is quite one of the nicest 
 young men in the town." 
 
 "You shouldn't let the girls mix with 
 the townspeople." 
 
 " But, my dear boy, we know no oue 
 else except the Delmars ; the girls would 
 have no society." 
 
 "Much better have none than have it 
 bad. If we are sent to Rockton, I shall hate 
 our fellows who are quartered here to see 
 my sisters runniug after the tag-rag and 
 bob-tail of a little pokey town. I can't 
 think how you ever let them get into the 
 set." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Deveron I she stood in such 
 awe of her fastidious second son that she
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 255 
 
 hardly dared to point out that many of the 
 worthy people whom he so sweepingly 
 condemned were his father's life-lono: 
 friends, and that even had she been willing 
 (which she was not) to drop them and 
 thus cut herself off from all society, she 
 would not have been permitted to do so. 
 Once or twice she had essayed to cut one 
 or two of their early acquaintances who 
 had somewhat fallen behind in the race of 
 life, and each time her husband had frus- 
 trated her design, and insisted on her 
 being more than ordinarily civil to the 
 persons in question. Still it was very 
 dreadful to her to hear their society so 
 despised by Hubert, who, "of course, must 
 know best," considering the exalted circle 
 into which he seemed to have obtained 
 entrance. 
 
 " It would be so much better they 
 shouldn't go out at all," he continued, calm- 
 ly ignoring whether they might not thereby 
 lose all the amusement they had. " Only
 
 256 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 think how awkward it would be if one of 
 them got entangled with one of those cads. 
 It would be sure to leak out somehow, and 
 I should never hear the last of it." 
 
 '' But we have known all these people 
 for years/' his mother ventured to say, 
 humbly ; *' and, besides, we know no one 
 else." 
 
 " Then they've got such bad manners," 
 pursued the remorseless critic. ^' They're 
 more, I declare, like barmaids than ladies, 
 giggling, and shrieking, and letting every 
 man say what he likes. If they could only 
 see Lady Muriel Aberton, or Lady Violet 
 Yalton." 
 
 " Lady Violet Valton ! Oh ! we saw her 
 at Stanmore," said his mother ; " a for- 
 ward, flirting thing, I'm sure." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Her manners are 
 perfect. But when did you see her ? She 
 wasn't at the Stanmore Ball, I know." 
 
 ''No, it was at the meet." And, with 
 considerable reluctance, Mrs. Deveron told
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 257 
 
 her son the storj of that day, exactly as 
 it had happened, anxious to see whether 
 he considered that she had been guilty of 
 so heinous a social crime as Mrs. Delmar 
 evidently did. 
 
 " Poor mother ! Well, you did mull it 
 awfully," was all the consolation he gave 
 her ; " but if Julia didn't know better how 
 to behave with Sir Julian than she did last 
 night with young Vernon, she'd have no 
 chance any way. Why can't the girls copy 
 Pansy ? Her manners are perfect." 
 
 " Pansy ! My dear Hubert ! a little, in- 
 significant, ugly, brown thing ! You can't 
 mean to compare her with Julia !" 
 
 " She's a precious sight better-looking 
 than Julia ever will be, and, what's better, 
 she looks thorough-bred to the tips of her 
 fingers, and doesn't giggle and roll her 
 eyes about. Has she got any money ?" 
 
 " Only her mother's £10,000." 
 
 '* I say, mother, can you manage to get 
 me some money from the governor r He 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 25S LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 cut up SO rough last time I exceeded my 
 allowance, I don't like to ask him myself." 
 
 " Oh ! Hubert, I do hope it is not much. 
 It is very odd, when I said you were com- 
 ing home, he wondered if it had anything 
 to do with money. He was vexed, you 
 see, that you didn't come here in your 
 long leave." 
 
 " Well, you see, I did intend to, but this 
 place is so awfully slow, and there's really 
 nobody one cares to speak to. But what 
 did my father say about money ?" 
 
 " Oh ! he said you were very extrava- 
 gant. I never can make him understand 
 that in the life you live, and among the 
 people you associate with, expense is in- 
 evitable, that you must do like others. 
 Biut he said that if you applied to him 
 again, he should insist on your exchanging 
 into an infantry regiment." 
 
 " What ? Leave the cavalry ? He never 
 could have meant it !" cried Hubert, aghast.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 259 
 
 '"' Why, I've spent nothing compared with 
 other fellows." 
 
 " Ah ! I said that to him, and he an- 
 swered that ' other people, and what they 
 did, were no concern of his, but that he 
 did not mean to encourage his younger son 
 in reckless extravagance.' " 
 
 '' It all comes of Arthur beinsr such a 
 milksop," said Hubert, discontentedly. 
 " My father thinks that because he never 
 wants money, no one else can either — as if 
 there were anything to spend it on in this 
 hole ! But I say, mother, what is to be 
 done?" 
 
 "Is it much, Hubert? Can't it wait? 
 Your father paid all your debts last year, 
 surely the tradesmen " 
 
 "Oh! it isn't tradesmen, I shouldn't 
 care a straw then. Of course they could 
 wait any time ; but, worse luck, it's a debt 
 of honour, it must be paid." 
 
 *^,Betting ! — oh ! Hubert, you know how 
 
 s2
 
 260 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 angry your father would be ; and — and 
 really, you know, that isn't necessary, as I 
 always tell him your other expenses are." 
 
 " Psha ! a man must do like others he 
 lives with ; besides, it wasn't betting — it 
 was baccarat." 
 
 " Gambling ! — your father would say it 
 was just as bad." 
 
 " Well, can you suggest any way of 
 my getting the money without asking 
 him ? Have it I must — I came home on 
 purpose." 
 
 " How much is it?" 
 
 " Two hundred I must have. It's a 
 pitiful sum to make a fuss about, but I've 
 overdrawn a little already." 
 
 *'-Do you owe much else ?" 
 
 *' No — at least, I think not — a few 
 pounds here and there." 
 
 '' Could you make £150 do ?" 
 
 " No, I couldn't ; I owe Bertram the 
 £200, and I couldn't pay him in instal- 
 ments."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 261 
 
 '' Do you mean Lord Bertram, the Duke 
 of Fenshire's son ? Oh ! of course it must 
 be paid at once.'* 
 
 Mrs. Deveron thought immediate pay- 
 ment far more necessary, the creditor 
 being the rich Marquis of Bertram, than 
 if it had been anyone of slender means, 
 but less august descent. 
 
 " I'll be back in a moment," she said, 
 as she left the room ; " I think I can do 
 something." 
 
 Mrs. Deveron went first to her ovv-n 
 room, and, opening her desk, began to 
 count the notes and gold therein. Mr. 
 Deveron always paid his wife's and daugh- 
 ters' allowances to them in money, which 
 he for some reason preferred to letting 
 them have an account at the bank and 
 cheque-books. Mrs. Deveron counted her 
 own money, and then went to the girls' 
 room. 
 
 " Soph — Julia, can you help me ? Poor 
 Hubert is in great want of £200 ; he owes
 
 262 LITTLE PAKST. 
 
 it to Lord Bertram, the Duke of Fenshire's 
 son, you know, and he daren't ask Papa 
 for it, because he said the other day that, 
 if Hubert asked for money again, he should 
 make him exchange into the Infantry. Such 
 a dreadful thing, you know, losing all his 
 nice acquaintances and all he has gained f 
 I can think of nothing but making up the 
 money between us. I can give him £110, 
 and keep a little to go on with. Can you 
 help?" 
 
 The girls looked rather aghast ; if such 
 a thing had been asked of them to do 
 Arthur some important service, they would 
 have thought it the greatest of hardships^ 
 and in all probability have refused point- 
 blank ; but Hubert was the hero of the 
 family, and they had an indistinct idea 
 that his social triumphs were somehow 
 reflected on them. If they did not know 
 exalted personages themselves, it was still 
 something to be able to talk familiarly of
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 268 
 
 their brother's aristocratic acquaintances. 
 But even with the will to help him, thej 
 could not produce the required £90, and 
 dismay was again taking possession of 
 Mrs. Deveron, when Julia exclaimed, 
 
 " Mamma, why shouldn't you ask Pansy 
 to help ? She's got plenty of money, and 
 she's awfully good-natured." 
 
