A Born Coquette

Chapter I

' Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town.' ' I'm done wid ye ! I'm done wid ye ! I wash me hands of ye!' says Mr Murphy, shaking those withered appendages Avildly in the air in mingled wrath and grief. That he is the ancient butler, and they the junior members of the family in which he has served for years untold, does not in the least detract from the dignity of this denunciation. ' But, Murphy/ begins William with a sort of muffled roar. ' Hould yer tongue, sir ! I declare, Masther William, I wondher ye aren't dead wid the shame. To go poachin' ! poachin' ! mind ye! in the middle of July ; an' to be found out ! Oh ! musha, but 'tis I'm the miserable man this day/ 'But, Murphy!' begins William again, the roar now a resounding one, and the fresh young face crimson with mortification, as he notes the condemnatory glances of the brothers and sisters round him. ' I wasn't poaching, I was only — ' ' Tell that to the marines/ says Mr Murphy with great scorn — 'tell it to the Colonel!

He'll prosecute ye, as sure as fate. Oh, the divil a lie in it ! He'll A be down upon ye Avid a paper that'll put ye in prison before ye've time to turn in yer bed this night.' At this Henjy, the smallest child, gives Avay to loud lamentations, and, flinging himself bodily upon William, encircles him Avith arms and legs. It is, indeed, marvellous the manner in which he succeeds in twisting these latter portions of his body. Truly it would be a bold policeman who could carry off William to a noisome cell, Avith those tender fetters to protect him. ' I'm telling you,' cries William furiously, addressing Murphy, but speaking rather more furiously, per haps, because of certain pinchings from Henjy's eager little fingers, ' that it was by the purest accident I knocked down that partridge. I was jumping over a fence, and — ' ' 'Tis fifty year I've been in this house/ says Mr Murphy, Avith a noble disregard of the fact that any one is speaking except himself. ' Fifty year come last March, I've had the rarin' an' the bringin' up of ye all ; an' mighty little do I see to me credit.' Here he shakes his head, as though he would shake the dust out of it against them. ' 'Tis biddin' ye good bye I'll be the day, I'm thinkin'.' This threat is so appalling, so ever so much worse than the suggestion that a prison will be the probable end of William, that a very chorus of sobs arises from the youthful Delaneys.

A dismal howling irritates the air. It irritates Gladys likewise. ' Oh, hush ! ' cries she, with all the vigour of sixteen, stamping her foot upon the ground. ' Let us hear the truth ; really and truly, William, I do think, con sidering you knew Colonel Hume was expected home at any moment, that you might have kept out of his woods/ ' Oh, of course, there you go ! You are all down upon me like a hundred of bricks,' cries the wronged William, with indignant emphasis. ' And not one of you knoAv anything about it. And I can tell you this, Murphy, that I Avon't stand any more of your ' ' There's the masther upstairs like a rantin', ragin' lion, and yer sisther, the crathure, smothered in tears!' begins Mr Murphy all over again, as if driven to it by this touch of insubordination. ' Oh, murther ! why is it ye do these things at all, at all ?

An' all for the sake of a bird ! Bad cess to them feathery fools, say I, that can't keep out of anyone's way; there's nayther luck nor grace in them.' ' Why, Avhat have the partridges done?' asks Gladys, taking this time the side of the accused. ' It seems rather unfair to put it all down upon them! ' They'll put Masther William in quod. That's me opinion,' says Mr Murphy, in a sepulchral tone. ' What's the matter, what's happened now ? ' asks a charming voice. It belongs to a charming body; Miss Delaney number two, coming quickly into the room, looks inquiringly at Murphy. 'An' haven't ye heard, miss?' says that veteran, directing all his attention to her. ' Sure here's Masther William has been up in the wood beyant ; but spake for yerself, sir.' ' I would, if you'd let me/ cries William, with great wrath. ' Look here, Pen : I went up to Hume Woods this morning, and just as I Avas jumping over a wall, a partridge started up beneath my feet, and I had a stick in my hand, and — er- — I don't know how it happened, but, all in a moment like, the partridge was lying there dead.

