Chapter 77
"Pray, do you join the town in its gratuitous opinion that Henry Ashley, of all in it, is the proudest amid the proud?"
"I do not find you proud," said William.
"You! As far as you and I are concerned, I think the boot might be on the other leg. You might set up for being proud over me."
William could not help laughing. "Putting joking aside, my opinion is, Henry, that your shyness and sensitiveness are in fault; not your pride.
It is your reserved manner alone which has caused Helstonleigh to take up the impression that you are unduly proud."
"Right, old fellow!" returned Henry in emphatic tones. "If you knew how far I and pride stand apart--but let it pa.s.s."
Arrived at the entrance to Mr. Ashley's, William threw open the gate for Henry, retreating himself. "I must go home first, Henry. I won't be a quarter of an hour."
Henry looked cross. "Why on earth, then, did you not go in as we pa.s.sed?
What was the use of your coming up here to go back again?"
"I thought my arm was helping you."
"So it was. But--there! don't be an hour."
As William walked rapidly back, he met Mrs. Ashley's carriage. She and Mary were in it. Mrs. Ashley nodded as he raised his hat, and Mary glanced at him with a smile and a heightened colour. She had grown up to excessive beauty.
A few moments, and William met beauty of another style--Anna Lynn. Her cheeks were the flushed, dimpled cheeks of her childhood; the same sky-blue eyes gleaming from between their long dark lashes; the same profusion of silky, brown hair; the same gentle, sweetly modest manners.
William stopped to shake hands with her.
"Out alone, Anna?"
"I am on my way to take tea with Mary Ashley."
"Are you? We shall meet there, then."
"That will be pleasant. Fare thee well for the present, William."
She continued her way. William ran in home, and to his chamber. Dressing himself hastily, he went to the room where his mother sat, and stood before her.
"Does my coat fit me, mother?"
"Why, where are you going?" she asked.
"To Mrs. Ashley's. I have put on my new coat. Does it do? It seems
"Yes, it fits you exactly. I think you are growing a dandy. Go along. I must not look at you too long."
"Why not?" he asked in surprise.
"In case I grow proud of my eldest son. And I would rather be proud of his goodness than of his looks."
William laughingly gave his mother a farewell kiss. "Tell Gar I am sorry he will not have me at his elbow this evening, to find fault with his Greek. Good-bye, mother dear."
In truth, there was something remarkably n.o.ble in William Halliburton's appearance. As he entered Mrs. Ashley's drawing-room, the fact seemed to strike upon Henry with unusual force, who greeted him from his distant sofa.
"So that's what you went back for!--to turn yourself into a buck!" he called out as William approached him. "As if you were not well enough before! Did you dress for me, pray?"
"For you!" laughed William. "That's good!"
"In saying 'me,' I include the family," returned Henry quaintly.
"There's no one else to dress for."
"Yes, there is. There's Anna Lynn."
Now, in good truth, William had no covert meaning in giving this answer.
The words rose to his lips, and he spoke them lightly. Perhaps he could have given a very different one, had he been compelled to speak out the inmost feeling of his heart. Strange, however, was the effect on Henry Ashley. He grasped William's arm with emotion, and pulled his face down to him as he lay.
"What do you say? What do you mean?"
"I mean nothing in particular. Anna _is_ here."
"You shall not evade me," gasped Henry. "I must have it out, now or later. WHAT is it that you mean?"
William stood, almost confounded. Henry was evidently in painful excitement; every vestige of colour had forsaken his sensitive countenance, and his white hands shook as they held William.
"What do _you_ mean?" William whispered. "I said nothing to agitate you thus, that I am aware of. Are we at cross-purposes?"
A spot, bright as carmine, began to flush into the invalid's pale cheeks, and he moved his face so that the light did not fall upon it.
"I'll have it out, I say. What is Anna Lynn to you?"
"Nothing," answered William, a smile parting his lips.
"What is she to you?" reiterated Henry, his tone painfully earnest.
William edged himself on to the sofa, so as to cover Henry from the gaze of any eyes that might be directed to him from the other parts of the room. "I like Anna very much," he said in a clear, low tone; "almost as I might like a sister; but I have no love for her, in the sense you would imply--if I am not mistaking your meaning. And I never shall have."
Henry looked at him wistfully. "On your honour?"
"Henry! was there need to ask it? On my honour, if you will."
"No, no; there was no need: you are always truthful. Bear with me, William! bear with my infirmities."
"My sister Anna Lynn might be, and welcome. My wife never."
Henry did not answer. His face was growing damp with physical pain.
"You have one of your fits of suffering coming on!" breathed William.
"Shall I get you anything?"
"Hus.h.!.+ only sit there, to hide me from them: and be still."
William did as he was requested, sitting so as to screen him from Mrs.