 " Ask Pansy ! Impossible !" said Mrs. 
 Deveron, hastily ; but the longer she 
 thought, the surer it seemed that there 
 was no other way of obtaining the money 
 without her husband's knowledge. So, 
 though greatly disliking her errand, she 
 knocked at Pansy's door. 
 
 " My dear," she said, as Pansy looked 
 up in surprise at seeing who was her 
 visitor, " I have come to ask you to do me 
 a favour." 
 
 *' I'm sure I shall be very glad if I can, 
 Aunt Matilda," answered Pansy, readily. 
 
 '* Well, my dear, I am afraid you will
 
 264 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 think it very strange, but — it is for Hu- 
 bert. You see, your uncle hardly under- 
 stands all that young men require in such 
 an expensive regiment, and — he is in great 
 want of a particular sum of money, and 
 daren't ask his father for it. The girls 
 and I have been trying to make it up be- 
 tween us, but we can't manage it, and we 
 were at our wits' end till Julia said that 
 you were so good-natured she thought you 
 would help us if you could. Of course, 
 you know. Pansy, it will be quite safe ; I 
 will pay you again as soon as possible." 
 
 *' Oh ! yes, I am sure you will, Aunt 
 Matilda, and indeed I shall be so glad to 
 help, but — I am afraid I have not so very 
 much — how much would be enough ?" 
 
 " Could you let me have £50, my dear ? 
 Of course, I mean without inconvenience ; 
 you must not leave yourself without any- 
 thing." 
 
 " I think I can," and after a few minutes 
 Pansy produced the required sum, and ro-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 265 
 
 ceived a warmer kiss from her aunt in 
 return than had ever yet fallen to her 
 share. 
 
 Mrs. Deveron turned round at the door 
 to say — 
 
 " I'm sure, my love, I can rely upon you 
 to say nothing of all this to your uncle. If 
 he knew, it would have the worst effect on 
 dear Hubert's prospects," and Pansy wil- 
 lingly promised secrecy. 
 
 *^ What a time you have been !" was 
 Hubert's greeting to his mother when she 
 returned. 
 
 " Never mind, my dear boy, I have got 
 what you wanted." 
 
 ''What, the money! You don't mean 
 it ! What a good old mater you are 1" and 
 he gave her the unaccustomed honour of a 
 kiss. " Well, this is a relief, and I'll keep 
 out of such a scrape again. After all, 
 baccarat's awfully stupid." 
 
 " You know, Hubert, it's a thing I 
 should never be able to do again. It's the
 
 266 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 merest chance I hadn't paid all my winter 
 bills with the money ; now they must wait. 
 And then I had to ask Pansy to help me 
 to make it up." 
 
 " Oh, I say! you surely didn't do that !"^ 
 
 " My dear boy, there was no other way 
 but going to your father. You needn't be 
 afraid ; she promised not to say a word." 
 
 "Well, beggars can't be choosers, but — 
 I don't like it. It's an awful relief to have 
 got the money, though, anyhow." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be a good thing if you 
 were to marry — some one with money, of 
 course ?" suoforested his mother. 
 
 ''Very easy to say, but where am I to 
 find her ? Heiresses are not easy to find 
 in the upper classes, and I'm not like 
 Bertram, and Aviemore, and fellows of 
 that sort", who can go into the City and 
 choose a wife for her money-bags, and 
 know no one will ever ask who she was. 
 She's their wife, and that's enough ; now 
 my wife must be somebody, or she'll drag
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 267 
 
 me down, and I shall lose all the good I've 
 got. Don't you see ?" 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Deveron saw perfectly, and 
 her heart yearned for some blue-blooded 
 damsel as a daughter-in-law ; yet she was 
 too wise to counsel her extravagant son to 
 make a poor marriage, and observed, as he 
 left the room, 
 
 " Well, you had better keep your eyes 
 open, and see if }/ou cannot find some one 
 desirable in both ways."
 
 268 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 C'etait plaisir de voir danser la jeiine fille ! 
 Sa basquine agitait ses paillettes d'azur, 
 Ses grands yeux noirs brillaient sous la noire mantille, 
 Telle une double etoile au front des niiits scintille 
 Sous les plis d'un nuage obscur. 
 
 Mais elle, par la valse ou la ronde emportee, 
 Volait, et revenait, et ne respirait pas, 
 Et s'enivrait des sons de la flute vantee, 
 Des fleurs, des lustres d'or, de la fete enchantee, 
 Du bruit des voix, du bruit des pas. 
 Les Orientales (Fantomes) — Victor Hugo. 
 
 II /Til. DEVBHON was much surprised 
 ^-^ when the first days of Hubert's visit 
 passed off without any request for money. 
 He began to think he must be wrong, 
 whicli he did not like, as it rather reflected 
 on his judgment, and yet he was relieved.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 269 
 
 for he had begun to think that he had 
 done a foolish thing in listening to his 
 wife and allowing the boj to enter a fash- 
 ionable and expensive regiment. Mr. 
 Deveron had none of the hankering after 
 higher social position which was the con- 
 stant thought of his wife and daughters. He 
 was quite satisfied with his position in the 
 middle class, as the Banker and townsman 
 of Arncester, and liked his old friends 
 there too well to be willing to neglect 
 them for others, were they " county peo- 
 ple " or not. He began to think Hubert 
 had, after all, only come home to see them, 
 and dismissed his former suspicions from 
 his mind. 
 
 " I can't think how you girls can go 
 lounging up and down Arne Street all 
 day," said Hubert, the day after he had 
 obtained the money from his mother; "it's 
 such bad form, looks as if you had nothing 
 to do, and were always watching for the 
 fellows from barracks."
 
 270 LITTLE PANSr. 
 
 Julia tossed her head. 
 
 " I'm sure there's no one there worth 
 thinking of. Why, they're all married." 
 
 " Well, it's bad style, I can tell you." 
 
 " But it's the only chance of seeing a 
 creature ; no one comes up to this stupid 
 part of the town." 
 
 " Where's Pansy ? I should fancy she 
 didn't scour Arne Street all day too." 
 
 "Pansy! Oh, no; she goes off and 
 prowls about the lanes and the country by 
 herself, except when Arthur goes too." 
 
 *' Arthur ! Oh, is he smitten ?" 
 
 "Smitten! — by that little insignificant 
 thing ! Oh, dear, no !" 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Julia, don't go 
 and fancy Pansy is plain ; she mayn't be a 
 woman's beauty, but she is an uncommonly 
 pretty girl, and it would be a precious 
 good thing if you and Soph would copy 
 her manners ; she might be a duchess !" 
 
 " Well, I'm sure, I wonder what next !" 
 
 "It's a fact, I assure you, and I suppose
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 271 
 
 you'll allow I ought to know a little more 
 about it than you." 
 
 This was unanswerable ; Julia could 
 only pout, and owe Pansy a grudge for 
 being considered better style than herself. 
 
 " Pansy," said Hubert, intercepting her 
 in the hall as she was starting for a walk 
 after luncheon, " will you accept me for 
 an escort instead of Arthur? — he hasn't 
 come in yet." 
 
 " But indeed I generally go alone," said 
 Pansy, who was afraid he thought it 
 necessary to provide an escort for her. 
 ''Pray do not trouble about me." 
 
 ^' No trouble, but a pleasure," said 
 Hubert, opening the door. " I think you 
 are so right, Pansy, to strike out a line of 
 your own, and not always stick to the 
 streets. I tell the girls it is very bad 
 style." 
 
 " Of course I know nothing about that," 
 said Pansy, "but it does not amuse me. All 
 the people are not old friends to me, as
 
 272 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 they are to your sisters, and I am so much 
 more used to woods and fields. I never 
 feel so lonely when T am out in the lanes 
 as I do in the streets." 
 
 *' That's curious," said Hubert, who had 
 not the slightest love for the country, 
 excepting as a place where hunting and 
 shooting might be enjoyed ; " but of 
 course the society in this pokey place is 
 very different from what you have always 
 been used to." 
 
 " But I have never been used to any," 
 said Pansy, smiling ; " at La Eochecaillou 
 it is only a little village, and there are no, 
 what you would call, neighbours, only just 
 the farmers and poor people." 
 
