CHAPTER XXI. LAURA CLAYTON.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2152, 24 April 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXI. LAURA CLAYTON.

Two days tifter wards George found himsolf iv a very bad humour, ringing at tho Mouusey's front door bell, at seven o'clock, attired in evening costume. He did not want to go when it came to the timo. 'He was not up to tbe mark,' he said, with a kind of groan, and he certainly felt very much cast down ; very weary and tired of it all. 1 What a fool a fellow is who can't say no,' he had reflected, as he put on his black tie. ' Fancy me going to dine with thft old bore; though certainly Miss Laura Clayton is a very nice girl.' ' Tho very nico girl ' was waiting alone in Mrs Mounseys drawing-room, ready to receive him when he arrived thoro. ' I am afraid you will have a very uncomfortable visit, Mr Manners,' she said in her pleasant voioe, holding out her hand to welcome him, • for little Johnny Mounsey has had an accident this afternoon when I was out. He was sliding down the bannisters, and fell off at the second flight into the ball, and his papa and mamma are very uneasy about him.' <In that case I had much better go home at once,' said George. • I nm very sorry, bnt I will only be in the way ' ' Oh, no, do not talk of suoh a thing. There is really no occasion for alarm — the doctor says so ; but parents, you know,' and Miss Clayton smiled. 'It is natural enough, I daro say, answered George, with much originality. 4 Yes,' said Miss Clayton, still smiling ; ' what a blessing it in ; in them we can re- worship ourselves.' ' You think self- worship so strong ?' •I think we all have a little kindly weakness in that direction,' replied Miss Olaytou lightly. ' The greatest criminal, I believe, lias a sort of lurkimr conviction that he is a fine, manly fellow, or the victim of unfortunate circumstances, perhaps ; and for oursolves— l mean we who don't make a public display of our little infirmities — don't*',we ulw.iys think piivately now, we are rathei vice, or pretty, or clever, or something H>frfeable ?' ' I believe you are right ' 'Of course if I wfre to my to you, < What is your true opinion of your own character ? you would not tell me ; you could not. Our feelings are so pubtle, co mixed, bo incomprehensible, even to ourselves, that it is impossible, I believe, for any human being quite and entirely to pull back the veil which hides the heart.' ' We are indeed strange creatures,' said George, with a sigh. ' To ourselves, sometimes most strange.' 'Can you tiuat in anyone, do you think ?' asked George. • Yes,' answered Miss Clayton, and she looked at him with her full, clear, grey eyes as she spoke. ' I can trust the man who, outwardly consistent and honourable, may yet hide many of the strange weaknesses by which humanity is beset in his inmost heart, for I know that he will probably have strength to overcome them ; and I do not respect a person less, because by some instinct I recognise these failings. Perhaps a • fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind,' she added, with a irr.ile on her red lips. ' And could you care for a person for whom you have lost respect ?' ♦That is a hard, hard question — one which, as I have never honestly tried it, I dare not answer. But I think I should try — yes, I think I should try — to tear away an unworthy affection from my heart.' ' It is very difficult.' •Yes,' and Miss Clayton looked at George curiously, ' but it depends on what you consider unworthy. Perhaps you take a high standard, higher than mine.' • That is not likely.* ' I do not know ; at least mine is very different from what it was when I was a very young girl.' ' But I am not a very young man.' 'No; but womanlike, I was thinking about women, and I think we often start in life with very mistaken, or perhaps I -hould say overdrawn, notions. We look for perfection, and are disappointed to find that others are only really like ourselves.' •My dear Mr Manners,' said Mr llounsey, rushing into the room in a terriblo f n*s at this moment, ' a thousand apologies, but you've heard of our dear little boy's accident ? What a terrible thing it might have been ! I shudder when I think what a terribie thing it might have been!' and Mr Mounsey shuddered under his dreis-coat at his own contemplated misery. ' But I hope he is not very much worse,' said George. ' Shaken, sadly shaken, that's tho worst. No hones broken, I hope. Laura, mamma desired me to say that as she wishes to pay every respect to our young friend, Mr Manners, that perhaps you will go upstairs aud sit with Johnnie now, and she will come down to dinner.' ' Oh, pray, Mr Mounsey, do not disturb Mrs Mounsey on my account,' said George, with enger politeness. ' I am sure she will be much happier beside her little boy.' ' She wishes to pay you every attention, Mr Manners,' replied Mr Mounsey, waving his fat band. ' Laura, my dear, you had better go ;' and, to the great disappointment of Mr Manners, Miss Clayton went. She, however, returned in a few minutes. Johnnie had turned restive ; Johnnie had positively refused to allow his mamma to leave him; Johnnie had begun to cry at the very idea, and so Mrs Mounsey had sent her regrets, and her sister, and*prayed Mr Manners would excuse her, which he truly* said he would be v ry happy to do. 