The Wooing of Phyllis

Front matter

BY KATHARINE E. COLEMAN GAY AND BIRD 22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND LONDON 1896 AU rights reserved CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE FIRST DAY OF SUMMER HOLIDAYS, ... 1 II. JIM'S HOME-COMING, 10 III. A VISIT TO SILVERTON, ... 18 IV. AN AFTERNOON CALL, 32 V. READINGS FROM THE POETS, 39 VI. LAWRENCE ARCHER'S HOME, 47 VII. THE PICNIC IN BRAMHAM WOODS, .... 55 VIII. AU REVOIR 69 IX. phyllis's first dinner-party 80 X. A life's choice, 91 XI. phyllis's first ball, 104 XII. A VISIT TO LONDON, 116 XIII. OLD SCENES AND NEW FACES, .... 127 XIV. AN INTERRUPTED PROPOSAL, 139 XV. THE WEAVING OF THE THREADS OF DESTINY, . . 146 XVI. A DESOLATE HOME, 155 XVII. THREE LETTERS 164 XVIII. DOUBTS, 170 XIX. MRS. CARTER MAKES CONFIDENCES, . . .178 XX. SUCCESS OR FAILURE ? 183 XXI. A MOONLIGHT ADVENTURE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES, 194 XXII.

MORE CONSEQUENCES, VI C ONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XXIII. CONSOLATION AND CURIOSITY 211 XXIV. IRRESOLUTION, 222 XXV. LAWRENCE'S HOME 232 XXVI. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 240 XXVII. TO THE SOUND OF WEDDING BELLS, . . . 256 XXVIII. TEMPTATION, 261 XXIX. DANGER 271 XXX. MORGAN'S REWARD 278 XXXI. A CRISIS 286 XXXII. CONFESSION,

Chapter I The Fiest Day Of Summer Holidays

Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth. Do hut look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it shineth. Do but mark, her forehead 's smoother Than words that soothe her : And from her arched brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As if there triumphed to the life All the gain, all the good ofthe element's strife.' Ben Jonson. ' Well, I call it too bad altogether that dear old Jim should not be allowed to bring a friend home with him ! After having worked so splendidly, too, and earned such a good report, I call it simply shameful ! ' The speaker spoke with the energy pertaining to her seventeen years. She was a slight, dark girl, with brown hair verging on blackness, an olive skin, and great dark eyes that flashed with earnestness as she spoke.

The other three occupants of the room — also girls, and from their likeness sisters — looked up, the two eldest with amusement at her vehemence ; the third, a Uttle girl of fourteen, with entire agreement. 'But, Phyllis, you don't know what father has A written to Jim. He may have given his consent,' remonstrated Helen, a fair-haired, placid-looking girl of about twenty-one. ' I know what he said when Jim's letter came,' was the indignant rejoinder. 'He wasn't going to have Jim bringing home all sorts and conditions of boys to mix with his daughters. How did he know that this Archer was a gentleman 1 Such nonsense ! As if the captain of a school like Haverton could possibly be anything else ! And then he went on to talk about that Irish boy — what was his name ? — that little red haired boy Jim brought home with him ever so long ago, when he was quite a little fellow himself.

As if there were any possibility of this boy being the least like him.' ' Well, but, Phyllis, I think it was only natural for father to remember that unlucky boy, now that Jim pro poses to bring another friend home with him. I really think there is some excuse for father,' said Helen. 'But it's very unfair to judge all Haverton boys by one specimen. Besides, I don't suppose he really was so bad, only we made a ridiculous fuss about it.' 'I must say, Phyllis, if you did not mind being kissed, I did,' said Maud, the second sister, looking up with a rather scornful expression at Jim's champion. ' For my part, I sincerely hope that father won't let Jim have his friend here. Boys are always odious, and always getting in the way when they are not wanted. At all events, it is no business of ours, and I cannot see why you should get so hot over it.' It was eleven o'clock on a summer's morning, when this little altercation began.