 " I thought, of course, you went to 
 Paris." 
 
 '* No ; Mamma never left the chateau 
 after poor Papa died." 
 
 ''It is a pity; you would shine in a 
 society like that of Paris." 
 
 "Do you know it well?" said Pansy,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 27B 
 
 quite unconscious of the compliment. 
 " Bonne Maman says there can be no 
 society under the Republic, — but then she 
 is Legitimiste." 
 
 *' Ah !" said Hubert, who felt too inse- 
 cure in his knowledge of French politics 
 to venture on much discussion. He was 
 by no means clear as to which of the vari- 
 ous claimants to the French crown it was 
 to whom the Legitimists owed allegiance : 
 " Paris is a charming place." 
 
 "Leon likes it, but he has not been 
 there much." 
 
 '* Leon ! that's your brother ?" 
 
 " Yes — oh ! I hope he will come over 
 soon now, Uncle George asked him, and 
 he says he hopes to be able to come in 
 April. It seems such a time since I saw 
 him." 
 
 " It must seem longer to him, at least I 
 know it would to me." 
 
 This was said with what Hubert con- 
 sidered an irresistible smile : he could 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 never help trying to roake love to any girl 
 lie might be with. 
 
 '* Oh, I don't think so," said the uncon- 
 scious Pansy ; " of course he has so much 
 to do with his regiment, the time must 
 pass faster with him than it does with me. 
 Dear Leon ! it will interest and amuse him 
 so much to see England, which poor Mam- 
 ma used to tell us about." 
 
 There did not seem anything very 
 interesting to be extracted from conversa- 
 tion about Leon, so Hubert tried some- 
 thing more personal. 
 
 '* I wanted to see you alone, Pansy," he 
 said, " to thank you for something you did 
 yesterday. My mother told me. It was 
 quite too awfully good of you, and you 
 really hardly know me.'' 
 
 "You mean about the money," said 
 Pansy, who had at first looked puzzled : 
 *^ but that was nothing. I was very glad 
 indeed to help Aunt Matilda, only " 
 
 *' Only what ?"
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 275 
 
 "You must not be offended," — blushing 
 deeply, and looking as Hubert thought 
 prettier than ever — " only — I — is it quite 
 honest not to let my uncle know ?" 
 
 " Honest ! My dear Pansy, what do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 "I may be wrong, only — I have always 
 been brought up to think it wrong to hide 
 things. Aunt Matilda said Uncle George 
 would make you do something you did not 
 like, if he knew you wanted this money, 
 — exchange I think she said. Now is it 
 quite honest to let him think you have not 
 been extravagant, and so escape doing 
 what you would dislike ?" and she stopped, 
 colouring violently at her own boldness. 
 
 "My dear little Pansy," said Hubert, 
 stopping and taking her hand, which she 
 left somewhat unwillingly in his ; " you 
 are the sweetest little Mentor a man need 
 wish for, and I'm awfully obliged to you 
 for the interest you take in me. But I 
 assure you in this instance you are wrong, 
 
 T 2
 
 276 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 — you don't know quite enough of tine 
 world, I am afraid, to understand me, if 
 I were to explain ; — tliis isn't extravagance 
 at all. It is nothing I have been spend- 
 ing on myself, only a debt of honour to a 
 comrade, which must be paid, and for 
 which it would be hard to have to give up 
 one's prospects in life." 
 
 *' I daresay you are right," said Pansy^ 
 gently disengaging her hand ; " I know I 
 have no right to say anything, but surely, 
 if it is not extravagance, Uncle George 
 would understand and would not be 
 angry? 
 
 This was such plain sense that Hubert 
 hardly liked it, and he exclaimed quick- 
 
 "I'm sure, Pansy, I'm very sorry to have 
 troubled you ! it was my mother's doing, I 
 should never have thought of such a thing. 
 You shall have the money as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 It was now Pansy's turn to be annoyed.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 277 
 
 "I gave you no right to say such a 
 thing,'' she said, with a haughtiness that 
 quite amazed her cousin, and commanded 
 his respect and admiration. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," was all he could 
 think of to say. 
 
 Pansy was already rather frightened at 
 her own show of indignation. 
 
 " It is I who should beg your pardon 
 for presuming to think I knew better than 
 you," she said, gently ; " of course, if it 
 were wrong, Aunt Matilda would not en- 
 courage you. But you must not think 
 that I grudged the little help I gave ; 
 indeed I was very glad to be of use." 
 
 '' You are all that is kind," said Hubert, 
 enthusiastically, " and I'm sure I should 
 be much the better if you would take me 
 in hand and lecture me. Let us be 
 friends," and, stopping in front of her, he 
 took both her hands in his. 
 
 Pansy did not like it at all ; she felt shy 
 and nervous — why she hardly knew, and
 
 278 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 the bold, admiring gaze of Hubert's dark 
 eyes made her extremely uncomfortable ; 
 it was very different from her quiet, com- 
 fortable walks with Arthur, though, if she 
 had only known it, he really felt the pas- 
 sion that Hubert only simulated. Hubert 
 honestly believed himself irresistible, and 
 never missed an opportunity of trjnng his 
 power on any girl who pleased his fancy. 
 He was, in fact, an incorrigible flirt, and^ 
 unfortunately, each fresh success only dis- 
 posed him to sigh for further conquests. 
 Nothing would have persuaded him that, 
 when Pansy blushed and lowered her eyes 
 under his admiring gaze, she was not fall- 
 ing desperately in love with him, and he 
 congratulated himself on the pleasant little 
 excitement that was thus provided for 
 hira during the rest of his stay in so dull 
 a place as he considered Arncester. He 
 really thought Pansy very pretty, and 
 quite appreciated her refinement of look 
 and manner, but she had not in the least
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 279 
 
 touclied his heart. That, in so far as it ex- 
 isted, excepting for himself, was, to the 
 best of his present belief, in the possession 
 of Lady Violet Valton, the young lady 
 whose presence at Stanmore had so cruelly 
 defeated all Julia's schemes of enjoyment 
 at the meet. He had met her at Lord 
 Aberton s ; she, being herself no mean adept 
 in flirtation, had encouraged his attentions, 
 and he believed himself to be desperately 
 in love with her. As she was an only 
 child, and an heiress as well as a beauty, 
 he was very likely to try his fate, but that 
 it would be what he hoped and expected 
 was extremely improbable. However, this 
 was no obstacle to his endeavouring to 
 make Pansy in love with him, and, as he 
 saw her blush and look down, he felt no 
 doubt whatever that she was besrinninjx to 
 feel his power. As he stood with her 
 hands in his, and thought how pretty and 
 refined she looked, no suspicion crossed 
 his mind that she did not think him most
 
 280 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 fascinating. If be bad only known bow 
 sbe longed to be free, to witbdraw tbe 
 bands wbicb be beld so closely clasped, 
 and, above all, to escape from tbe bold 
 stare of bis eyes, be would bave been 
 genuinely surprised. Having no notion 
 of sucb a tbing, be resolved to press bis 
 advantage. 
 
 *'Now you forgive me, Pansy," be said, 
 gently, and, wben be cbose, bis voice 
 could be very low and soft, it bad made 
 tbe bearts of various innocent damsels 
 tbrob and acbe ere now, '* give me a kiss 
 — just one. Ob !" as sbe started back and 
 struggled to free ber bands, '* I cannot let 
 you go ; you know, tbere is no barm in 
 kissing your cousin." 
 
 But be bad roused Pansy now, and, 
 witb a violent effort, sbe released berself 
 from bis grasp, and. springing to a little 
 distance, stood tbere quivering witb anger. 
 Pretty as be bad tbougbt ber before, 
 Hubert was fairly, astonisbed by ber
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 281 
 
 beauty as sTie stood there flushed with 
 excitement, and with her great brown eyes 
 blazing like stars. 
 
 '' How dare you ?" she exclaimed, almost 
 stamping with indignation. " How dare 
 you ? Beg my pardon directly !" 
 
 "But, Pansy " 
 
 " Don't call me Pansy ; I never gave 
 you leave !" 
 
 " But Arthur does." 
 