'Dinner,' announced the servant, and to dinner accordingly they went — Mr Manners offering his arm, at his host's suggestion, to Miss Clayton, and sitting next her whiie a very well cooked and excellent dinner was being served, the cook not having evidently shared the anxiety of her master and mistress on the unfortunate Johnnies account. During the dessert, however, Mr Mounsey, unable apparently any longer to endure his, tr perhaps having mamma's "peculiar" temper in just awe, rose hastily and begged to be excused for • few minutes, and, after selecting the finest fruit on the table as an offering either for the invalid or his wife, hurried upstairs; and Mr Manners and Miss Clayton were thus again left alone. 1 When do you start for Russia ?' she asked. ' At the end of the week most probably, bat I am waiting for letters; you see what slaves we business men are, Miss Clayton.' 'My papa, was also a merchant,' she replied gravely, 'and I have learnt, I

think, to dread the fluctuations of buyness ;itis so very uncertain. While poor papa was ruined by speculation, Uncle John made a very large fortune. 1 ' Wh»re does your uncle live ?' Iv Liverpool. He has been successful, but poor papa was exactly the reverse.' ' Some must ri<-e and Homo must fall ; it's like everything clio, Mjss Clayton, and not always the prize falls to the best vi.m either.' 4To the strong one generally, though. 1 'Yes; but circumstances— a thousand minute circucn-stances, which hang round a man's life like n web— contribute much to his <.ucce?a or failure in life. I've known very clever follows unfortunate.' ' They have wanted some of the elements of success, perhaps.' 'No doubt; but ihero are many elements over which wo have little control. But perseverance, Mi.-s Clayton— you know the golden rule? he added with a trnilc. ' I envy men,' sho answered. 'Why:"' 4 Because you have a legitimate sphere of action, one open neither to ridicule nor tnisa; preheusion.' ' You mean that when ladies take to men* work people are apt to laugh ?' ' I mean a woman has either to earn hor broad in a dependent or too independent a position. If they throw off what aio called social tics, they probably become careless of appearances, anl careless in manner ; whereas men ' 1 Well, what about men, MissCayton ?' 4 They are the more honoured for their toil, whatever it may bo. An idle mnn is a nuisance, univers illy condemned : an idlo woman is— a lady; and only such, I believe, fire generally considered so.' ' I You s-hould not say that.' 'Yet a man is ashamed— ye*, in his heart ashamed — to say I have married ray fcister's governess, or my mother's companion, though probably b')th are a? wellborn and as well-bred as himself.' George mored uneasily as Miss Clayton said this. • Ib it not true f she asked. I 1 think,' he replied plowly, • that the man who is ashamed of the woman he loves, however humble may be her position—if she is a good and worthy girl— ia a snob.' • Few men would do so,' replied Miss Clayton, thoughtfully. 'In our own family — at least, iv my uncle's family — much misery has been oaused by an unequal marriage.' ' It is better than an unloving one.' 4 Yes ; but if there is no sympathy of pursuits — no bond except what is called love — will it, do you think, last ?' ' It must be founded on something.' 'On many things,' and Miss Clayton, shaking her hnnd<onie head, and laughing lightly. 'There are many elements, as you were s lying about business, necessary for a successful love affair. First and foremost, I should say, being constantly thrown together.' 4 Yet a man may he thrown with a hundred women, and not fall in love with one of them.' 4 Wait till he is long enough and intimately enough. Wait till day by day draws him nearer. I admit, mind, that tint is not always the case ; there are people who unconsciously captivate us from the first; but half the marriages which take place do not arise from this genuine attraction. There is flattery, another strong element ; and vanity, and — well, why disguise it ? — the pomps and vanities of this world.' ' You are speaking of marriages, not love.' 