Outside it was raining — a light summer rain, just heavy enough to wash the dust from the rose-leaves, without washing the colour from the roses that were blooming in full perfection in the old-fashioned garden borders * a rain that made the thrushes and blackbirds sing out joyously from the neighbouring park. But for the rain, the schoolroom, which looked out on the garden and the park beyond, would have been deserted on this July morning ■ for the term's work was over, and the summer holidays had that very day begun. It was a cheerful room, with French windows down to the ground, which stood open • an unmistakable schoolroom, with two high book-shelves full of school-books, more or less tattered and inky, and a far more voluminous library of story books below. A couple of dusty globes stood on the top of the book-shelves : opposite was a much be thumped and abused cottage piano, which stood open, with a popular ballad on its ledge, and a disorderly pile of music on its top.

There was a large table in the centre of the room, covered with an amazing litter of work, books, writing-materials, and oil-paints, round which three of the four girls were sitting, variously employed, while the fourth, Phyllis, stood at the corner nearest the window before an easel, touching up, during the intervals of conversation, a spirited sketch of some beech-trees. Maud's remark, delivered, it must be owned, in a rather aggravating tone of superiority, aroused her younger sister's wrath; and, turning round, she ex claimed with sudden vehemence — 'That's just like you, Maud! always thinking about yourself. I am sure you have heaps of fun, and you need not grudge poor Jim a little. He 's always as dull as can be in the holidays, with no boys about.' ' For my part, I hope he may come,' said Helen. ' Two boys can always amuse each other, and we should probably see nothing of them at all.' 'That would be horrid, I think,' observed little Edith, who had hitherto abstained from inserting her small oar into the stream of discussion ; but as no one paid any attention to the remark, she subsided once more into the position of listener. ' If I were Jim, I would not stand it,' went on the much incensed Phyllis. ' Other boys bring friends home, and why should not he 1 ' ' Really, Phyllis, I wish you would not be so excited about it.

I want to finish my letter,' said Maud languidly. Phyllis, who had her palette and brushes in her hand, turned upon her sister at once — ' It 's all very well for you not to mind. I don't believe you care that for Jim' — with an expressive sweep of her sheath of brushes * ' but I do, and I say it 's a shame — a hideous, abominable shame ! ' 'I wish Miss Petherton had not gone away,' sighed Maud. ' I am sure it 's much too soon for you to be emancipated from the schoolroom. No one would think you were nearly eighteen, when you go on in that babyish way.' ' It 's not babyish ; and, if it were, it 's better to be babyish than selfish.' ' Hush, Phyllis ! ' remonstrated Helen. ' It is baby ish to quarrel, and about nothing too.' ' Then Maud should not be so disagreeable. There '11 be no living with her soon,' and Phyllis flung dow*n brushes and palette, and bounced out of the room and upstairs to her own little sanctum at the top of the house, where she consoled herself by once more reading Jim's last letter.

Jim was a year younger than she was, and they had always been bosom friends; he was the only boy among seven girls, yet he had somehow escaped being spoilt. The three eldest girls were married : only the four younger sisters we have just seen in the school room, with Jim and the father and mother, made up the family. The old governess, who had that morning taken her final departure — not without tears on both sides — had taught them since Phyllis had been little more than a baby, and her departure was a signal that that young lady had attained to that dignity of maidenhood summarised by the phrase, 'out of the schoolroom.' She was not, however, to make her entry into the gay world until the following winter, and was at present but in the chrysalis stage, being ' out of the schoolroom,' although not yet ' come out,' neither useful grub nor soaring butterfly.

It is not the most ornamental or attractive phase of girlhood ; nevertheless Phyllis Howard was not an un attractive-looking girl, as she sat by her bedroom window, her brows knitted in the effort to decipher Jim's schoolboy scrawl. She had an interesting, ex pressive face, with its broad square brow, well-marked eyebrows, and eyes of that uncommon shade of dark ness that look now grey, now deepest blue, shaded below as well as above by long, luxuriant eyelashes. There was a slight indication of temper in the mouth, which was well-formed on the whole, though the upper lip was rather too straight for beauty, and the square chin showed a certain strength of character, strangely at variance with the mobile lips and dreamful eyes. A physiognomist would have found more weakness than strength in her face.