 *' Arthur is different; he never iusulted 
 me!" 
 
 " Insulted you ! Oh ! come now, Pansy, 
 we're cousins, you know, after all." 
 
 "Are you going to beg my pardon?" 
 
 "What for? I'm awfully sorry if I've 
 offended you, but you've no idea how 
 awfully pretty you look in a passion." 
 
 By this time Pansy's first blaze of anger 
 was beginning to cool, and she w^as think- 
 ing that perhaps it was her ignorance of 
 English habits that had made her cousin's 
 suggestion appear so very dreadful. Per-
 
 282 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 haps it was au English custom for j'oung" 
 men to kiss their cousins, and, though she 
 felt that she could never submit to it, 
 perhaps she had been foolish in being so 
 angry about it. And he was certainly 
 right in saying that Arthur always called 
 her by her Christian name, had always 
 done so ever since her j&rst arrival at Arn- 
 cester, without permission either asked 
 or given. A great dread of having made 
 herself ridiculous came over her, and, 
 without a word, she turned away and 
 walked hastily down the lane. Hubert 
 followed. 
 
 *' You don't think you're going to run 
 away from me like that, do you ?" he said, 
 half laughing. *' Why, Pansy, are cousins 
 so different in France that it should be a 
 deadly crime for one to ask the other to 
 kiss him ? If it is, England is a pleasanter 
 place to my mind. I'm awfully sorry^ 
 though, to have startled you so. Come, 
 shake hands and be friends."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 283 
 
 So adjured Pansy could only comply ; 
 evidently it was her own ignorance that 
 had made the proposition seem so shock- 
 ing, for Hubert appeared perfectly unaware 
 of there being any valid cause for her 
 displeasure ; so she stopped and shook 
 hands half reluctant!}^, and blushing deep- 
 ly, half with shyness and half with annoy- 
 ance, Hubert retained her hand some little 
 time as be said, 
 
 "By Jove ! Pansy, what a rage you were 
 in ! It's lucky you don't know how be- 
 coming it is, or I'm afraid you'd turn into 
 a regular little spitfire ! "Well, now it's all 
 over, say we're friends again." 
 
 "Oh, yes, we are friends," said Pansy, 
 regaining possession of her hand, and feel- 
 ing very shy and uncomfortable. 
 
 " That's right ; but I shall require proof. 
 Oh ! don't be afraid," as she involuntarily 
 shrank to the other side of the narrow 
 lane, " I'm not going to shock your French 
 proprieties again, I assure you; I only
 
 ^84 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 want you to give me the first valse at the 
 Yernons' dance to-morrow night." 
 
 This seemed a very simple thing, and 
 Pansy consented with alacrity, but .Hubert 
 continued, 
 
 " And the supper valse, and the second 
 galop." 
 
 "Three dances! Oh! I couldn't," said 
 Pansy. 
 
 '* What ? Who are you engaged to ?" 
 
 " To no one ; at least, excepting to 
 Arthur for the second valse, but " 
 
 " But you really owe me some amends 
 for beiug in such a furious passion with 
 me all about nothing, and three dances is 
 nothing at all for cousins." 
 
 Evidently, Pansy thought, she was not 
 au fait of this relationship ; doubtless 
 Hubert was right, but she infinitely pre- 
 ferred the views which Arthur seemed to 
 entertain of it to his. However, she did 
 not feel inclined to argue on the subject, 
 and agreed to the three dances ; and
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 285 
 
 Hubert, having got his own way, set him- 
 self to talk amusingly to her of the world 
 he lived in, and to be, as he believed, 
 extremely fascinating. Pansy was cer- 
 tainly amused at the various stories told 
 her, though she could not help observing 
 to herself that they were not invariably 
 good-natured, but she was by no means 
 sorry to find herself almost at home. 
 They were not more than a couple of 
 hundred yards from the house when they 
 met Arthur. 
 
 "What an immense walk you must 
 have taken !" he exclaimed. " It is nearly 
 five o'clock. Pansy, I hope you are not 
 very tired." 
 
 " I am quite as w^ell able to take care of 
 Pansy as you, I should hope," returned 
 Hubert, carelessly ; " we've only been 
 round by the Harden lanes." 
 
 Arthur was looking at Pansy, and could 
 not make out a new expression that he 
 seemed to see on her face. Could it be
 
 286 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 that Hubert's fascination, in which, hear- 
 ing of it constantly fi'om his mother and 
 sisters, he had learnt implicitly to believe, 
 had already in these few days had its effect 
 on his cousin ? The shock of pain that he 
 felt at the thought, made him know the 
 true state of his own heart better than he 
 had ever done before. He knew that he 
 loved his little cousin passionately, and 
 that he was horribly jealous of his hand- 
 some brother, whose advantages and fas- 
 cinations he greatly over-estimated. Surely 
 it was hard that Hubert, v/ho lived among 
 gay and fashionable people, could not be 
 content to fascinate and enslave one of 
 their number, but must come down to 
 quiet Arncester and pluck from his 
 brother's grasp the little heartsease which 
 it was his dearest hope to win. He forgot 
 that, until the moment when the demon 
 of jealousy had been aroused in him by 
 the new expression (which in reality was 
 rather one of puzzled annoyance) on.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 287 
 
 Pansy's countenance, and the half defined 
 proprietorship of Hubert's manner, he had 
 never given her any sign of his own pre- 
 ference. It never occurred to him as 
 possible that his brother could regard 
 Pansy as a sort of plaything, a pretty and 
 refined girl to be flattered and fascinated 
 for his pleasure, and to relieve the dulness 
 of a fortnight spent in a quiet and uncon- 
 genial town. He took it for granted that 
 Hubert was in earnest, as he was ; and 
 could not avoid a bitter feeling that it was 
 very hard. Hubert saw scores of girls of 
 higher station, and, possibly, though in his 
 secret heart Arthur hardly thought such a 
 thing could be, of greater beauty. Why 
 could he not have fallen in love with one 
 of them, and not have come home to take 
 from his brother his one ewe lamb ? 
 
 Thoughts like these were passing 
 through Arthur's mind the whole evening, 
 as Hubert sat by the piano asking for one 
 song after another, and congratulating his
 
 288 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 cousin on singing something different 
 from the common run of young ladies' 
 songs. Some of Pansy's ballads were 
 those sung at the vintage, or on other 
 occasions by the peasants of the sunny 
 region of the Loire, and were decidedly 
 novel in an English drawing-room. Mrs. 
 Deveron hardly knew whether she ap- 
 proved of them ; they were unconven- 
 tional, unlike anyone else, she " only hoped 
 Pansy would not be thought odd for 
 singing such strange things." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon's dance the ensuing night 
 was the first regular dance to which Pansy 
 had been, though there had once or twice 
 been dancing after a dinner-party where 
 there had been more than the customary 
 number of young people. She had de- 
 murred about going, pleading her mourn- 
 ing, but her uncle had told her he really 
 wished it, and she had therefore agreed to 
 go ; and Mrs. Delmar, to whom she had 
 mentioned the circumstance, had told her
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 289 
 
 slie had done quite right. Though she 
 really did uot very much care to go, she 
 yet could not help feeling some little ex- 
 citement at the prospect, and as Mrs. 
 Yernon, being a great friend of the 
 Deverons, had asked both her cousins as 
 well, she had not the uncomfortable feel- 
 ing of taking a place which one of them 
 would otherwise have occupied. Very 
 delicate and pretty she looked in her black 
 gauzy dress, with snowdrops in her hair 
 and in her bosom. As soon as they 
 entered the room, Laurence Delmar came 
 up to her (the Yernons' was the only 
 house in Arncester at which some of the 
 county people visited) and asked for the 
 first valse, but, almost before she could 
 reply, Hubert claimed her. '' Ours, Pansy !" 
 and she was flying round the room with him 
 to the strains of " Geliebt und verloren." 
 
 It certainly was very pleasant ; she 
 could not deny that, though she felt a 
 little indignant at the determined way in 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 which he took possession of her. Hubert 
 was a perfect dancer, and Pansy really 
 enjoyed the long, easy swing which was so 
 different from Arthur's rather stiff and 
 jerky performance, or the spasmodic gyra- 
 tions of some of the Arncester young 
 men. 
 