'Half the girls believe themselves in love — yes, half at least ; when circumstances are favourable. They marry, and then ' ' Awake.' • Yes ; I know no sadder sight than a young wife finding out she has made a mistake. She gets used to it, but the bloom and freshness of life has passed nway for ever.' ' She, however, continues to amuse herself generally.' ' Yes, but how ?' ' With those good thing 3 which ladies, as you say, are supposed so often to marry for.' ' There you are hard upon women, I think, Mr Manners.' ' But it is your own .theory. You say half the girls marry because circumstances are favourable ; that is merely a pretty way of telling the truth 1 . They marry the richest man they can succeed in captivating, therefore they have no right to be disappointed at all— they have got what they bargained for.' Miss Clayton sighed. • Yoii do not, perhaps, realise the position of girls without fortunes,' she said. 'Tt is hard, I admit ; but, to my mind, marriages for anything but affection are simply disgusting.' 4 You are very romantic, Mr Manners.' 'I am exactly the reverse, and when you know me better you will find this out ; but I do not call it romantic to have some little higher standard of morality and honour than simply to be for sale to the highest bidder.' •No, indeed.' • 1 You see, I speak from a poor man's point of view,' said George, with a laugh. ' Yes,' answered Miss Clayton, briefly ; ' for her own position had recurred to her mind, and these words of George's were not without influence upon' her. 1 She had, in fact, an admirer — a wdrthy, honourable man, but certainly 'not' a natural object of affection ' for a lovely, blooming young woman like herself." Yet many and many a thrfe had she mentally discussed the propriety of marrying Mr Richard Peel, and' exchanging the dependant position she held in her sister's house for the assured, and comfortable one which he could offer her. Mr Feel was a ' rich man, richer than Mr Mounsey ; richer, in fact, thau any nun of her acquaintance. He had risen to the distinction of having purchased a valuable estate in the neighbourhood of Oldcastle, and has built himself a highly ornamental villa on his new property, and has taken to feed fat cattle, and had also fattened himself in an extraordinary manner, during the la«t few years of his life. But he was a very worthy man — that is, he was honest, upright, a little bit pompous perhaps ; but the man was human, and had originally been of humble estate, »nd he was now very rich. He had been married, but his wife had been dead a few years, and he had no children ; so now in hi 3 sixty-fifth year — a hale, fresh-coloured, white-haired, stout old gentleman — he had begun to think of the ' ladies,' as he called them, for the second time in his life, and was absolutely on the lookout for a wife. Mr Mounsey was his solicitor, and had the highest respect foi 'my friend, Mr Peel.' He knew how much that colliery brought him in annually, and how much this ; he knew of shares, investments, of home«, and of lands ; knew, iv fact, that Mr Peel lived up to about a quarter of his large income, and he wan therefore in favour of his pretentious to his handsome sister-in-law, and had indeed first put Miss Laura Clayton into the rich man's head. So sitting there, talking to George Manners, she remembered Sir Peel and sighed. She remembered that he had been the highest bidder, and that she had thought of him for that very reasou. 4 Yet I call myself a good woman,' she added, mentally ; and as she looked on George's handsome, noble face, she began to think there was aomothing better

worth living for, perhaps, than to be " clothed in purple and fine linen, and to fare sumptuously every day.' 'Johnnie is asleep, Laura,' said Mr Mounsey, re-entering the dining-room on his tiptoes, and speaking in a mysterious whisper ; 'so we must not make the least noise, and mamma, I hope, will be able to see our young friend here in the draw-ing-room presently. You will excuse me leaving you, I am sure, Mr Manners j but a father's feelings, you sco ' 1 Yes,' said George, laughing. "Have you looked round my little collection of pictures yet?' said Mr Mounsey, waving his dinner napkin. ' I hive some little bits which have been — ha !ha! ha ! dear little bits to me. It's an expensive taste, Mr Manners— very ; but it repays one, I think— elevating, Now just look at that ; in this light, sir, in this light — there is a lovely bit of colour. ' | So all rouud the room George had to go, to look at tills favourite or " that, and when they returned to the table Miss Clayton was gone. ' Will you take any more wine ?' said Mr Mounsey, feebly ; and on George answering iii the negative— for apparently Mr Mounsey did not think good wine an 'elevating' investment, like pictures he added, ' then we'll join the ladies.' It was a nice drawing-room $ well furnished, aud with good taste, and Mr Mounsey acted showman to all the pietty knick-knacks there, just as he had done the pictures downstairs. 