LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6830, 18 April 1890, Page 1

LITERATURE.

MADEMOISELLE. A STOBY IN TWO PARTS. [By Mrs Olifhant.] {Continued from our issue of Friday last.) PART I. Chapter IIT. Mrs Wargrave made next morning a very pretty little speech of mingled gratitude -and apology to Mademoiselle. "I can't imagine," she said, "what made me bo fiilly as to faint last night. It is a thing I've always been subject to, bat it's always a stupid thing to do. I hear you were bo good, coming down directly when Jervia lost her head, and doing everything that -was , kindest and best. I am so much obliged to you, Mademoiselle. Of course I waß not conscious of what was going on, so I couldn't show you any gratitude then." "De rien," said Mademoiselle, " a, votre service, as my countryfolk say." " Your country-folk are always polite," -said Mrs Wargrave, and then she laughed a little meaning laugh. "I hear the gentlemen were quite impressed by the sight of you in your dresßing-gown." Mademoiselle coloured a little. She had forgotten that reflection of hers that white was becoming, and only felt the horror of having been seen in deshabille. "I did not Btop to think," she said, "how I was dressed: and it was so hot. I had no idea that I should be called downstairs." " No, how could you? I shall not do anything so absurd again if I can help it. I have told that foolish creature Jervia what she ought to have done. Yes, I feel all right this morning, thanks. The heat -was tremendous last night, there was not a breath of air, but this morning it's quite -cool again. Don't let me delay the lessons. I only came to say again 'Thank you,' Mademoiselle." "De rien," said Mademoiselle again. Edith and Dorothy were sitting very demurely all the time with their books quite ready, waiting to begin. They were two nice little girls, and they learned their lessons very creditably. Mademoiselle sat and heard their little dull, expressionless voices running on glibly enough, giving forth the knowledge of the schoolbooks, the information, out and dry, -which had nothing to say to any circumstance round them, and remained in its concrete state, never dissolved or assimilated as long as memory held out — and wondered to herself what was the good of it, and wherein these unexceptionable children were the better for the pills or stores of knowledge which they thus swallowed dutifully. But this ■was not a reflection to be followed, since it -would go to the root of much that is called education, and drive many honest persons •out of the occupation by which they made their living. It was Mademoiselle's vocation, aa it is of so many other people more pretentious, head-mastersandclassical -tutors, and all the high-priests o£ the schools, to superintend the swallowing of these pills, which might be digested or -otherwise, as it pleased Providence. The brother of the little girl 3 was disposing of many more such doses at Eton with much j the same result. It is, however, perhaps rather a pity when the teachers of youth are disturbed by such thoughts. It is much better to believe entirely in the advantage of what one is doing, as some happy people do; to believe that you are determining the character of children when you administer boluses of knowledge, aud that it is for the eternal gain of your parishioners that they should go to hear you preach. Mademoiselle did not believe that the little girls in the nursery would be at all changed out of their natural bent by anything she could do — aud this, perhaps, took something from the fervour of her teaching, though everybody said she j was so conscientious. Perhaps the thing •which Edith and Dorothy retained most -clearly from the day's lessons was their mother's laugh and assertion that the gentlemen haa been " so impressed" by the appearance of Mademoiselle iv her dressinggo wu. What gentlemen ? and why were they so impressed P and which was it, the white one or the blue one? These were questions in which they took more interest than in the Merovingians and the divisions of the continent under Charlemagne. Mademoiselle herself took the reference as a little prick on the part of Mrs War»rave — a reminder that even to succour the sick it is indiscreet and unladyliko to come downstairs in a dressing gown, and she felt it waßa reproof to which she had perhaps justly laid herself open. She resolved that, until she was certain that everybody was in bed, nothing should induce her to put on a dressing-gown again. Mr Charles Wargrave, however, Was moved by very different feelings. He could not get that white figure out of his head. Perhaps he was piqued to think that there .was a woman, and she a dependent, who could look at him as if she did not see him, talc? a thing from his hand without, so bo speak, being conscious of his existence. He came in one day to luncheon without any warning, apologising for taking advantage of the invitation so often given him, and making a very lame explanation of how ho had been passicg through the Square and had heard the bell ring for the nursery dinner. He was made to ait down with the little fuss and commotion of laying a new place, at Mrs Wargrave's right hand, and then cast his eyes about with great anxiety to discover who was there. The Bunblinds were down and the room in a sort of ro3y twilight, shutting out as much of the light and heat as possible. But he recognised Mademoiselle at the other end of the table. She