 "Well done, Pansy!" exclaimed her 
 cousin, when at length they paused. " I 
 felt sure you could dance, and you can 
 and no mistake. You must give me more 
 than the three dances. I'm at home so 
 seldom, you know, you ought to indulge 
 me, and you can dance with all these 
 people at any time. And let me con- 
 gratulate you on being the belle of the 
 ball." 
 
 *' Don't talk such nonsense, please." 
 
 Pansy was unused to pretty speeches, 
 
 and her feeling, instead of being one of 
 
 pleasure at the compliment, was rather of 
 
 annoyance that Hubert should think her
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 291 
 
 SO vain and foolish as to believe such a 
 thing. 
 
 "It isn't nonsense, but sober earnest. 
 There is not anyone to compare with you." 
 
 '' There are Julia and Miss Delmar, and 
 oh ! ever so many more. Let us go on, 
 please, and don't talk such nonsense ; I 
 don't like it." 
 
 During the whole evening Hubert de- 
 voted himself to his cousin, who, quite 
 unaware of ball-room etiquette and punc- 
 tilio, found it easier to dance with him 
 whenever he asked her than to excuse 
 herself. Her aunt looked on in consider- 
 able dismay. What could be the meaning 
 of it, but that Hubert had perversely 
 chosen to fall in love with that insio^nifi- 
 cant little brown thing, whom by no possi- 
 bility could he ever marry : he who might 
 choose, as she fondly believed, among the 
 great and fashionable of the earth. Hu- 
 bert must marry some one with money ; 
 
 u2
 
 292 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 with his expensive tastes, and the society 
 he had been used to^ it was absolutely 
 imperative ; but knowing, as she did, his 
 obstinacy as to having his own way, she 
 fairly trembled at the thought of what 
 might happen if he once took it into his 
 head to fall in love with his cousin. What 
 could be his attraction ? The girl was 
 plain, according to her ideas, and decidedly 
 dull — never seemed to have anything to 
 talk about except stupid books ; it realh^ 
 could be nothing but perversity on Hubert's 
 part, but it was a perversity that might 
 have most inconvenient consequences. 
 She would have liked to shake Pansy, but 
 the recollection of the readiness with which 
 the girl had lent the money, which saved 
 her from the necessity of letting Mr. Dev- 
 eron know of her darling's extravagance, 
 modified her anger. Hubert pretty well 
 guessed his mother's state of mind, and 
 contrived to keep Pansy away from her 
 side when she was not dancing, for fear
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 293 
 
 she should forbid her to dance with him 
 any more. He felt sure Pansy would obey, 
 but, at the same time, he was Yevj far 
 from guessing that she really had no par- 
 ticular pleasure in dancing with him, ex- 
 cepting that he danced very well. He 
 preferred to imagine that she was rapidly 
 falling in love with him, and was spending 
 a most happy evening. 
 
 It certainly looked like it. Mrs. Delmar, 
 who had taken a very cordial fancy to 
 Pansy, was surprised and pained to see her 
 make herself so very conspicuous; it was im- 
 possible for anyone to help observing how 
 incessantly the cousins were together, and, 
 as she said to herself, even if they were 
 engaged, which was hardly likely, as he 
 had been at home barely a week, it would 
 have been better taste, and more what she 
 would have expected of Pansy, not to 
 afficher the fact quite so publicly. Alto- 
 gether, she was disappointed in her prO' 
 tegee ; the fine fibre of her mind and taste
 
 294 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 must, she feared, be getting warped among 
 the coarser natures and perceptions of the 
 Deverons. 
 
 But the person who was the most per- 
 turbed, and suffered the most, was natur- 
 ally Arthur. He had hardly commenced 
 his valse with Pansy before, by an unlucky 
 chance, he trod on and tore her dress, and 
 Hubert, passing at the moment, had 
 laughed and said, 
 
 " Poor little Pansy ! I take better care 
 of you than that, don't I r" 
 
 Vexed with his own awkwardness, Ar- 
 thur danced less well than usual, and con- 
 trived to bring his partner into violent 
 collisions with one or two other couples; 
 and though Pansy was everything that 
 was amiable about the matter, and assured 
 him that it didn't signify in the least, and 
 that she wasn't at all hurt, he could not 
 help feeling how she must contrast him 
 with Hubert, greatly to his brother's ad- 
 vantage. And so, though his heart ached
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 295 
 
 as he saw her dance time after time with 
 Hubert, he absolutely lacked the courage 
 to ask her again, feeling that he had no 
 right to inflict his awkwardness upon her, 
 when she had a far better partner whom she 
 evidently preferred. He made an heroic 
 effort to look and behave as usual, but it was 
 not attended with the success it deserved, 
 and Julia, passing him in the Lancers, 
 asked him if he had a toothache that he 
 looked so dismal. A heartache would 
 have been nearer the mark.
 
 296 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 Prithee forgive me ; 
 I did but chide in jest ; the best loves use it 
 Sometimes : it sets an edge upon affection. 
 When we invite our best friends to a feast, 
 'Tis not all sweetmeats that we set before them ; 
 There's somewhat sharp and salt, both to whet appetite 
 And make them taste their wine well ; so, methinks. 
 After a friendly, sharp, and savoury chiding, 
 A kiss tastes wondrous well, and full o' th' grape. 
 
 jftlDDLETON. 
 
 "T REALLY think T shall speak to 
 -■- Pansy," said Mrs. Delmar to her 
 eldest daughter the next morning ; " it is 
 a great pity she should get herself talked 
 about, and very probably it was only 
 ignorance of what is usual that made her 
 afficher herself so with her cousin last
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 297 
 
 night. The Miss Deverons seem in- 
 clined to that style of behaviour them- 
 selves, and she is not likely to have had 
 any warning." 
 
 ''I wish you would, Mamma," said Nora 
 Delmar, looking up from her drawing ; 
 ^' she is such a dear, sby, little thing, I am 
 sure she would be horrified at the idea of 
 being talked about. It was a shame of 
 her cousin to do it ; he, at any rate, knew 
 better." 
 
 " She looked as if she liked it, though, I 
 must say." 
 
 " Did you think so ? To me, she seemed 
 as if she were rather bewildered, and 
 couldn't help herself. Of course, he hap- 
 pens to be a far better dancer than anyone 
 here. I daresay she liked that." 
 
 " She looked very pretty." 
 
 ''Yes, didn't she? When I see her 
 with the Deverons, I always think of a lily 
 of the valley springing up by accident in a 
 bed of tulips."
 
 293 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 " You are always fanciful, Nora. Well, 
 write and ask the cliild to spend the day 
 on Wednesday ; you can go for her in the 
 pony-carriage as usual." 
 
 Hubert had taken it for granted that, 
 during the week that remained of his stay 
 at home, he should be able to amuse him- 
 self by prosecuting his flirtation with 
 Pansy ; and felt no doubt that, on his de- 
 parture, she would be broken-hearted and 
 would pine for his return to Arncester. 
 He was accustomed to regard himself as 
 irresistible, and thought that, of course, 
 anyone so young and inexperienced as his 
 cousin could not fail to succumb to his 
 fascinations. He quite understood his 
 mother's and sisters' manoeuvres to keep 
 him and Pansy apart, guessing that they 
 had taken fright at his determined appro- 
 priation of her at the ball ; but their 
 arrangements affected him very little, and 
 could easily and at once have been over- 
 ruled ; it was Pansy herself who foiled
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 299 
 
 him. He could not tell how it was, but 
 she contrived entirely to avoid ever being 
 alone with him, and that without doing any- 
 thing which seemed in the least unusual or 
 remarkable. Hubert was piqued ; he was 
 far from imagining that she really wished 
 to avoid him, he conceived that it was only 
 coquetry, intended to lead him on. 
 
