University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.
HOW MISS FANNY SLAMMED THE DOOR IN VERTY'S FACE.

As Redbud sat thus disconsolate, a footstep in the apartment
attracted her attention, and raising her tearful eyes, she saw her
friend Fanny, who had run in, laughing, as was her wont.
Fanny was a handsome little brunette, about Redbud's age, and
full of merriment and glee—perhaps sparkle would be the better
word, inasmuch as this young lady always seemed to be upon the
verge of laughter—brim full with it, and ready to overflow, like
a goblet of Bohemian glass filled with the “foaming draught of
eastern France,” if we may be permitted to make so unworthy a
comparison. Her merry black eyes were now dancing, and her
ebon curls rippled from her smooth dark brow like midnight
waves.

“Oh! here's your beau, Reddy!” cried Miss Fanny, clapping
her hands; “you pretended not to know him as he came up the
hill. Make haste! you never saw such an elegant cavalier as he
has made himself!”

Redbud only smiled sadly, and turned away her head.

Miss Fanny attributed this manœuvre to a feeling very different
from the real one; and clapping her hands more joyfully
than ever, cried:

“There you are! I believe you are going to pretend he ain't
your beau! But you need not, madam. As if I did'nt know all
about it—”

“Oh, Fanny!” murmured poor Redbud.

“Come! no secrets from me! That old Miss Lavinia has
treated you badly, I know; I don't know how, but she made
you cry, and I will not have anything to say to her, if she is your
cousin. Forget all about it, Reddy, and make haste down,
Verty is waiting for you—and oh! he's so elegant. I never saw
a nicer fellow, and you know I always thought he was handsome.
I would set my cap at him,” said Miss Fanny, with a womanly
air, “if it was'nt for you.”

Redbud only murmured something.

“Come on!” cried Fanny, trying to raise her friend forcibly,
“I tell you Verty is waiting, and you are only losing so much
talk; they never will let our beaux stay long enough, and as to-day's
holiday, you will have a nice chat. My cousin Ralph, you
know, is coming to see me to-day, and we can have such a nice
walk out on the hill—come on, Reddy! we'll have such a fine
time!”

Suddenly Miss Fanny caught sight of the tears in Redbud's
eyes, and stopped.

“What! crying yet at that old Miss Lavinia!” she said;
“how can you mind her so!”

“Oh! I'm very unhappy!” said poor Redbud, bursting into
tears; her self-control had given away at last. “Don't mind me,
Fanny, but I can't help it—please don't talk any more about
Verty, or walking out, or anything.”

Fanny looked at her friend for a moment, and the deep sadness
on Redbud's face banished all her laughter.

“Why not talk about him?” she said, sitting down by Redbud.

“Because I can't see him any more.”

“Can't see him!”

“No—not to-day.”

“Why?”

Redbud wiped her eyes.

“Because—because—oh! I can't tell you, Fanny!—I can't—

it's wrong in cousin Lavinia!—I know it is!—I never meant—
oh! I am so unhappy!”

And Redbud ended by bursting into a flood of tears, which
caused the impulsive and sympathetic Fanny, whose lips had for
some moments been twitching nervously, to do the same.

“Don't cry, Fanny—please don't cry!” said Redbud.

“I'm not crying!” said Miss Fanny, shedding floods of tears—
“I'm not sorry—I'm mad with Miss Lavinia for making you
cry; I hate her!”

“Oh!” sobbed Redbud, “that is very wrong.”

“I don't care.”

“She's my cousin.”

“No matter! She had no business coming here and making
you unhappy.”

With which Miss Fanny sniffed, if that very inelegant word
may be applied to any action performed by so elegant a young
lady.

“Yes! she had no business—the old cat!” continued the impulsive
Fanny, “and I feel as if I could seratch her eyes out!—
to make you cry!”

“But I won't any more,” said Redbud, beginning afresh.

“And I will stop, too,” said Fanny, becoming hysterical.

After which solemn determination to be calm, and not display
any further emotion on any account, the two young ladies,
sinking into each other's arms, cried until their white handkerchiefs
were completely wetted by their tears.