And just as I was picking it up — only to look at it, you know — a fellow came over the wall near me, calling out and yelling like mad, so f — er — I took to my heels and ran home, and — ' ' Where's the partridge ? ' asks Penelope smartly. ' I left it there. I didn't know ; I assure you I — ' ' Oh, fool ! ' cries she ; ' it Avould have been just the thing for Nan's luncheon ! ' The demoralisation betrayed in this speech is evidently too much for Murphy. With a reproachful glance at Miss Penelope, he turns to leave the room. ' Where are you going, Murphy ? Wait a second/ cries Penelope ; ' what a hurry you're in ! Does father know ? ' ' Arrah, what a question now ! Is there anything he doesn't know, in spite of his maunderin' over those books of his ? Sure I'm tellin' them he's like a tearin' bear.

Yes, yellow in the jaws wid anger. An' I wondher at ye, Miss Penelope, encouragin' of Masther William, when ye know what sort the ould Colonel is, and that he's as likely as not to make the deuce's own fuss over that bird.' 'Does Miss Nan know?' asks Penelope quickly. ' Ay, faith; that imp in the kitchen tould her. An' she's frettin' herself to fiddle-strings over it/ ' Oh, that's too bad ! And she looked so Avell this morning; just like her old self. Murphy, go up and tell her it doesn't matter. She will really mind you/ ' She will, the crathure,' says Mr Murphy compla cently, accepting this tribute to his charms with a modest grace. ' I'll go to her, I'm thinkin', an' talk it over.' ' And don't forget to mention the prison and the policeman ; that'll cheer her up,' cries William wrath sully, launching this shaft as the old man reaches the door.

Mr Murphy turns a withering glance on him, but scorns to speak. Not so those left behind. As Murphy disappears, they all turn and pour forth a very flood of eloquence upon the luckless William.

Chapter II

' The world is a picture both gloomy and bright, And grief is the shadow, and pleasure the light, And neither should smother the general tone ; For where were the other if either were gone ? ' All ! There are indeed a great many of them. Considerably too many for the slender income that is left to the present Delaneys out of the goodly heri tage of their forefathers. The old blood might show itself, and did, in the charming faces of the girls, the delightful bonhomie of the boys that claimed all men as friends ; but there Avas very little to clothe the good blood or throw out the beauty of the girls. But if they Avere poor, they were pleasant, as Bartle, the eldest boy, Avould have said, and certainly they are the pleasantest, the happiest-going lot in all that country-side. From Nan (the head of the family, now the poor mother is dead), pretty Nan, who is nineteen, down to little Henry, aged five — better known in the family circle as Henjy — there is not one of them but has in her or him ' a merry note.' Living in this old barrack of a place called Rath more, Avith its spacious halls and high vaulted chambers, badly or only half furnished, they cling together like the last leaves on a dying oak, and in spite of overwhelming difficulties still contrive to hold their handsome heads high, and to be ' a power in the land/ if only for their name's sake.

That good old name ! That money is scarce with them in so very evident that people have forgotten to comment upon it. And as for the girls, they always, one way or another, manage to look irreproachable. In their cotton frocks — their washing flannels — their innocence of all such luxuries as silks and satins and laces, that help so many to an admirable settlement, they still con trive to conquer life and make it bearable. With their delicate heads and dainty air, and slender figures, and pretty, white adorable hands, they show — as old Murphy puts it — 'the good dhrop' all through, and are unmistakably all that they should be. Perhaps it is a pity that there are quite so many of them — so many mouths to feed, so many lovely bodies to be clothed ; this thought might undoubtedly suggest itself to an outsider, looking on the ruin of a good old estate and with a plan for its renovation, but to them, never.