was in a dark dress, and her hair was more tidy than -words could say. She sat with little Dorothy on one side of her, paying more attention to the little girl's dinner than to anything else, taking a little share in the conversation now and then, only enough not to be remarkable — a true governess, knowing her place, not taking too much upon herself, or asserting her right to be treated as one of the company. After luncheon Bhe left the room immediately with a child on each Bide. It -would be difficult to describe the disappointment with which Charles Wargrave looked after her, the curious revulsion of feeling that had taken place within him ! He felt angry that such a person should have cheated him out of so many thoughts — a mere nobody— a person evidently quite suited to her circumstances, nothing but a governess. He gave himself a shake, and threw off the ridiculous impression which had been made upon him, he supposed, by the mere situation— the helpfulness of the woman and the dress, which had produced a false air of gracefulness and youth. Youth ! She was no doubt, as Marian said, five-and-thirty if she was a day— and not particularly handsome : a fine sort of air noble about her, a nice way of carrying herself— but that was all. What a fool he hat been to be taken in so easily by appearances ! He was obliged to confess i» himself, however, that the deception was not Mademoiselle's doing— that she had no hand in it. She was ft sensible person or middle age, devoted to her own duties, giving herself no airs. If he was taken in, it was entirely his. own fault. As for Mademoiselle, she knew as little that ' she tad disappointed Charlea Wareraveas she knew that Bhe had excited his imagination. She thought nothing at all about it-did not try to look dowdy, or to limit her remarks to the most formal Bujectß,anymofethanßhehadtaiedtoexcite Kerest. He was just the same to her •s one of the pioturea which Mr Leicester

Wargravo called family portraits whic hung on the walls. However, the matter did not end then though Charles Wargrave hoped it woulc He went away from the square feelin quite light, and released from a burdei that had been weighing on him — for, to b sure, he bad no desire to attach himself t a governess, however beautiful and charm ing she might be — and it was a real relic to find that he could shake off the vieionar; yoke, and that she was not either charmini or beautiful. He left the house in th Square quite at his ease, saying to himsel that it would be a joke indeed, afte having pasßed harmless through all th< Bnares which every man about towi believes to be laid for him, should he fal a victim at last to the delusive angelii presence of old-fashioned poetry — "When rain and anguish wring the brow, A miniateriug angel thon. That was all very well, and women wen good sick nurses in general, and Mademoi Belle in particular might be very kind am ready, he made no doubt. It might b< reasonable enough to fall subject to at angelic nurse who had administered tc yourself; but when it was only youi cousin-in-law who was the object of the ministrations! He laughed, and said tc himself that it was a good joke, as h( went away and shook off the recollection with a sort of hallucination, a deceptive effect of the lights, and the white dreßß : and the extreme consolation of having a woman in a faint taken off his hands. He had no doubb Mademoiselle was quite a superior article of her kind, a nice woman and all that. He was glad he had seen her in her every-day garb, and convinced himself what a nice, commonplace, ordinary governess she was. He went out feeling quite emancipated, and much pleased tc have altogether regained hisindependence. Good heavens ! what a business it would have been had he, acquainted with the finest women in London, fallen a victim to a governess ! It was too ludicrous to be considered for a moment — and yet it was certainly an escape. But next morning Mademoiselle, by some inexplicable caprice, had regained her unconscious ascendency. The governess in the dark gown disappeared and the white figure came back. He could not get it out of his eyes. He said to himself that it was a mere vision, and had no existence at all, but all the same it haunted him, and he could not get it ont of his mind. It was with, an effort that he kept Ma feet from moving towards the Square. He felt he must see her again and convince himself that she was merely the governess, a dowdy and elderly person, nothing at all like his imagination. It was with the utmost difficulty that, reasoning with himself, and pointing out the consequences that must result if he were to be seen constantly at his cousin's in the middle of the day when there was no occasion for hi 3 presence, he persuaded himself not to go again to luncheon till several days were past. The second time he appeared was on Sunday, when Mr Leicester Wargrave was at home, and his appearance more natural. But Mademoiselle was absent. He thought at firstshe was only late, and kept watching the door, expecting her to come in, and almost disposed to find fault, as an employer might have done, at her tardy appearance and want of punctuality. But the meal went on without remark from anyone, and the governess did not appear. It was not till something was said about Mademoiselle that he, with his embarrasing consciousness of having come there to see her, and her alone, ventured to ask a question. " Oh ! — Mademoiselle ! what