1 Have you seen this little thing ? Pretty invention, is it not? Laura, have you shown our friend, Mr Manners, the very liandao ne gift I received from our worthy friend, Mr Peel? Real Indian, Mr Manners— yes, a beautiful set— but Mr Peel has no occasion for economy. You know Mr Peel, of Newforth Hall, of course, Mr Manners? A very excellent man, Mr Peel. • He i8 a rich old fellow, isn't he ?' said George. 1 He is a very wealthy gentleman,' replied Mr Mounsey, with dignity, and reddening as he spoke ; ' and he has not arrived at— well, more than middle age. George laughed carelessly. 'Do you sing, Miss Clayton ?' he said. 1 Yes, a little— like I do everything else,' she answered, with a smile, and sat down to the piano at once, and sung in a clear charming voice the first part of a popular ballad ; but before uhe was half through it the door of the room opened and ' mamma' entered, and everything else was immediately put an end to. ' How have jrou left our dear - little boy ?' said Mr Mounsey, relapsing into a whisper at once. • I am astonished, Laura, you would think of singing,' said Mrs Mounsey, severely. ' I heard you upstairs at once. Juet fancy if you had wakened Johnnie, when I have had such trouble to put him to sleep.' 1 Oh, I am very sorry,' said Miss Clayton, rising* at once and leaving the piano ; ' but I forgot Johnnie !' •If you had sat holding him for four hours as I have done, I do not think you would have forgotten — but some people neTer. think of others.' • It was very thoughtless of Laura, certainly,' said Mr Mounsey. ' I would have said unfeeling,' replied mamma. ' I am the culprit,' said George Manners. ' I asked Miss Clayton to sing.' Your dear little nephew had not been nearly killed, Mr Manners,' said Mrs Mounsey. 'No, I must say lam astonished at Laura.' ' I am very sorry,' again said Misi Clayton. ' Oh, well in this world one must expeot selfishness — but, Mr Manners, I must apologise to you. I tried to leave Johnnie, but he would not let me go —he knows who is his best friend, poor child.' 4 Yes, yes, of course, mamma,' said Mr Mounsey ; ' and now suppose we have some tea ?' At tea Mrs Mounsey'd ' little temper' disappeared, and she became very agreeable, mid afterwards proposed that they should play whist. ' Mamma and I must be partners, of course,' said Mr Mounsey, as ho cut the ctnls. 'We must not pait husband and wife, you know, Mr Manneis.' •Do not be tiresome, Mr Mounsey,' siid Mrs Mounsey ; nevertheless she condescended to bo her husband's partner, for he was an excellent player, and they quite understood each other's game ; and George Manners and Miss Clayton rose up at the end of two rubbers each minus ten shilling!). • No matter, ray dear, no matter,' said Mrs Mouusey, with fine delicacy, as her sister opened her slender purse, and began counting out her ton shillings. 1 1 won't be much out of my pocket for you not to pay me, since I shall have to give you it back again.' ' Shall I pay you, Mrs Mounsey V said Georjre feeliug much concern for the burning blush which spread over Miss Okytou's fine skin, as her sister made this little allusion to her dependent position. • Thank you Mr Manners, perhaps that Will best,' replied the lady ; but Mr Mounsey'rt countenance fell, an he saw himself thus deprived of hid legitimate gain, and his eyes followed covetously the naif-sovereign which Mr Manners handed across the table. ' Ring for the wine, Laura,' said Mrs Mouusey, aud on tin's hint Mr Manuers rose, and bid farewell to his entertainers. " I hopo when you return from Russia we fiequently may have the ah 1 pleasure iv seeing you,' saifl Mr Moum-ey. ' Mamma, lam sure you hope 80 also ?' , ' Yes ; I shall have muoh pleasure in seeing Mr Manners, Mr Mounsey. 1 ' And — ah — what is it now ? Caviare — I'm fond of caviare. If you should see any good, Mr Manners would you mind bringing over a jar ?' • Very well,' answered George. ' I'm fond of it — a good relish — a good relish : I like a relibh — and what's a dinner if one has no relish PDo you take ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! — not bad. ' Mr Monnaey, you will wake Johnny,' said Mra Mounsey, repressively ; for Mr Mounsey was laughing very loudly over his own joke. 'To be sure— dear little boy — thank you, mamma, for reminding me ; I forgot for a moment our little invalid ; but you won't forget the caviare, Mr Manners ?' ' No— and have you no commission for me in the far North, Miss Clayton ?' said George holding out his hand to say goodbye. ' No I think not,' answered Bliss Clayton, ' but I trust you will enjoy your visit, and return safely. ' I thank you very much,' said George heartily ; and as he walked home through the streets he thought of Miss Laura Clayton with great admiration. 'She is a charming woman,' he thought, ' a charming woman, and very handsome ;' and he felt all the better for her society. Her cheerful good-nature, under annoyances, which cren as a stranger, he could not but see ; and her kind, genial disposition, which shone forth in every glance of her bright eyes, made him almost ashamed of his own gloom and discontent. • I daresay, popr girl, she has had her troubles too,' reflected George; 'has them now, by Jove. I would fling a decanter at that old fool's head a hundred times a day if I were her ; yet how sunny she is, and apparently how happyShe's a good girl, I daresay — that's it ; she wouldn't make a fellow unhappy as I am.' He met her in the streets two days