 But after a day or two he began to be 
 fairly puzzled ; Pansy was absolutely un. 
 approachable. He tried to waylay her 
 when she was going out in the afternoon, 
 but she always contrived to evade him and 
 to slip out unperceived. Once he asked 
 her to walk with him that afternoon, and 
 she answered, without an instant's hesita- 
 tion, that she was not going out, as she 
 had a letter to finish to her grandmother ; 
 and when he suggested that it was a lovely 
 afternoon, and that the letter migrht wait 
 for once, she said she should be very sorry 
 to disappoint grandmamma, who expected 
 her letter on a certain day. Hubert could
 
 300 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 not make it out ; it almost looked as if she 
 really wanted to avoid him, and yet that 
 could hardly be possible. Could his mo- 
 ther have spoken to her? He hardly 
 thought so, and, when he questioned her 
 on the subject, she utterly denied it. 
 
 Mrs. Deveron vras infinitely relieved at 
 the turn which affairs had taken, and felt 
 at times what a debt of gratitude she 
 owed her niece ; and yet, with the incon- 
 sistency of human nature, she felt almost 
 inclined to be angry with Pansy for her 
 evident insensibility to Hubert's manifold 
 perfections. She really seemed to regard 
 him no more than if he were the stupidest 
 boy in the Arncester Grammar School ! he 
 who, by his own account, which she never 
 even imagined to be exaggerated, vras the 
 favoured swain of so many aristocratic 
 dames and damsels. Really, Pansy was 
 very like her mother in some things, and 
 gave' herself great airs. If neither Hubert 
 nor Mr. Musgrave pleased her, whom, would
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 301 
 
 slie find good enough? Of Arthur's feel- 
 ings respecting Pansy his mother had not 
 the faintest idea, or she would not have 
 allowed their comfortable friendship to be 
 so undisturbed. 
 
 Arthur was somewhat re-assured by 
 Pansy's conduct, which he watched with a 
 breathless attention that rather militated 
 against his usual careful application to his 
 work at the Bank. It seemed clear that 
 Pansy could not be so very much fascin- 
 ated by Hubert as he had feared was the 
 case, or she would not avoid him so very 
 persistently. Perhaps, after all, it was 
 only that he was a better dancer, a superi- 
 ority which Arthur frankly conceded to 
 him, and that it was only in a ball-room 
 that she preferred him. If that were all 
 it did not matter, and, when Hubert's short 
 leave came to an end, their comfortable 
 walks and talks, which were the great joy 
 of his life, would be resumed. So Arthur 
 satisfied himself, by no means understand-
 
 502 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 ing that Pansy was as little in love with 
 him as she was with Hubert. 
 
 An invitation for Pansy to Daleford 
 always somewhat upset Mrs. Deveron*s 
 temper : she deemed it a slight that neither 
 of her own girls was ever invited to 
 accompany her. So when, on the Tuesday 
 morning, Pansy intimated that she was 
 asked to spend the ensuing day with 
 the Delmars, she spoke, as usual, very 
 angrily. 
 
 "Really, if they don't think us worth 
 noticing, I think it would be better taste 
 if you were not quite so fond of people 
 who are ashamed of your relations, and 
 will probably teach you to be the same." 
 
 " Eh ? What is that ?" asked Mr. Dev- 
 -eron, who seldom paid much attention to 
 the conversation that went on over the 
 letters at breakfast, being generally ab- 
 sorbed in his own correspondence. 
 
 "I said," rephed Mrs. Deveron, who was 
 rather sorry that her unusually sharp tones
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 303 
 
 had attracted her husband's attentioD, 
 "that it is very rude of the Delmars to 
 ask Pansy for the day, and never to ask 
 one of^ our ov/n girls to go with her. It 
 looks as if they did not think us worth 
 noticing." 
 
 " Well, as they only made acquaintance 
 on Pansy's account there is nothing won- 
 derful in it ; besides, you have dined at 
 Daleford, and they have dined here — what 
 more would you have ? Do you like going- 
 there, Pansy, my child ?" 
 
 ''Very mucli indeed, uncle; they are 
 very kind, and I am very fond of them." 
 
 " Then, Matilda, Pansy is to go there 
 when she likes, and do not try to spoil her 
 pleasure by persuading her that the girls 
 ought to be asked too. There is nothing 
 in the least remarkable in their invitmo^ 
 her alone." 
 
 '' I will drive you over in the dog-cart, 
 Pansy," suggested Hubert. 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Pansy,
 
 304 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 quietly, "but that is all settled; Nora 
 comes for me in the pony-carriage." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll come for you." 
 
 " No, thank you ; Mrs. Delmar says they 
 will hv'mcr me home." 
 
 Mrs. Deveron was pleased that there 
 should be no tete-a-tete drive, and yet she 
 felt indignant that Pansy should not show 
 the least vexation at missing it. She was 
 duly thankful that the girl was not in love 
 with her cousin, as it might have increased 
 his admiration and produced very unde- 
 sirable complications, and yet she could 
 hardly forgive her for proving insensible 
 to his charms. Besides, she was irritated 
 at her husband's having interfered, and so 
 it was in a very ungracious manner that 
 she said, 
 
 "Oh! very well, you must go, I suppose, 
 and I am not to say what I think about 
 it." 
 
 Pansy accepted the permission, and took 
 no notice of the manner in which it was
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 305 
 
 accorded ; she always found it better to 
 tbink as little of her aunt's way of doing 
 or saying things as was possible. 
 
 It always seemed such a rest to her 
 mind to spend the day at Daleford. 
 Everything there appeared to go smoothly, 
 there seemed no fear that a chance word 
 Tv^ould lead to uncomfortable bickerings. 
 Now in the market-place the most inno- 
 cent observations were often seized upon 
 as meaning something quite different from 
 their obvious interpretation, and were 
 wrangled over, and made subjects of most 
 disagreeable recrimination. At Daleford 
 all the family seemed to understand each 
 other perfectly, and to live together in 
 harmony and good will. 
 
 It was after luncheon that Mrs. Delmar 
 spoke to Pansy, as she had told her daughter 
 she should do. She had taken her to her 
 dressing-room to show her a drawing, and, 
 when it had been examined, she seated her- 
 self on the sofa and drew the girl to her. 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " I have not 
 known you very long, but I do not think 
 you are a silly girl likely to be hurt or 
 offended with an old woman who wants to 
 do you a service. Do you mind my 
 speaking to you as if you were one of my 
 own girls?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! indeed I should be glad," said 
 Pansy, flushing and trembling in her 
 anxiety to know what this could mean. 
 
 ''Well, then, dear, I think it was only 
 your want of knowledge of the world that 
 made you dance so often the other night 
 with vour cousin. It is not usual to do 
 so, and he should not have made you con- 
 spicuous." 
 
 " Conspicuous !" and Pansy grew crim- 
 son. " That is what Mamma always said 
 a woman should never be. Oh ! Mrs. 
 Delmar, I am so sorry ; what shall I do ?" 
 
 " My dear, I do not want you to distress 
 yourself; I was only anxious to put you 
 on your guard against another time. It
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 307 
 
 was mucb more his fault than yours, for 
 he must have known better, which you did 
 not. After all, he is your cousin, and it 
 does not so very much matter, only it 
 makes people say " 
 
 "What?" asked Pansy, looking up 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Well, dear, that you are either engaged 
 or about to be so." 
 
 " Oh ! but it isn't so, indeed," said 
 Pansy, simply; then, after a pause, "May 
 I ask you something ? — you won't think 
 me very silly ?" 
 
 " No, dear child ; I am glad to help you 
 in any perplexity. What is it ?" 
 
 "You see I know nothing of English 
 ways, I suppose," said Pansy, hesitatingly, 
 " and at home at La Rochecaillou we never 
 saw anyone, and I had no cousins; but is 
 it usual — that is, I mean a matter of 
 course, that one's cousins — men, I mean — 
 should kiss one?" 
 
 "By no means, and certainly not if you 
 
 X 2
 
 308 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 do not wish it. Do you mind telling me 
 why you ask ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! I could tell you anything ; 
 it seems almost as if I were talking to 
 Mamma," said Pansy, simply. ** Hubert 
 said something that made me angry— I 
 cannot tell you what that was, because it 
 is about him, not me, — and then he took 
 both my hands and said we must make it 
 up, and that he must kiss me ; I was quite 
 furious and got away from him, and he 
 didn't do it, but he said that it was the 
 English custom, and that all cousins did 
 it, — but I knew that wasn't quite true, 
 because Arthur never offered to do it, — 
 but I wasn't sure if I had not been silly 
 and made an absurd fuss just from ignor- 
 ance, and so, when he asked me to dance 
 so much, and talked of its being some 
 reparation for my having been so angry 
 with him about nothing, I did not quite 
 know how to refuse." 
 