has become of her p" he said at last. " She has a friend she goes to on Sundays — not every Sunday, but a day now and then. Ifc is a great loss for me/" said Mrs Wargrave, " for there are so many people that call on Sunday afternoon, and I have the children on my hands." Charles AYargrave received this explanation very uneympathetically. He relapsed into silence, not taking the trouble to make himself agreeable, and he took a long walk afterwards, during which his curiosity and interest grew higher and higher. He tried by all means in his power to put out of his miudtb is unwelcome visitor: for she was unwelcome. Of all people in the world persons in her position were the least likely to occupy this man of fashion. He began to feel it something like a calamity bhat he had been present <jn that unlucky iccasion when Marian was so silly as to ! aint. No more absurd seizure of the fancy lad ever happened. What was Mademoilelle to him, or he to Mademoiselle ? And ret the unlucky fellow could not get her >ut of his head. About a week later he went to the Square n the afternoon, whether wishing to see aer or wishing not to see her it was difficult ;o aay. He was told that Mrs Wargrave nad gone up to have tea with the young ad.ies in the schoolroom, but could be jailed at once. It was a wet day, and probably she expected nobody. " With ;he young ladies in the schoolroom ?" he repeated ; "is there anyone else ?" " There's only Mademoiselle," said the butler ; " the governess, sir," Charles Wflrgravo felt disposed to knock the fellow down for his impertinence ; he bad scarcely patience to desire him to show the way. How dared he speak of a lady so— a lady better than anyone in the bouse, the pampered menial ? He made the man an impatient sign to get out of the way when they came to the top of the house to the schoolroom door, which waa sufficiently pointed out by the sound of cheerful voices within. He knocked, smiling to himself at the little Babel oi noise, two or three speaking together : and was bidden to come in by a voice with a faint little parfum of forei-?nnes3 in its sound, so faint aa to be only discernible by the sharpest ears. A sudden flush came tc his face as he heard it. It was not a voice, he thought, like the others. It was full of sweetness and yet of power— a voice round and harmonious like the notes ol an organ, with nothing shrill or thin 01 common in it; a voice which suddenlj brought before him again, not the dowdj governess, but the white robed ministering angel. He felt himself flush witt pleasure and expectation as he opened th< door. Mademoiselle was sitting opposite pouring out the tea. She had her back to the light and he saw her in a kind of relief against the large window — the shape of her head, her hair a little loosened .not quite smoothed upon her brow, in the shining perfection of the other day. He saw her face in a luminous shadow, dear yet dusky, her eyes looking down, somewhat deeply set, the oval of their form and the hollow under the eyebrow clearly defined. She had not perceived him, nor did she even look up to see who was coming in in obedience to her invitation. It was only when the children made a sadden pause in their chatter with a cry of " 0 Uncle Charles \" that Mademoiselle raised her eyes and stopped, with, teapot in hand, to see who it waß. " Yea, it's me," he said, more cheerfully than grammatically. "I heard you were here, and I thought I'd ask Mademoiselle's permission to come in — and, perhaps get a cup of tea " . ._.--"' "O come in, Charles," said Mrs Wargrave, '" I'll answer for it you shall be welcome s we are all glad of anything to break the monotony of a long day." Mademoiselle made no movement, gave no sign, except the faintest, scarcely perceptible bow of recognition. She found a clean cup for him and filled it witlr tea, calling one of her pupils to present it to him. She withdrew a little into the seclusion of her subordinate place while ! Mtb Wargrave took up the talk. It did

not occur to the governeßS that she had anything to do with it. She had no great interest eyen in the Tißitor. The monotony of thelong day was her natural atmosphere. She had no recognised need of anything to break it. Mra Wargrave went on talking and Mademoiselle heard and assisted now and then to keep the speakers going when she found that from the stranger, to whom the discourse was addressed, there was little response. And the children resumed their chatter sotto voce. Ab for Charles Wargrave, he sat still, saying very little, watching them all, but especially Mademoiselle, wondering how it was that such a woman could pass under a generic name, and bear, as far as far as the people around her were aware, no individuality at all. She withdrew from tbe centre of the scene, so to speak, in order to let the chief personages, Mrs Wargrave and her visitor, occupy it. Then, when it became necessary \ that there should be a response, or chorus, she disclosed herself by moments out of the background, just enough to keep up the action. He sat and watched them, watched her under his eyelids. Mrs Wargrave found Charlie more than usually taciturn, but felt that she was entertaining him — helping him to overcome his dullness, whatever might be the occasion of it. It never occurred to anyone that he had another object, still less that his object could be in any way associated with Mademoiselle. [Th\s Story will be continued in our issue of Friday, April 25.)