Her expression was softened to a look of tenderness now, as she read the hurried and somewhat blotted scribble of her darling Jim. 'I am writing to father,' the letter began, 'to ask leave to bring Archer home with me for a week or two. He is leaving this term for good, so I want particularly to have him. Say a good word for me about it if you get the chance, like a good old Phil. It will be an awful bore if father won't let him come.' Phyllis had obeyed this request, though with a beating heart ; for her father was rather an awe inspiring personage to his children. Her mediation had not been favourably received. Mr. How*ard had affected to think his son's request unreasonable. He had not absolutely refused in so many words; but Phyllis had small hope of Jim's request being granted. She would have given a great deal to know the con tents of the letter whicli her father had written to his son on the previous afternoon.

At that very moment, Jim was awaiting the arrival of that letter in the great schoolroom at Haverton, deserted now of its usual occupants, for the examina tions were over, and the boys were spending the last day of the term in the playing-fields, or on the river. Near him, seated astride on a form, was Lawrence Archer, the bone of contention or subject of dispute in the Howard family. He was a good-looking fellow, this young school-captain — tall, broad-shouldered, of a well-knit athletic frame, with crisp curly brown hair, a fair complexion, a massive brow, and honest blue eyes. A manly fellow, with the stamp of a finely tempered, honest nature on his open brow. Jim — small, dark, wiry and intelligent-looking — was a striking contrast to his friend, whom he worshipped with an enthusiastic hero-worship, not uncommon among boys.

He was only in the fifth form, far below Archer in standing in the school, and nearly three years his junior, so it was no wonder that he was proud of his friend's hearty, unpatronising friendship — a pride which made it the more impossible for him to believe that his father could possibly refuse to allow him to bring this hero of school-life home with him. It was surely incredible ; yet he awaited the coming of the postman with secret misgivings. ' Confound that dawdling old beggar ! ' he was saying ; ' I am sure he 'a ten minutes later than usual. ' ' What an impatient chap you are, Jim ! ' 'Well, I want to know for certain, Lawrence. It will be so jolly to show you the old place, and I want you to see the girls, too, especially Phyllis. She 's such a jolly girl. Hullo ! there he is ! ' and Jim flew into the hall, and returned with his letter. ' Now for it ! ' he exclaimed excitedly.

His face clouded as he began to read, but cleared towards the end. 'Hurra! It's all right!' he shouted joyously. ' Father says, if I 've asked you, you 're to come. Here, read it yourself ! ' and the inconsiderate Jim thrust the letter into his friend's hand. Archer crimsoned from neck to brow as he read : 'Dear Jim, — Personally, as you know, I object to miscellaneous boys, of whom I know nothing, being introduced into our family circle. I have even no guarantee that this Archer is a gentleman. Never theless, if you have already invited the boy, he may come. Your mother is anxious that you should not be disappointed. — Your affectionate father, ' Thomas Howard.' ' It 's all right, you see,' said Jim, too thankful for the grudging permission, to reflect on the offence of its manner to his friend.

His dismay was extreme when Archer, handing back the letter, said quietly : ' Thanks, Jim. Of course, it 's quite out of the question for me to go now.' ' Out of the question ! Why 1 Oh, what a fool I am ! I ought never to have shown you the governor's letter. But I say, old fellow, don't cut up rough about it. He doesn't mean it; it's just his way.' 'It's a deuced offensive way,' thought Lawrence, in whose mind the expression, ' no guarantee that he is a gentleman,' stuck painfully. ' It _ all right, old man,' he said ; 'but I can't go where I 'm not wanted, don't you see 1 ' 'Mother will be glad to see you, and so will the girls, and father too as soon as he has seen you,' pleaded poor Jim, whose spirits were rapidly sinking to a very low ebb. But the pride of the youth of nineteen was not so easily appeased.