Just two or three less Avould have made the others so very much easier in many little ways, but those two or three — Who would be will ing to give them up — to sacrifice them for the public good ? First comes Nan, and then Penelope, and after that Bartle, and then pretty, tall, awkward Gladys, who is hardly old enough to make one sure Avhether she will be only an ordinary Delaney (which wouldn't be so bad) or one of the extraordinarily beautiful ones. Then comes William, aged thirteen, and after him, with quite a long lapse for the Delaneys, Nolly (Norah), who is eight, and little Henjy. Enough in all to make any honestly poor man dream incon tinently of a general suicide that should put an end to those complexities so certain to occur. But Mr Delaney is one of those people Avho, as it happens (more often, perhaps, than one likes to think), cares little for the future.

It is, indeed, so extremely narrowed a time for him now that perhaps he may be excused for not thinking about it at all ; but however it may be, Delaney, as a father, hardly shines. His children's prospects affect him so vaguely that really the matter need scarcely be mentioned ; given two rooms to Avhich no one has ingress — his books, his pens, his paper — he declines to trouble himself about such trivial matters as children, servants, household arrangement and bills. These to him are the smaller, the impossible things of life. The death of his Avife, on the birth of Henjy, Avas perhaps more or less an unacknoAvledged relief to him. He certainly betrayed no positive grief on her demise — only a decorous calm, that impressed many, and did quite as Avell as the usual thing, even better, being of a higher class, as it Avere, and charmingly reserved : and even afterwards, Avhen the Avorld's eyes were off him, he so far decently conducted himself as to show only a subdued joy in the fact that his solitude should now for the future be un broken.

Of all the girls, Penelope is certainly the loveliest. Where beauty runs riot and to spare, this is much to say ; and yet, in justice, I must confess that there are two or three unsatisfied ones who deny her right to supremacy in this important matter. Yet to impeach the charms of Penelope is to own one's self a dullard. The peach-bloom of her complexion ; the exquisite, tender, appealing expression in her eye of Irish blue ; her soft, sweet mouth, that is yet not without deter mination — not without a suspicion of the Delaney temper ; her pretty, long slender neck, on which her charming head sits so haughtily — that head crowned Avith hair that, like Rossetti's ' Blessed Damozel's/ is 'yellow like ripe corn/ all make her as lovely and lovable a creature as one might Avish to see. As for Gladys, as I have said, she is still in that nondescript state when one would hesitate Avhether those undecided features might or might not prove perfection possible.

Bartle, Avho is a year older than her, is as good-looking a youth at seventeen as any sister desirous of escort at ball or party could reasonably demand ; William V., as they call him, is dis tinctly ugly, though ' in a rather distinguished Avay,' says his aunt, Mrs Manly, who lives about two miles away from them. As for little Nolly and Henjy — why, who can describe a child ? is it not all written in the book of — Descriptions are tiresome. Who reads them, I wonder? For my own part, I always skip them. Blue or black eyes, yellow or brown hair, a nose retroussee or a Grecian nose — all convey nothing. I can imagine a face easily enough for the heroine, and another for the hero ; the house, the grounds, the cosy nook where the final loving scene is laid, the ghastly, dimly-lit room Avhere the murder is accomplished, the station where the runaways meet, the sylvan groves, the flowery gardens, the earwiggy bowers where the unhappy lovers pour out their griefs in dulcet tones one to another, all are plain ; Avhy, then, Avaste time over descriptions of them ?

Still, a word for Murphy. Dear old man ! The fortunes of the Delaneys, it may well be said, are his, for so long has he followed them from better to worse through a course of fifty years. On the marriage of his present master to the gentle, loving creature who, in a luckless moment, had con sented to link her fate Avith his, Murphy had gone over straightway and enlisted himself under her banner. No length of service in the Delaney family could prevent his seeing Avhere justice lay, and giving his allegiance to the Aveaker side. Her kindly smile, her delicate ways, her nervous glance — the fact, so evident, that she was forlorn in many Avays — all con tributed to make Murphy her slave. He had been as devoted to her as though she had been his own kith and kin ; and Avhen the babies began to come (and there Avere so many of them), Avith all the natural love of children ingrained in the character of the Irish peasant, he had accepted them too, one by one, and given to each unit a corner of his bachelor heart.

