"You didn't expect to ask me to marry you," she said. "And I didn't expect you to"--
"But now"--he broke in impatiently.
"Now--I wish you hadn't done it."
"You wish"--
"You don't want _me_," she said. "You want somebody meeker,--somebody who would respect you very much, and obey you. I'm not used to obeying people."
"Do you mean also that you would not respect me?" he inquired bitterly.
"Oh," she replied, "you haven't respected me much!"
"Excuse me"--he began, in his loftiest manner.
"You didn't respect me enough to think me worth marrying," she said. "I was not the kind of girl you would have chosen of your own will."
"You are treating me unfairly!" he cried.
"You were going to give me a great deal, I suppose--looking at it in your way," she went on; "but, if I _wasn't_ exactly what you wanted, I had something to give too. I'm young enough to have a good many years to live; and I should have to live them with you, if I married you. That's something, you know."
He rose from his seat pale with wrath and wounded feeling.
"Does this mean that you refuse me?" he demanded, "that your answer is 'no'?"
She rose, too--not exultant, not confused, neither pale nor flushed. He had never seen her prettier, more charming, or more natural.
"It would have been 'no,' even if there hadn't been any obstacle,"
she answered.
"Then," he said, "I need say no more. I see that I have--humiliated myself in vain; and it is rather bitter, I must confess."
"It wasn't my fault," she remarked.
He stepped back, with a haughty wave of the hand, signifying that she should pass out of the arbor before him.
She did so; but just as she reached the entrance, she turned, and stood for a second, framed in by the swinging vines and their blossoms.
"There's another reason why it should be 'no,'" she said. "I suppose I may as well tell you of it. I'm engaged to somebody else."
CHAPTER XXVI.
"JACK."
The first person they saw, when they reached the lawn, was Mr. Dugald Binnie, who had deigned to present himself, and was talking to Mr.
Burmistone, Lucia, and Miss Belinda.
"I'll go to them," said Octavia. "Aunt Belinda will wonder where I have been."
But, before they reached the group, they were intercepted by Lord Lansdowne; and Barold had the pleasure of surrendering his charge, and watching her, with some rather sharp pangs, as she was borne off to the conservatories.
"What is the matter with Mr. Barold?" exclaimed Miss Pilcher. "Pray look at him."
"He has been talking to Miss Octavia Bassett, in one of the arbors," put in Miss Lydia Burnham. "Emily and I passed them a few minutes ago, and they were so absorbed that they did not see us. There is no knowing what has happened."
"Lydia!" exclaimed Mrs. Burnham, in stern reproof of such flippancy.
But, the next moment, she exchanged a glance with Miss Pilcher.
"Do you think"--she suggested. "Is it possible"--
"It really looks very like it," said Miss Pilcher; "though it is scarcely to be credited. See how pale and angry he looks."
Mrs. Burnham glanced toward him, and then a slight smile illuminated her countenance.
"How furious," she remarked cheerfully, "how furious Lady Theobald will be!"
Naturally, it was not very long before the attention of numerous other ladies was directed to Mr. Francis Barold. It was observed that he took no share in the festivities, that he did not regain his natural air of enviable indifference to his surroundings,--that he did not approach Octavia Bassett until all was over, and she was on the point of going home. What he said to her then, no one heard.
"I am going to London to-morrow. Good-by."
"Good-by," she answered, holding out her hand to him. Then she added quickly, in an under-tone, "You oughtn't to think badly of me. You won't, after a while."
As they drove homeward, she was rather silent, and Miss Belinda remarked it.
"I am afraid you are tired, Octavia," she said. "It is a pity that Martin should come, and find you tired."
"Oh! I'm not tired. I was only--thinking. It has been a queer day."
"A queer day, my dear!" ejaculated Miss Belinda. "I thought it a charming day."
"So it has been," said Octavia, which Miss Belinda thought rather inconsistent.
Both of them grew rather restless as they neared the house.
"To think," said Miss Belinda, "of my seeing poor Martin again!"
"Suppose," said Octavia nervously, as they drew up, "suppose they are here--already."
"They?" exclaimed Miss Belinda. "Who"--but she got no farther. A cry burst from Octavia,--a queer, soft little cry. "They are here," she said: "they are! Jack--Jack!"
And she was out of the carriage; and Miss Belinda, following her closely, was horrified to see her caught at once in the embrace of a tall, bronzed young man, who, a moment after, drew her into the little parlor, and shut the door.
Mr. Martin Bassett, who was big and sunburned, and prosperous-looking, stood in the passage, smiling triumphantly.