It was the first of the world's snubs that he had experienced, and his sensitive nature took it hardly, though he affected to care nothing for it. All Jim's entreaties were unavailing, and he then and there despatched a postcard hofne to tell them to expect him on the morrow. Jim looked on while he wrote, almost with tears in his eyes. His friend would return no more to school, and his heart was heavy at the thought of a long separa tion. He reproached himself bitterly for his clumsy thoughtlessness in showing Lawrence the letter, and was even afraid lest it might cause a present coolness between them. ' You 're not vexed with me, are you, Lawrence 1 ' he asked dismally. Archer's smile as he looked up was good to see. ' Vexed with you, old Jim ? ' and he gripped his hand. ' Come along ! ' he said, getting up, ' don't let us think any more about it.

We are wasting my last day. What shall we do 1 ' 'Let's bathe,' suggested Jim; and Archer agreeing, the two lads got towels, and strolled leisurely down to the river.

Chapter II

jim's home-coming ' I cannot choose but think upon the time When our two lives grew like two buds that kiss, At lightest thrill from the bee's swinging chime, Because the one so near the other is.' Gkorge Eliot. The next day the school broke up. The two friends were fortunate enough to be able to travel together as far as Jim's home, which was near London, whither Lawrence had to go en route for his Yorkshire home. On the way, Jim again tried his utmost to persuade his friend to break the journey at his father's house, if only for a night, but as Archer's resolution was immov able, poor Jim became very doleful as the moment of farewell drew near. ' Here we are ! ' he said, as the train drew up at a small suburban station. ' Good-bye, old fellow ! ' ' Good-bye, dear old Jim ! Mind you write to me, especially when you get back to the old place.

I shall want to know all the news.' ' Trust me for that, old man. Good-bye ! ' and with a last sturdy grip of the hand, Jim jumped out of the carriage, almost into the arms of his sister Phyllis, who had come to meet him. Releasing himself from her embrace, Jim introduced her to his friend, boylike presenting the lesser personage to the greater. ' Archer, this is my sister Phyllis,' he said. ' Are you not coming 1 ' asked Phyllis, surprised that he made no movement to leave the carriage. 'No; I am sorry not to be able to come,' began Archer ; but Jim broke in bluntly — ' He won't, because the governor wrote such a beastly letter about it.' Archer coloured, but Phyllis said earnestly, ' Oh, I am so sorry;' and, as the train moved off, he saw a look of genuine disappointment on her face which was balm to his wounded vanity.

He almost wished, as he settled himself again in his corner, that he had put his pride in his pocket, and yielded to his friend's persuasions. He liked the look of Jim Howard's sister. However, this half-regret was not of long duration as he thought of the welcome which awaited him at home. It would be a specially warm one this time, for besides a quite phenomenal amount of prizes, he had succeeded in winning a scholarship at Cambridge, which might be the opening to him of a useful, and, as he hoped, a brilliant career. Lawrence Archer's father had died young, leaving his widow poorly provided for. That father was reverenced by his children as the noblest and best of men. Lawrence — who had wellnigh worshipped him — had proved himself a worthy son of his father, both at home and in his school-life.

As the evening advanced, and the train bore him nearer to his destina tion, his heart beat high with hope and happiness. Jim, having seen the last of his friend, walked home with his sister, having sent on the luggage in the pony cart. 'It 's an awful shame ! ' he said gloomily. ' Such a splendid fellow as Archer is, too ! You saw what he was like, Phyllis.' ' But what did father say, Jim ? Mother told us this morning that he had given you leave to bring him.' ' So he did — in a way ; but Archer would not come after the things he said — things about whether he was a gentleman. No fellow of spirit would stand that sort of thing.' ' I should think not,' said Phyllis indignantly. ' It 's so stupid of father,' Jim went on. ' He never seems to think what an honour it is for me to have a fellow like Archer for a friend — a fellow who 's head of all the sports, besides having won no end of scholarships.