Each and every one was his own special charge. He had, as it Avere, amalgamated himself with the family, given himself up to it body and mind, so much so that the poor woman, Avhen dying, and not altogether reluctant to leave a land where she had knoAvn more sorrow than joy, called for him, and into the humble butler's hands, not the husband's, committed the keeping of her children. Murphy, in his own queer way, had been true to the trust. He lived with them and for them : he, always the servant ; they, the young masters and mistresses. But somehow this surrender of himself had made itself felt ; boys and girls had ever turned to Murphy for advice, for comfort, for sympathy, for toffy, for support in any emergency, for small coin, for (later on this) an ample admiration — the one article, I am bound to say, that in this store was not purchasable.

Murphy Avas a stern enemy of vanity in every form. Even now, Avhen Nan is nineteen, and therefore a person to be considered, there is a sort of feeling running all through the gaunt old mansion, from garret to basement, that Murphy is the one member of the household to whom allegiance is due. As for the father — Mr Delaney — The Delaney, as he is, if he would but choose to air that title, suggestive of Ireland only — is nothing more just now than a dull old man. Sufficiently dull, indeed, to be obstinate, irritable, and unbearable on occasions. He had learned, even be fore his marriage, to be cantankerous, and almost hypochondriacal. What possessed the pretty woman he married to marry him is a question that even now puzzles her relatives. Old as he is, however, he is still very much alive — 'annoyingly so,' says the aunt aforementioned, with an agressive sniff.

Though close on eighty, and re markably close, too, to the end of his income, he still clings to life Avith a tenacity — I had almost said a vindictiveness — extraordinary; one not to be sur passed. To the everlasting comfort of his family, however, he abhors society, and closets himself alone all day and night in that suite of apartments he has chosen for his own. It is rather from his ancestors than from him that the children have inherited their beauty. Not but that there are good points in his face, or might have been before solitude and selfishness devoured them all. The Delaneys, as a rule, had been famed for their good looks, but very few of them can be traced in the last head of that handsome family. His eyes are almond-shaped, a charm in some, but in The Delaney not so. It gives him, on the contrary, a sinister expression.

His nose is long. ' Fit to pick a pipe,' according to Mr Murphy, Avho, though respectful when brought face to face with his master, still holds him in a withering contempt. All the old Delaneys were fox-hunting, 'divil may care,' brilliant, lively companions or masters ; but this one — ' What on the airth ails him, at all, at all ? ' says Mr Murphy periodically, as he dusts the books of the recluse, and sighs over the good days gone. In truth, Mr Delaney is not one to care for, or to regard with vehement affection. He has an objectionable way of snuffling, and of saying ' Tcha — tcha/ as if sneezing like a cat, when brought face to face Avith a disagreeable situation, that hardly endears him to his associates. If he Avas softly innocent with these unpleasant peculiarities, one might forgive him, but, as I have said, he is wonderfully wide aAvake. ' The divil wouldn't be up to him/ says Mr Murphy, in those in frequent moments when he finds time for soliloquies, and a patient introspection of his acquaintances and intimates.

Chapter III

' Dark was her hair, her hand was white, Her voice was exquisitely tender ; Her eyes were full of liquid light, I never saw a waist so slender ! Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows ; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, And wondered where she left her sparrows.' Murphy goes slowly up the stairs in search of his young mistress. The fact that she has only just recovered from a long and dangerous fever lends leisure to his step, and twenty times during his short journey does he curse the ' hussy ' in the kitchen Avho had let Miss Nan know of her brother's dilemma. But once having knocked at her door and gained admission, his courage returns. ' Arrah, Miss Nan, an' what are ye doing that for now ? ' says he, tender reproach in his tone. Miss Nan, thus addressed, gives a last dab of her handkerchief to her pretty eyes, and rises from the old lounge, on which she had cast herself in a sort of pretty despair half an hour ago.