 "I quite see; in fact, he took an un-
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 309 
 
 warrantable advantage of your inexperi- 
 ence. My dear, do not encourage him to 
 say impertinent things to you." 
 
 "" I have kept quite out of his way ever 
 since ; he has waited in the hall to walk 
 with me, but I have slipped out by the 
 garden." 
 
 " Wise child ! Does he stay long?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! he goes the day after to-mor- 
 row," said Pansy, with an air of such evi- 
 dent relief that Mrs. Delmar could hardly 
 help laughing. It was very clear that no 
 danger was to be apprehended for Pansy 
 from her cousin's fascinations. 
 
 The girl had become a very great 
 favourite with them all ; she was so abso- 
 lutely free from conceit or self-conscious- 
 ness, and yet so infinitely superior in their 
 opinion to the ordinary run of young 
 ladies. Every member of the family had 
 in turn remarked how incompatible her 
 nature must be with that of her compan- 
 ions and surroundings. But they loyally
 
 310 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 abstained from mentioning her relations^ 
 feeling that, if they were distasteful to her, 
 it was kinder not to remind her of the 
 fact, while, if thej were not, it would be a 
 sad pity to disturb her contentment. 
 
 *' Do you think it was very wrong ? — 
 about the dancing, I mean ? Aunt Matilda 
 did not find fault," was Pansy's next 
 observation. 
 
 " Wrong, dear ? Well, that is a strong 
 word, unconventional and unadvisable; 
 but I can easily see how it happened. I 
 daresay your aunt thought that between 
 cousins it didn't matter." 
 
 ^' I wish you could have told me at the 
 time. Please believe how much obliged I 
 am to you for telling me now," and she 
 put her hand into Mrs. Delmar's. " Will 
 3^ou always tell me when you see me do 
 anything wrong ? I would rather hear it 
 from you than anyone." 
 
 Mrs. Delmar bent down and kissed her. 
 
 " I don't think I am likely to have much
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 311 
 
 fault to find witli you, Pansy; but you 
 may depend, dear, that I will give you 
 advice whenever I think you want it. Ah ! 
 Nora," as her daughter entered the room, 
 '* you must have thought we were lost. 
 Pansy and I have been having a little talk 
 up here." 
 
 '' I can't tell you how sweetly she took 
 my little lecture, Nora," she said that 
 evening. "No idea of defending herself, 
 but only such dismay at having done any- 
 thing wrong. She begged me to consti- 
 tute myself her Mentor for the future. 
 That cousin has evidently been making 
 violent love to her, and she did not like it 
 at all, though she hardly knew how to 
 escape. Her relief when she said he was 
 going the day after to-morrow was almost 
 ludicrous." 
 
 Pansy's persistent avoidance of Hubert 
 had piqued him to such a degree that he was 
 determined that, by some means or other, 
 he would have a private interview with
 
 812 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 her before bis departure. He had watched 
 so often for her in the hall, only to find 
 that she had eluded him, that he suspected 
 she must slip out through the garden, and 
 posted himself at a window whence, him- 
 self unobserved, he could watch the gate 
 aud see which way she went. True to 
 his expectations, Pansy presently issued 
 from the garden-gate, and set off in the 
 direction of the very lanes where they had 
 taken their walk together. 
 
 Giving sufficient time for her not to 
 
 perceive that she was followed, Hubert 
 
 presently started in pursuit. He was very 
 
 uncertain as to what it was that he meant 
 
 to say to her, being only clear that it 
 
 must be something that should break 
 
 down her fence of coquetry, and force her 
 
 to show that she cared for him. That she 
 
 did so, and was only avoiding him to lead 
 
 him on, Hubert had no more doubt than 
 
 he had of his own existence. He let 
 
 Pansy get a considerable distance from
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 813 
 
 home, and then, availing himself of his 
 knowledge of the country, he sprang over 
 a hedge, took a short cut across a field, 
 and met her, in the most natural manner 
 in the world, round a corner. 
 
 Pansy started violently, coloured, and 
 felt excessively annoyed. She had been 
 congratulating herself so much on the 
 dexterity with which she had avoided 
 Hubert's society, and now, after all, she 
 found herself at his mercy, for there was 
 no way of escape. 
 
 " Well met, Pansy !" exclaimed Hubert, 
 turning and walking by her side. " I 
 thought we were never going to have a 
 nice comfortable talk again. Where have 
 you hidden yourself all this week ?" 
 
 '* I have not hidden myself," said Pansy. 
 
 '*Yes, you have — at least, from me. I 
 have watched for you every afternoon for 
 a walk, and you have always escaped me 
 somehow." 
 
 Pansy said nothing ; it did not seem to
 
 314 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 her that an answer was necessary. She 
 could not forgive Hubert for having made 
 her, as Mrs. Delmar had said, " conspicu- 
 ous " — the one thing that she had always 
 heard her mother and grandmother agree 
 that a woman should never be. She did 
 not want to talk to him, still less did she 
 wish to say anything rude, and she feared 
 that, if he began to question her as to 
 why she had avoided him, she might say 
 something that he would not like. So she 
 quickened her pace, wishing devoutly that 
 the walk was over, that they might meet 
 some one, that anything, in short, might 
 happen to break up their tete-a-tete. But 
 no such relief was vouchsafed her, and 
 Hubert had no intention of having a silent 
 "walk, so he began : 
 
 " Pansy, do you know I am going away 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 ^' Yes ; I think it was always settled you 
 were to go on Friday, was it not ?" 
 
 ** I'm awfully sorry to go."
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 815 
 
 "Are you? I thought you fouud Arn- 
 cester so dull." 
 
 " The little coquette ! — fishing for a 
 compliment !" thought Hubert ; then he 
 said, " Well, I used to, certainly, but I 
 haven't this time." 
 
 Again no answer. 
 
 ** Pansy, can't you guess why?" 
 
 " I ? No, how should I ? Because of 
 Mrs. Vernon's dauce, do you mean ?" 
 
 " No, not because of that, though it was 
 very pleasant, but because of the one per- 
 son who made that and everything else de- 
 lightful : I think you know whom I mean." 
 
 Yes, Pansy knew perfectly, and felt 
 very angry indeed that he should talk to 
 her like this. He would not have done so 
 if his mother or sisters had been present ; 
 it was insulting that he should take ad- 
 vantage of her being alone and defence- 
 less ; so she said, in a cold, stiff tone, 
 
 '' I don't think it is necessary to talk 
 nonsense."
 
 316 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 '* Nonsense ! — you have no right to say 
 that. JN'ow, Pansy, haven't I been trying 
 to be with you ever since I came home ? 
 Eut since that night at the Yernons — you 
 were very nice to me then — you've snubbed 
 me awfully. What have I done to you ? 
 I'm sure it isn't my fault ; I've been with 
 you whenever you'd let me." 
 
 *' You had no business to make me so 
 conspicuous at the dance," said Pansy, 
 colouring violently; ''ib was ungenerous 
 when you know I know nothing of English 
 ways. How could you do such a thing ?" 
 
 " What, dance with the prettiest and 
 nicest girl in the room ? Why shouldn't I ?" 
 
 '' You know it Vv^as not the custom, that 
 you were making me do Vv'hat was con- 
 spicuous, and unusual, and not nice ! I 
 did not know — I cannot forgive you !" 
 
 " But, Pansy, you don't mean you didn't 
 like it ! Come, now, you know you did, or 
 you wouldn't have done it." 
 
 " You danced pretty well, — I liked that,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 317 
 
 said Pansj. " It was not like Leon, but it 
 was better than seme of the others. But 
 I would rather not have danced all night 
 than have been made conspicuous, — it is 
 what Mamma said a woman should never 
 be." 
 
 " And who says you were ? It is all 
 humbug! I suppose it is some of the 
 girls' nonsense." 
 
 '*No, indeed." 
 
 " Then who has put such stuff into your 
 head?" 
 