They had just managed to suppress their emotion somewhat
—preparatory to commencing again, doubtless—when the door
of the apartment opened, and a servant girl announced to Miss
Redbud that a gentleman had come to see her, and was waiting
for that purpose at the foot of the stairs.

“Oh! I can't see him,” said Redbud, threatening a new
shower.

“You shall!” said Fanny, laughing through her tears.

“Oh, no! no!” said Redbud.

“What shall I tell'um, Miss,” said the servant?

“Oh, I can't go down—tell Verty that—”

“She'll be down in a minute,” finished Fanny.

“No, no, I must not!”

“You shall!”

“Fanny—!”

“Come, no nonsense, Reddy! there! I hear his voice—oh,
me! my goodness gracious!”

These sudden and apparently remarkable exclamations may
probably appear my mysterious and without reason to the respected
readers who do us the honor to peruse our history; but they
were in reality not at all extraordinary under the circumstances,
and were, indeed, just what might have been expected, on the
generally accepted theories of cause and effect.

In a single word, then, the lively Miss Fanny had uttered the
emphatic words, “Oh, me!—my goodness gracious!” because
she had heard upon the staircase the noise of a masculine footstep,
and caught sight of a masculine cocked-hat ascending;—
which phenomenon, arguing again upon the theories of cause and
effect, plainly indicated that a head was under the chapeau—the
head of one of the opposite sex.

Redbud raised her head quickly at her friend's exclamation,
and discerned the reason therefore. She understood, at a glance,
that Verty had become impatient, waiting in the hall down
stairs;—had heard her voice from the room above; and, following
his wont at Apple Orchard, quite innocently bethought himself of
saving Redbud the trouble of descending, by ascending to her.

Verty sent his voice before him—a laughing and jubilant
voice, which asked for Redbud.

Fanny jumped up and ran to the door, just as the young man
placed his foot upon the landing, and stood before the group.

Verty made a low bow, and greeted Miss Fanny with one of
the most faseinating smiles which could possibly be imagined.

Fanny slammed the door in his face, without the least hesitation.

For a moment, Verty stood motionless and bewildered, vainly
striving to make out what this extraordinary occurrence meant.
At Apple Orchard, as we have said, the doors had never been
slammed in his face. On the contrary, he had ranged freely over
the manison, amusing himself as seemed best to him: taking
down a volume here—opening a closet there—strolling into the
Squire's room, or Redbud's room, where that young lady was
studying—and even into the apartment of the dreadful Miss Lavinia,
where sat that solemn lady, engaged in the task of keeping
the household wardrobe, stockings, and what not, in good condition.
No one had ever told Verty that there was the least impropriety
in this proceeding; and now, when he only meant to
do what he had done a thousand times before, he had a door
banged in his face, as if he were a thief with hostile intentions
toward the spoons.

For some moments, therefore, as we have said, the young man
stood thunderstruck and motionless. Then, considering the
whole affair a joke, he began to laugh; and essayed to open the
door.

In vain. Fanny, possibly foreseeing this, had turned the key.

“Redbud!” said Verty.

“Sir?” said a voice; not Redbud's, however.

“Let me in.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” replied the voice.

“Why?” said Verty, with ready philosophy; “it's nobody but me.”

“Hum!” said the voice again, in indignant protest against the
force of any such reasoning.

“You are not Redbud,” continued the cavalier; “I want to
see Redbud.”

“Well, sir,—go down, and Reddy may come and see you,”
the voice replied; “as long as you stand there, you will not lay
eyes on her—if you stay a week, or a year.”

At this dreadful threat, Verty retreated from the door. The
idea of not seeing Redbud for a year was horrible.

“Will you come down, Redbud, if I go?” he asked.

Voices heard in debate.

“Say?” said Verty.

After a pause, the voice which had before spoken, said:

“Yes; go down and wait ten minutes.”

Verty heaved a sigh, and slowly descended to the hall again.
As he disappeared, the door opened, and the face of Fanny was
seen carefully watching the enenty's retreat. Then the young
girl turned to Redbnd, and, clapping her hands, cried:

“Did you ever!—what an impudent fellow! But you promised,
Reddy! Come, let me fix your hair!”

Redbud sighed, and assented.