In her weak state of health, it had seemed to her that all things were going wrong with them, when the ' hussy ' imparted to her the news of William's adventure Avith the partridge. As she comes quickly towards Murphy, the dazzling light of the July sunshine flings itself through the window, and on to her face. It isn't anything like so pretty as Penelope's, but there is an espieglerie — a suspicion of sauciness, of sweetness, of gaiety, of temper ; all now, however, toned by severe illness — that attracts. Her nose has a decided tilt upAvards, her mouth is somewhat large ; but what has that got to do with it ? The nose has a character of its own, and a very good one, too, in spite of that tilt ; and the mouth is perfectly adorable, ever prone to laughter, or to grief, or to anger, or some such SAvift change ; and her eyes, soft, dark, and grey, are a heaven in themselves.

If you could see her, you would know how superfluous it is to add that almost every young man in the county is in love with her. Her pretty nut-brown locks have been shorn by some cruel barber, and the charming shapely head has now only little short ringlets, sunny here and there, to cover it. But it is a head nevertheless to be envied. With a very tearful glance, she comes towards old Murphy, and lays her slender fingers in a nervous grasp upon his arm. ' Don't ye now ! Don't ye, my dear ! ' says that kind if somewhat obsolete old person. ' Oh, how can I help it, Murphy? You know what a trouble that boy always is, and no one to keep him in order. You can see for yourself what little use father is — only made to curse and swear at us.' ' Don't ye now ! Don't ye now again, my dear ! ' says Mr Murphy imploringly. ' Why not ?

Why shouldn't I say it ? I declare I'm sure he was born only to curse at the lot of us, and if Colonel Hume should take notice of this fault of Master William's, I really don't know how Ave shall ever be able to hold up our heads again ; and you tell me you have seen the Colonel — that he — ' 'Oh, law! yes, miss. Faix, 'tis well I remimber him, an' ivery cause I had to do it. It seems to me as if I could see him this minit, an' a bigger ould blagguard ye wouldn't meet in a day's walk. There wasn't the like of him from this to Dublin. The divil all out he was, miss, askin' yer pardon. A reg'lar tyrant ! But/ Avith quite a grand air, suggestive of very advanced socialistic vie\A's, ' sure tyrants must fall ! ' ' But oh, Murphy ! ' cries pretty Nan miserably, ' if the Colonel should go to extremes — if he should summon Master William — what should we do ?

Think of the disgrace of it ! ' ' Arrah ! have sinse, miss. Where's the disgrace, I'd like to knoAv ? ' says Murphy grandly, filled with a desire to allay the fears he has so steadily raised. ' What's a boy born for but to play the divil wherever he goes ? Why, look here, miss, if you'll just let me show you how it Avas, you'll understand the innocence of that poor misjudged Masther William ! ' Oh, if William could only have heard him ! ' I wouldn't care,' says Miss Delaney, with a little half-sob, ' if it had been the first time ; but William is always doing this sort of thing. You knoAv, Murphy, it is only a fortnight since he got into disgrace about those woods before/ ' Sure you knoAv noAv, miss, that Avas only about a melancholy rabbit.' ' It doesn't matter what it was. He has been told the whole place is preserved, and that he is not to enter those Avoods, yet he will obey nobody.' ' Faix, that's thrue for ye/ says Mr Murphy, rubbing his chin. 'Masther William, I admit, is no thrate Avherever he goes, but, sure, afther all he must live ; an' as I Avas sayin' awhile ago, miss, ye must make allowances for thim boys.

They were born to tor mint ! But as for the rabbits ! Look here now, miss, an' I'll put it all straight before ye. Why, here's a boy, let us say/ illustrating this remark by throwing abroad his horny hand towards a bookcase, where surely no boy stands, ' an' here's the rabbit sittin' up as bould as brass upon his furry end ; and for a minute or so the two poor innocent crathures keep starin' at each other as if their eyes was glued to the spot. An' presently up gets the rabbit an' cuts across the grass like mad, for the bare life of him, an' aAvay, most naturally, goes the boy afther him, an' the divil such a game ever ye see, what wid the yellin's an' the tumblin's an' everything ! An' afther a bit down pops the rabbit into a hole, an' down pops the boy on his knees an' begins to grub away the airth like a good one ; an' thin, mind ye, there comes in a wee bit of a tarrier thing.