 **Mrs. Delmar spoke to me." 
 
 "Mrs. Delmar! What business has she 
 to interfere, I should like to know !" 
 
 '^ She was a friend of Mamma's, and is 
 very kind to me. She said she thought it 
 was only ignorance that had me do such a 
 thing." 
 
 "Deuced impertinent of her, the old 
 cat !" 
 
 '* On the contrary, I think it was very 
 kind. Be good enough to speak respect-
 
 318 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 fully of her, — she is a great friend of 
 mine." 
 
 " But I say, Pansy, you don't mean to 
 say you are really angry? Why, most 
 girls would think it the greatest compli- 
 ment one could pay them to dance with 
 them all night." 
 
 "It is a compliment I do not care for." 
 
 "But you liked it until this nonsense 
 had been put into your head." 
 
 "No, I did not, only I did not know 
 how to help myself." 
 
 It was said so naturally, with such evi- 
 dent truth, that it stung Hubert's self- 
 esteem ; but this was only for a moment ; 
 his vanity quickly persuaded him that his 
 cousin was only pretending anger to in- 
 duce him to pay her more open compli- 
 ments, so he said, 
 
 "I don't think you mean that, Pansy. 
 Why should you dislike me ? I have done 
 nothing to offend you, I'm sure, except 
 admire you, and pretty girls don't dislike
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 319 
 
 that orenerally ! Don't you know how 
 awfully cut up I am at going away and 
 leaving you ? You must know it, Pansy, 
 — girls always feel when they are loved." 
 
 "J feel nothing of the sort," said Pansy, 
 calmly. 
 
 " What ! surely you are not so cold ! 
 Pansy, you cannot have forgotten the last 
 time we walked in these very lanes ?" 
 
 "]S[o," said Pansy, stopping and looking 
 straight into his eyes. " I have neither 
 forgotten nor forgiven it, — I doubt if I 
 ever shall." 
 
 Even Hubert, serenely confident as he 
 was in his own powers of fascination, 
 could not delude himself into the belief 
 that his cousin was only leading him on 
 for the purpose of being flattered and 
 complimented. It suddenly began to 
 dawn upon him that Pansy had been in 
 earnest all through, that she had been 
 really angry at his attempt to kiss her, 
 and that she had so persistently avoided
 
 320 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 liim, not to lead liim on and make him seek 
 her, but because she really disliked his 
 compan}^ It was a terrible blow to his 
 vanity, and one to which he was not ac- 
 customed. For a few moments he hated 
 Pansy with all his heart, and yet at the 
 same time he was conscious of a strons^er 
 desire than ever to make her fall in love 
 with him. He almost began to fancy he 
 was half in love with her, so great was the 
 stimulant of the unexpected shock of her 
 indifference. It was in a different tone 
 from that in which he had yet spoken 
 that he said, 
 
 '*I am sure, Pansy, I am very sorry if I 
 have really displeased yon, but I cannot 
 think why you should be so angry. I 
 have done nothing unusual, and surely 
 you cannot be offended with me for likiug 
 you so much and doing my best to show 
 it?" 
 
 His tone was so altered, he seemed so 
 hurt and sorry, that Pansy, who was the
 
 LITTLE PANSr. 321 
 
 most teader-liearted little creature imagin- 
 able, and was already half-frightened a;fer 
 her own vehemence, began to relent, and 
 to think that she had perhaps been too 
 angry, had said too much. If only she 
 had not had the evil fortune to meet him 
 that afternoon, how much annoyance she 
 could have escaped ! and she wished de- 
 voutly that she were safely at home, but 
 they were still at least a mile and a half 
 off, and she must make the best of the 
 situation. So she said, 
 
 *'] think, please, we had better say no 
 more about it. Perhaps I have said too 
 much ; if I have I beg your pardon, but I 
 was very hurt and angry at your taking 
 advantage of my inexperience. Please 
 let us talk of something else. Do you 
 know, Leon is coming to stay here ? Uncle 
 George asked him to copae when he could, 
 and he wrote this morning to say he had 
 got leave." 
 
 " That will be very nice for you. But, 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 822 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Pans J, I must talk a little more, — saj you 
 are not angry now, that you don't dislike 
 me. I should be so very unhappy if you 
 did." 
 
 In her secret heart, Pansy did dislike 
 him, for he had made her more uncomfort- 
 able than anyone had ever done before, but 
 it was impossible, as she felt, to say so. So 
 she murmured something incomprehensible 
 about never disliking anyone, and quickened 
 her pace so decidedly that it was not very 
 long before they reached home, when she at 
 once escaped to her own room, and during 
 the evening Hubert found it quite impos- 
 sible to get speech of her. 
 
 He was very seriously mortified ; it was 
 the first decided repulse he had ever re- 
 ceived, and, coming from a quarter where 
 he had anticipated an easy conquest, was 
 doubly annoying. It was not that he was 
 really in the least in love with Pansy, all 
 the affection which he could spare from 
 himself was centred on Lady Violet Valton,
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 323 
 
 but lie could not bear the feelinof of beiuo: 
 disregarded by a little girl whom he had 
 looked upon as the certain victim of his 
 fascinations. 
 
 But a still ruder shock was in store for 
 him". At breakfast the next morning 
 Sophronia read out the following announce- 
 ment : — 
 
 "■ We are authorised to state that a 
 matrimonial alliance is arranged, and will 
 shortly take place, between Lady Violet 
 Yalton, only child of the Earl of Yalehurst, 
 and Lord Lackland, eldest son of the Earl 
 of Bogcastle." 
 
 ^' There !" she exclaimed ; '' so you see 
 there was nothing between her and Sir 
 Julian after all !" 
 
 So engaged were Mrs. Deveron and 
 her daughters with this aspect of the 
 question that they never observed that 
 Hubert started as if he had been shot, and 
 turned very white. It was a terrible 
 blow to him. 
 
 y2
 
 324 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 Lady Violet, beautiful and an heiress, 
 had been very wilful, and had given her 
 mother endless trouble and anxiety by her 
 violent flirtations. But there was no one 
 about whom Lady Yalehurst had been so 
 thoroughly alarmed as about the handsome 
 young Lancer, for Lady Yiolet had chosen 
 to encourage and lead him on in the most 
 decided manner. Hubert's hopes had, not 
 unwarrantably, risen extremely high, audit 
 would have been no consolation to him to 
 remember, even had he done so, that this 
 fate of being led on and then dropped 
 without a word, was precisely what he had 
 inflicted on several innocent girls, more 
 loving than wise, and had been fully pre- 
 pared to entail upon his cousin. 
 
 There was one letter for him sealed 
 wdth a fantastic monogram surmounted 
 by a coronet, which he crushed into his 
 pocket and never opened till he was 
 alone in the train. It was from Ladj 
 Valehurst.
 
 LITTLE PANSY. 325 
 
 " Dear Mr. Deveron, — We have seen sa 
 much of you recently that I do not like you 
 to learn from the papers the news of dear- 
 est Vi's marriage. It is a long attachment ; 
 indeed she says Lackland is the only person 
 to whom she has ever given a thought. It 
 is delightful to see dearest Yi so happy ; 
 it would be quite impossible to find two 
 people better suited to each other. Yi has 
 just come in, and, hearing I am writing to 
 you, sends her kind regards, and says that, 
 if you really meant what you said the 
 other day about never having destroyed 
 one or two notes she wrote you, she would 
 be glad if you would send them to her, 
 that she may have the satisfaction of burn- 
 ing them ; she is always so particular 
 about burning letters. "We go to town to- 
 morrow for the trousseau ; . the wedding is 
 to be in April. Perhaps, if you happen to 
 be in London, we may meet. 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 " Hekmione Yalehuest."
 
 326 LITTLE PANSY. 
 
 " Two or three notes " was Lady Violet's 
 convenient way of describing a tolerably 
 large packet of letters still in Hubert's 
 possession, and certainly containing suffi- 
 cient compromising matter to render it 
 very natural that she would wish to satisfy 
 herself as to their destruction. It was 
 doubtless a great relief to her — it certainly 
 was to Lady Yalehurst — when' the packet 
 was returned the ensuing day. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BL.ENHEDI HOUSE.
 
 m