59 CHAPTER III. Were there ever any JOHN KEATS. HE servants whispered that Master was THE courting Miss Featherstone; and without doubt the servants were right. No guest at Farnley could ever complain that he, much less she, was neglected; James shewed himself as expert in the rôle of host, as in every other rôle with which he had to do but it soon began to be understood that : the cream of his attentions belonged to The. Were a chair left vacant near The, in an evening, it was shortly filled by James. Were she summoned to the piano, James stood at her elbow, turned over her leaves, picked up her handkerchief. Were a starlight promenade proposed, it was James who placed her cloak on her shouldersJames who paced beside her, talking in low, starlight fitting tones. The felt herself exalted to the seventh heaven. Her name was universally coupled with his. Her covisitors so coupled it. Letters flew daily on the wings of steam to all parts of the United Kingdom, and to some of other kingdoms, so coupling it. Mr. Gordon himself, and, apparently, Olivia-although, indeed, for Olivia's opinion, The cared little—were content that it should be so coupled. And Mr. Gordon was one of the richest commoners, Farnley was one of the finest estates, and now. the family was one of the oldest and best, in England. If in literary matters, moreover, he went on as he had begun, his reputation-all the first critics agreed—would be world-wide. And this clever, distinguished man, this lion, was her slave. She had enthralled him she, Theodosia Featherstone. So things went smoothly with The, just She could afford to laugh at Cissy's cutting speeches: which were dealt forth in no mean measure, at every opportunity. She could afford to despise Gabrielle, as equally beneath notice and anxiety. She could afford to abstain from other flirtations. Only one cloud, one tiny cloud, darkened her thoughts of the future. For the present, its shadow was confined to her own breast. Long might it continue so!—and quickly, ere it interposed, might she consummate her conquest! Visitors came and went; but The stayed. Mrs. Featherstone departed into Scotland; but The was left. Good, unselfish Olivia saw what was passing; and who could have numbered the pangs which, in these days, she endured? They were endured, however, in silence. No regrets of hers should mar her idol's happiness. What puzzled poor Gabrielle in the matter, was not the circumstance of James's defection to The; this appeared only too natural!—but the other, concomitant circumstance: that he avoided herself. That his interest in her and her pursuits, seemed suddenly to have perished; that he scarcely ever so much as spoke to her, of his own free choice; that, when obliged to do so, his voice was so cold, his manner so indifferent. In short, that he appeared entirely changed: not to others, not in himself, but to her. Vainly she strove to understand it; recapitulating in her mind every event of the fortnight which had preceded her visit to Lorton. Sometimes she fancied that she had offended him. Sometimes she wondered whether he had heard, and wished to annihilate, the report mentioned by Charlie. Sometimes, again, a wild ray of hope suggested pique on Charlie's account, as sufficient cause for all. She could have borne his behaviour to The, she told herself, so much better, if only he were still kindgenial, cousinly, as in the early days when the ice between them was broken! But she did not know her own heart. As things now were, utter coldness was better than kindness such as this. She was silent and patient; she tried to be brave; but unawares she drooped. The old wan look returned; her cough lingered, |