Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 02

								

the rector, who was a man that always followed the stream, when he said
with benign affability, "We must really show our distinguished neighbour
every attention,--we must be indulgent to his little oddities.  His
politics are not mine, to be sure; but a man who has a stake in the
country has a right to his own opinion, that was always my maxim,--thank
Heaven, I am a very moderate man.  We must draw him amongst us; it will
be our own fault, I am sure, if he is not quite domesticated at the
rectory."
"With such attraction,--yes," said the thin curate, timidly bowing to the
ladies.
"It would be a nice match for Miss Caroline," whispered an old lady;
Caroline overheard, and pouted her pretty lip.  The whist-tables were now
set out, the music began, and Maltravers was left in peace.
The next day Mr. Merton rode his pony over to Burleigh.  Maltravers was
not at home.  He left his card, and a note of friendly respect, begging
Mr. Maltravers to waive ceremony, and dine with them the next day.
Somewhat to the surprise of the rector, he found that the active spirit
of Maltravers was already at work.  The long-deserted grounds were filled
with labourers; the carpenters were busy at the fences; the house looked
alive and stirring; the grooms were exercising the horses in the
park,--all betokened the return of the absentee.  This seemed to denote
that Maltravers had come to reside; and the rector thought of Caroline,
and was pleased at the notion.
The next day was Cecilia's birthday,--and birthdays were kept at Merton
Rectory; the neighbouring children were invited.  They were to dine on
the lawn, in a large marquee, and to dance in the evening.  The hothouses
yielded their early strawberries, and the cows, decorated with blue
ribbons, were to give syllabubs.  The polite Caroline was not greatly
fascinated by pleasure of this kind; she graciously appeared at dinner,
kissed the prettiest of the children, helped them to soup, and then,
having done her duty, retired to her room to write letters.  The children
were not sorry, for they were a little afraid of the grand Caroline; and
they laughed much more loudly, and made much more noise, when she was
gone--and the cake and strawberries appeared.
Evelyn was in her element; she had, as a child, mixed so little with
children, she had so often yearned for playmates, she was still so
childlike.  Besides, she was so fond of Cecilia, she had looked forward
with innocent delight to the day; and a week before had taken the
carriage to the neighbouring town to return with a carefully concealed
basket of toys,--dolls, sashes, and picture-books.  But somehow or other,
she did not feel so childlike as usual that morning; her heart was away
from the pleasure before her, and her smile was at first languid.  But in
children's mirth there is something so contagious to those who love
children; and now, as the party scattered themselves on the grass, and