I b'lieve I forgot to mintion him, miss, but sure ye know him — Masther William's own tarrier — a most innocent, harmless crathure, as ye'll acknowledge yerself, and a crathure born an' brought up on the premises, an' mild as new milk, an' widout iver so much as a bit of flesh taken out of one of the childher's calves.' Here Mr Murphy, as if overcome by the strength of his OAvn argument, pauses, and throws up his head Avith an expressive gesture. ' Well ? ' says Nan involuntarily. ' Well, miss, the small tarrier, as is only the nature of the poor little honest baste, runs down the hole to say, " How d'ye do ? " to the rabbit, an' presently, so pressin' is his attintions that up comes the rabbit, an' at the same moment up comes the boy's stick, an' down agin wid a good crack across the rabbit's back, an' — An' why not?' demands Mr Murphy, though, probably, he had not intended to finish his history in this way. ' What are they made for but to be killed ?

What on airth are they, afther all, but sinseless bits of fur, good for naught, an' death on dacent turnips ? Arrah ! bad scran, say I, to those who would thry to stop the sport of one of the finest young gintlemen in Ireland !' Oh, that William could but have heard him ! ' I'm afraid notice will be taken of this last offence/ says Miss Delaney ; ' and the master — he is so angry. I hardly know what to do.' 'He'll cool down, miss. Haven't ye got a new book at all, at all, that ye could presint to him? 'TAvould be as good as a cowld bath to him.' ' I feel as if I could bear anything but one of father's attacks/ says Nan tearfully. ' Don't be frightened, my dear. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll spake to him,' says Mr Murphy, with a grandeur that hardly, however, impresses his listener. ' What can he say, afther all ? ' with a note in his voice that is suggestive of the idea that he is trying to back himself up that is hardly sustaining to the other culprit. ' The masther has a wonderful gift of the gab, I own, when once roused ; but his bark is worse than his bite, an' if things can be soothered down a bit — ' He pauses and looks at Nan, and then all at once his rage breaks forth. ' Why, thin, Avho on airth could be the ignorant divil Avho tould on that boy? ' cries he. 'There's neither luck nor grace in Avhoever 'twas.

I Avouldn't be Mike Twoomeynow, if — ' ' Oh no, no ! Have you not heard that it is a neAv keeper, an Englishman, who has charge of the pre serves now?' ' Och, murther ! That's bad ! There's no gettin' over them English chaps ! ' says Mr Murphy, bringing up his hand once more to his chin, and beginning to scrape it thoughtfully. 'Well, noAv, miss, an' Avhy don't ye sind Masther William up to the house to beg the Colonel's pardon ? Masther William, though I confess he isn't as handsome as a Delaney should be, has a twinkle in that left eye of his that Avould coax the birds off the bushes.' ' He's been coaxing one bird too many,' says Nan, as though she couldn't help it. 'Ay, faith!' says Mr Murphy with a grin. 'But about his going to the Colonel, miss? That would be a step in the right direction, eh?' ' I wonder would he go,' says Miss Delaney, brightening visibly, but speaking with a rather de pressing uncertainty.

Evidently, William is a person not to be easily managed. ' Sure ye knoAv now, Miss Nan, he couldn't refuse you anything,' says Murphy boldly, though he him self is imvardly far from sure. ' I'm thinkin' I'll go an' speak to him about it, an' sind him here to ye.' ' Do, Murphy ; and — and in case he Avon't go, Murphy, I think I'll go myself. Eh? The old Colonel cant be so bad that he couldn't be brought to see that a boy might do a thing like that, and yet not be so very much to blame.' ' He might, miss. He might indeed. Troth, he'd be a great blagguard if he couldn't see that.' There is, however, a note of doubt in Mr Murphy's voice that belies his spoken sentiments. Plainly in his opinion the Colonel is a great ' blagguard.' ' But I'm bound to tell ye, miss, that in my day there wasn't a bigger tyrant out than that ould Colonel.