afterwards, as he wai returning from hi* office, and stopped to inquire about the fate of Master Johnny. 1 Oh, he is much better, said Miss Clayton; 'he is downstairs again. And so you have not started yet !' • No, but I go to-morrow.' ' And when will you be back ?' • In a year, perhaps,' said George rather grimly. ' So long as that ?' and she gave ever »o faint a sigh. ' Shall I find you in Oldcastle when I come back ?' said George. 1 Yes, I suppose so,' replied Miss Clayton ; and then her thoughts wandered to Mr Peel and Nowforth Hall. She was wondering if the next meeting would be there. ' Aro yon going home ?' asked George. elf so, I will turn with you, if you will allow me.' • Thanks, I shall 'be very glad,' answered Miss Clayton; and so they walked on together, George wishing to forget perhaps his unfortunate attachment in this new attraction, and Miss Clayton wishing, it may be, that her friend Mr Peel was young aud handsomeas he was. ' I wonder if wo shall ever meet again ?' she said, as they drew near Windsorstreet. • A year is a great pfece' .out, of one's life, after all ; what may not happed before then !' ' ' But it may not be so long,' replied (}"orge. 'I «as speaking rather wildly when I said that ; the fact is, Miss Clayton, I dou't care to be in England just now, 1 'Something has annoyed you?' 1 Worse than annoyed me, I want to come back not quite such a disagreeable fellow as I am now. ' I noticed the other night when you came in you did not look very bright.' ' I did not want to come,' said George, with a sort of laugh ; • that's the truth, Miss Clayton. I did not teel up to it ; but I enjoyed myself, thanks to you, and I hope we shall meet again some time.' ' I hope so ; and will you forgive me saying something? I think we often make ourselves very unhappy about those who are not worthy of it.' 'Most unworthy. Yes, that's what enrages we with myself, I can't help having feelings which I utterly despise.' • Of regret ?' ' Yes, of regret for what, if it were offered to me, I would not take ; and if I did take, would make me miserable or mad.' 1 And yet you miss it ?' ' How can a man re-make his life ? Suppose he has fixed on one thing— one woman, say, as his ideal of what a woman should bbande — and he finds she is not. Yet can be begin it all over again ? — have a fresh lov e, Miss Claytou, while the old one still lies withering up his heart ?' I You have strong feelings.' ' Ye 3, unfortunately, and I envy those who— but we won't talk of it,' said George, with an im patient jerk of his head ; and then he added, quickly, as if eager to change the conversation, ' How | do you like Oldcastle, you have never told me.' I 1 should not fix on it, I think, if I were making choice of a home.' •It is dull, it is dark, it is dirty,' said George, ' yet I U9ed to grind away here happy enough. I daresay there are many people who think it the jolliest place ou earth.' 'You mean because thpir happiness lies in it.' ' Yes ; and they are happy who can say in what it does lie. 1 ' And can you not ?' 'No ; for I used to think it would lie in what now it never can ; but here we are at Mr Mouusey's. Good-bye, Miss Clayton. I trust some time or other we shall meet again.' 'Good-bye,' said Laura; and she held our her hand, and looked at him earnestly, ' Good-bye, Mr Manners ; and when you come back, you must leave your care behind you, remember,' 'Yes,' said George, with an uneasy laugh ; and he once more shook her hand. ' Tell Mr Mounsey I won't forget the caviare,' he added ; and then he took off his hat, and went on his way ; but for a moment Miss Clayton stood on her brother-in-law's steps, and looked after him as he went. ' What a fine face he has,' she thought; ' and a noble heart, too, or I'm much mistaken. What is he grieving about, I wonder? Ah, she would be a happy woman whom George Manners Joyed?' The next day he started on his journey for St. Petersburg, and Miss Clayton went on with her accustomed life, only she grew colder to Mr Peel ; so much colder that that gentleman asked Mr Mounsey 'if unconsciously he had given any offence to his fair sister-in-law.' (To be continued.)