It would have been an honour to have had a fellow like that to stay with us.' 'Of course it would,' assented Phyllis; but it did just cross her mind that perhaps it was too much to expect her father to regard the matter from that point of view. ' However, there 's one comfort in it,' she said, as they turned off the road into the shrubbery, which led by a short cut to the house, ' I shall have you all to myself now, as he has not come.' ' It '11 be beastly slow,' was Jim's uncomplimentary rejoinder. 'I say, let's go and have a look at the rabbits.' They set off at a run which soon brought them to the hutches, and half an hour was spent in examining the lop-eared, pink-eyed rabbits, which were Phyllis's charge while Jim was at school. She had to confess that the handsomest and most valuable of all was dead, and at first her brother was inclined to lay the blame of its decease on her shoulders. ' I could not help it, indeed, Jim,' she pleaded. ' I had a bad cold, and mother would not let me go out, and I am afraid George forgot to feed them.' Jim muttered wrathfully that he would punch George's head, and led the way into the stable-yard to visit the dogs, who greeted him with rapturous clamour. ' Let 's loose them and take them for a stroll before tea,' Jim proposed. 'You say the others are all out?' ' Yes ; they have all gone to a garden-party.' ' But where 's Edie ?

They don't take babies to garden parties, do they 1 ' ' No, of course not. She is having tea at the vicar age with her bosom friend, Muriel.' ' Well, I think she might have stayed at home to see me. So old Petherton has gone for good ? I 'm rather sorry the old girl 's departed. She and I were rather chums of late years. Not in the days when she used to teach me Latin, though. My word, Phil, what a life we used to lead her ! ' ' Yes, didn't we 1 Do you remember the day we spilt the ink over her best silk dress, and what a fright we were in 1 ' Yes ; but she was rather good about that. We did not catch it half so hot as we expected. She was a regular tartar about some things, though. Do you remember when I mimicked her, and she complained to father ? What a swishing I did get ! ' They both laughed over the recollection of what had been anything but a laughing matter at the time, and came home to tea in high spirits, Jim declaring him self ravenous. ' I hope they '11 give us a decent tea,' he said ; ' I had lunch early, and I am just famishing.' ' Trust Hannah for that ! ' said Phyllis reassuringly. ' She 's much too fond of Master Jim not to give him an extra good tea to welcome him home.' In truth, the schoolroom table displayed a tempting profusion of scones, cakes, and other delicacies, crowned by a huge dish of raspberries, to all of which dainties the two young people did ample justice, eating indeed as if there were no such thing as late dinner to follow in a couple of hours.

Soon after they had finished, there was a sound of wheels, and the carriage-party returned. Jim flew down to meet them, and was lovingly greeted by his mother, and more or less cordially by his father and sisters. ' Well, Jim,' observed the former, ' where is your friend 1 ' ' He would not come,' was Jim's short rejoinder. ' Oh, indeed 1 ' said his father, elevating his eyebrows at the boy's tone. ' Well, I can't say I feel deeply disappointed. But I thought you said that he wished to come f ' ' So he did, until your letter came. I was donkey enough to show it to him, and of course he would not come after that.' ' Indeed ! and why not, pray 1 ' ' Why, he 's captain of the school, and no end of a swell. It would have been an honour to have had him; but of course he would not come on such an invitation.' ' I shall know better in future,' said his father with grave sarcasm. ' " Mr. Howard presents his compli ments to Captain Archer, and will feel himself highly honoured if he will deign to spend a few nights under his humble roof."

Is that the correct style of invitation for such an exalted individual, Jim 1 ' Jim muttered wrathfully that it was all very well to talk like that, but his father knew what he meant quite well. ' And who is the father of this hero t ' went on Mr. Howard. ' So famous a son should surely have an illustrious sire.' ' His father 's dead,' said Jim, too apprehensive of further ridicule to be anxious to impart any more information regarding his hero. But his father pursued his inquiries relentlessly. ' Who was he when he was alive 1 ' he asked. ' A Yorkshire mill-owner ! ' said Jim, colouring in spite of himself. He knew so well what his father would say. ' Really ! you astonish me. So the father of this gentleman whom it would have been such an honour to receive was nothing more than a Yorkshire manufacturer, doubtless smelling of money and guiltless of the letter h.' ' Archer 's poor, and he is a perfect gentleman.

