Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“Mr Trevor!” said the servant, loudly, and then – “I’ll tell Sir Hampton, sir, that you are here.”

Aunt Matty raised her eyes, and Pepine barked virulently at the stranger, as her mistress half rose and then pointed rather severely to a chair.

“He can’t be nice,” said Aunt Matty to herself, “or Pepine would not bark.” Then aloud – “Sir Hampton will, I have no doubt, soon be here.”

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Lady Rea?” said Trevor, with a smile.

Pepine barked again.

“What an insult!” thought Aunt Matty. “Did she look like the mother of two great girls?”

In truth, she really did not.

“I am Sir Hampton’s sister,” she said, stiffly – “Miss Matilda Rea.”

A Friendly Call

There was a pause of the kind that may be called cold for a few moments in Sir Hampton’s drawing-room. Then Trevor spoke —

“I beg pardon, I’m sure,” he said, frankly; “I hope my name is not unknown to you.”

“I think I have heard my brother mention it,” said Aunt Matty, stiffly. “Hush, Pepine I don’t bark!” when, as a matter of course, the dog barked more furiously than before.

“I’ve just come back from sea,” said Trevor, to break the chill.

“Indeed,” said Aunt Matty, freezing a little harder; and added to herself, “A most objectionable person.” Then aloud, “Pepine must not bark so, hush! hush!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Matty, do send that cross little wretch away,” cried Lady Rea, bursting into the room. “Mr Richard Trevor, is it?” she said, her plump countenance breaking into a pleasant smile as she gazed up at her visitor. “I’m very glad to see you,” she continued, holding out both hands, “and I hope we shall be very good neighbours.”

“I hope we shall, indeed,” said Trevor, shaking the little lady’s hands very heartily, and thinking what a homely, pleasant face it was.

“And aren’t you glad to get back? Did you enjoy yourself at sea? I hope you didn’t get wrecked!” said Lady Rea, in a breath.

“No; I reached home safe and sound,” said Trevor.

“We do have such storms on this coast sometimes. I’ve told Edward to look for his master. Hampy’s always about his grounds.”

“My sister means she has sent for Sir Hampton,” said Miss Matilda, frigidly. In fact, the cold was intense, and showed in her nose.

“Yes, I’ve sent for Sir Hampton,” said Lady Rea, feeling that she had made a slip. “The girls will be here, too, directly. You have met them?”

Miss Matilda darted a look of horror at her sister; but it missed her, and the little lady prattled on.

“They told me about meeting you twice; and, oh! – here, darlings! – Mr Trevor’s come to give us a neighbourly call.”

They came forward – Tiny to offer her hand in a quiet, unaffected manner, though a little blush would make its way into her cheek as her eyes met Trevor’s, and she felt the gentle pressure of his hand; Fin to screw up her face into a very prim expression, shake hands, and then retire, after the fashion taught by the mistress of deportment at her last school.

“I wish that old griffin would go,” thought Trevor, as the conversation went on about the sea, the country and its pursuits – a conversation which Aunt Matty thought to be flighty, and wanting in ballast – which she supplied.

But Aunt Matty did not mean to go, and dealt out more than one snub keen enough to have given offence to the young sailor, but for the genial looks of Lady Rea and the efforts of Fin, who, to her sister’s trouble, grew spiteful as soon as her aunt snubbed her ladyship, and became reckless in her speech.

Aunt Matty thought it was quite time for “the seafaring person,” as she mentally termed him, to go. She had never known a visit of ceremony last so long. On the contrary side, Trevor forgot all about its being a visit of ceremony: he was near his deity – for a warm attachment for the sweet, gentle girl was growing fast – and he liked the merry laughing eyes of Fin.

“By the way, Mr Trevor,” said Lady Rea. “I hear you’ve got beautiful horses.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Trevor. “I tried to get good ones.”

“I’m told they are lovely. The girls are just beginning riding – papa has had horses sent down for them.”

“I hope they are quiet and well broken,” said Trevor, with an anxious glance at Tiny.

“I don’t think, Fanny, that Mr Trevor can care to know about our simple domestic matters – our horses, for instance,” said Miss Matilda, now solid ice.

“Oh, sailors always love horses, aunty,” said Fin, colouring a little; and then mischievously, as she sent an arrow at Trevor, “because they can’t ride them.”

Aunt Matty’s lips parted, but no words came; and to calm her ruffled feelings she took a little dog – in strokes.

“Your daughter is right,” said Trevor, “I do love horses; and,” he said, laughing at Fin, “I do try to ride them.”

“I hope you’ll look at the girls’ horses, then, Mr Trevor,” said Lady Rea. “As you understand them, you’d be able to tell whether they are safe. I don’t half like the idea of the girls mounting such wild beasts as horses often are. As for me, I wouldn’t ride on one for the world.”

The idea of plump little Lady Rea in a riding-habit, mounted on a horse, like a long-draped pincushion, was too much. Tiny coloured. Aunt Matty looked horrified. Trevor grew hot and bit his lip, caught Fin’s eye, and then that young lady, who had held her handkerchief to her mouth, burst out laughing.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Lady Rea, good-humouredly. “What have I said now? – something very stupid, I’m sure. But you must not mind me, Mr Trevor, for I do make such foolish mistakes.”

Miss Matilda took hold of the two sides of the light shawl thrown over her angular shoulders, and gave it a sawing motion to work it higher up towards her neck, a shuddering sensation, like that caused by a cold current of air, having evidently attacked her spine.

“I think it was a foolish mistake, Fanny,” she said, in a voice acid enough to corrode any person’s temper, “to doubt Sir Hampton’s Judgment with respect to the horses he would choose for his daughters’ use.”

Fin began to bristle on the instant; her bright eyes flashed, and the laughing dimples fled as if in dismay, as she threw down her challenge to her aunt.

“Why, aunt,” said the girl, quickly, “one of the grooms said pa didn’t hardly know a horse’s head from its tail.”

“Oh, Fin, my dear!” cried mamma.

“Which of the grooms made use of that insolent remark?” cried Aunt Matty. “If I have any influence with your papa, that man will be discharged on the instant.”

“I think it was Thomas, aunt, who makes so much fuss over Pepine,” said Fin, maliciously.

“I’m quite sure that Thomas is too respectable and well-conducted a servant to say such a thing,” said Aunt Matty. “It was my doing that your papa engaged him; for he came with a letter of introduction from the Reverend Caius Carney, who spoke very highly indeed of his honesty and pious ways.”

“Oh, aunty,” cried Fin, “and he swears like a trooper!”

Aunt Matilda went into a semi-cataleptic state, so rigid did she grow; and her hand, with which she was taking a little more dog by friction, closed so sharply on the scruff of the little terrier’s neck, that it yelped aloud.

“You mustn’t say so, my dear, if he does,” said Lady Rea, rather sadly.

And to turn the conversation, Trevor asked her if she liked flowers.