No one who saw him could doubt that,' said poor Jim. His mother, sorry for his discomfiture, gently inter posed here — ' Have you brought any prices home, Jim ? ' she asked. ' Yes, mother ; two,' said he, brightening up. English History, first, and second for Latin verse ; jolly books, both of them. I haven't unpacked them yet.' ' Come along with me, then, dear, and I will take out your things for you. I should like to see your prizes.' Jim followed his mother willingly, glad to escape from the keen edge of his father's sarcasm ; and she, with loving tact, soon succeeded in smoothing her boy's ruffled plumes, and making him forget the disrespect shown to his hero. The verdict of the world concerning Mrs. Howard was, that she was a charming woman. She was one who had many friends and no enemies.

She was not ambitious of the world's favour, being by nature modest and unassuming, yet possessed withal of a certain gentle dignity which commanded respect. She was a wise and tender mother, and her children all loved her far more dearly than their cold and somewhat stern father. They were not afraid of their mother. From their earliest childhood they had confided to her all their troubles, joys, and disappointments. She was their friend and companion, as well as their wise counsellor; so it was not wonderful that Jim's excited brow lost its cloud while she unpacked his clothes, or that he was soon pouring into her sympathetic ears the recent events of the term, and recounting the glories of Speech-day and the School Sports. B

Chapter III

A VISIT TO SILVERTON ' There 's nothing half so sweet in life As— strawberries and cream.' The next week was a very happy one for Phyllis. She and Jim were together from morning till night. Occasionally they were accompanied by little Edith, but not often, for the child's devotion to her friend at the vicarage was such that she grudged every hour spent away from her. Jim had no boy friends in the neighbourhood, so Phyllis was graciously allowed to be his companion ; and many were the strolls they took together in Richmond Park or on Wimbledon Common. Sometimes they would walk across the Park to Richmond, and take a boat to Hampton Court, or down stream to Kew. Such times were blissful ones to Phyllis, who loved rowing above every other kind of exercise, and was never so happy as when with Jim on the river.

One morning, there came a letter from Uncle Dick Howard, their father's brother, containing an invitation for Phyllis and Jim to spend a few weeks at his place in Kent. Uncle Dick was a great favourite with his nephews and nieces, and Beechwood w*as a lovely house and garden, situated on a wooded hill-side at the out- 1S skirts of the town of Silverton ; so the invitation was a welcome one, and they were delighted to accept it. There was always plenty of tennis going on there in the summer-time, and numerous garden-parties to which Phyllis, who had not yet been allowed to go to any grown-up entertainments, looked forward with a flutter of excitement. There were a good many nice boys in the place, whom even stern Mr. Howard would have allowed to have been unexceptional companions for his son ; so Jim was sure to enjoy himself there.

Then, too, the fruit at Beechwood was of a quality and quantity not to be surpassed, in the opinion of the young Howards, by any other garden in England. So the great question to Jim was — Whether the strawberries would be over ? It was a late season, and Phyllis, who was naturally of a hopeful disposition, was inclined to think that they would still be flourishing ; but Jim, who was of a more despondent nature, shook his head and was of the contrary opinion. However, the raspberries and gooseberries must be at their height, and the apricots on the sunny south wall ought to be ripe, and before they left there ought to be a chance of peaches, nectarines, and plums. Jim's eyes glistened as he discoursed of these high matters to his sister. But Phyllis's mind was distracted by what her brother considered the trivialities of clothes.

She was having some new dresses made in view of probable festivities, and the wearisome fittings on which they involved were no light trial to the ardent young spirit which longed to be playing tennis, rowing, or walking every hour of the long summer days. The dresses were finished at last, however, and very pretty and becoming they were in the opinion of every one, including Phyllis herself. When the day fixed for their departure arrived, Mrs. Howard drove with them to the station and saw them off, bidding them to be good children and write home to tell of their doings. ' I need not tell you to enjoy yourselves,' she said, smiling, as she bade them good-bye ; ' for that I know you are quite sure to do, both of you.' In truth, there seemed little fear that two such bright, healthy, and happy young things should not find enjoyment wherever they went, especially with Uncle Dick, who always indulged young people to the top of their bent and could never do enough for them ; their happiness ought to be supreme.