Chapter III: Charlton Anticipates a Siege

“Smiles, glances, tears, fits, flirtations, airs,
’Gainst such a host what flinty savage dares--
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms,
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms?”--BURNS.

Mr. Essex has never felt so affronted in his life as he is this moment by what appears to him as Vivian’s deliberate rudeness. He throws down the book, and walks off in a passion to the farthest end of the piazza, where he pauses, glowering darkly at the fair noonday landscape, wondering moodily if he shall ever win bonny Vivian--Vivian, the fairest, the dearest, the only unwedded daughter of the rich Judge Leigh. Two other fair ones call him father. Viola, the eldest, is married to a wealthy New Yorker and queens it in the gay circles of metropolitan society; and Musa, who comes next, is the sedate bride of a German professor who has carried her off to Europe on a protracted tour. Vivian, the youngest and fairest of them all, is the “darling of her father’s house and heart,” and has been spoiled and petted ever since the hour when her baby eyes opening first to life, had met the first and last look of love from the frail young mother, who had given her life for this tiny girl.

And this is the girl Earle Essex means to marry.

Why not? he thinks. He is rich, well-born, good-looking, cultured, and a more desirable _parti_ by far than Max Verne, who has nothing but his expectations from a bachelor uncle, who may marry at any time and disappoint the expectant heir. And Max is out of the question now, he thinks, complacently, thanks to his clever strategy of last night. He fears no other rival, and believes that he shall win the prize.

Absorbed in his reflections, he forgets the fact that Charlton Leigh, lounging idly on the velvet turf near by, can watch all the changes of his mobile face until he drawls out presently in his lazy, laughing voice:

“What the duse ails you, Essex? Has my little embryo flirt frightened off the hero of a hundred love affairs?”

“Just ninety-nine too many,” replies Essex, coolly. “This is my first love affair, and the cruel object deliberately fell asleep while I was laying siege to her flinty heart.”

Charlton laughs loud and long as he tosses away his cigar and saunters back upon the piazza, enjoying his friend’s perturbation with all the _sang froid_ of one who laughs at love and lovers.

He is rather handsome, this Charlton Leigh; is tall, well made, with a decided inclination to portliness. His eyes are blue and laughing, his forehead low and broad, and his fair hair is parted in the center, lending an air of slight effeminacy to his features. A light-brown mustache curves around his mouth, that, with its singularly sweet and winning smile, is the chief attraction of his face. But when he laughs he shows lovely white teeth, and perhaps that is why he always affects good nature, for Charlton has that amiable weakness of fine looking men--he is thoroughly conversant with his best points. One can forgive the failing, though, since it is common to man, and since this man in particular is too indolent to make capital of his good looks in the warfare against the susceptible hearts of the opposite sex. He troubles himself very little about them, and Vivian merrily declares that it is because he is too much in love with himself.

But Charlton only laughs at Vivian’s sarcasms, well knowing himself to be the object of her sisterly devotion. He takes life easy on the whole, and one sees at once that he feels small sympathy for the pretended despair of Essex. His first words fall like cold water on the other’s hopes:

“Sensible girl! Her time is much better employed in sleeping than in listening to idle love-making. Were you so afraid of forgetting the art of flirtation, Essex, that you must try your powers by teasing my simple little sister?”

“I was only reading Tennyson. She asked me herself, and selected the poem--then went to sleep in the middle of it,” sulkily.

“Delightful tribute to the soporific powers of yourself and Lord Tennyson. Poor little girl, I don’t think she meant to be rude; she was only tired and ill. But I will awaken her at once, Essex, and bid her apologize.”

“No, pray do not. I will take a turn on the lawn,” Essex answers carelessly, and strides down the steps, lighting the inevitable cigar as he goes.

And Charlton leans over his sister as she stirs and smiles in her sleep, and catches the murmur that escapes her lips in some tender dream--the name of “Max.”

“So that is the way the land lies,” he sagely mutters. “Have the children been playing at love so soon? Why, I never thought when I asked the boys down here summer after summer, that my little Viva----”

“What did you say?” she murmurs, starting suddenly broad awake as he unconsciously thinks aloud. “Did you call me, brother?”

“I was only marveling at your rudeness, Viva,” he promptly responds. “You asked Essex to read to you, and then fell asleep, like a great baby. You certainly play the hostess with much tact. Here you have driven off one of my friends in the first twenty-four hours, and now insulted the other one. What will you do next, little torment?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” penitently, at sight of his comically grave face. “But I am only a little country girl, you know, and cannot entertain your friends acceptably. But there,” relapsing into pretty petulance, “when the Kingsleys come, you can have a sweetheart apiece, and need not depend on my poor society!”

“What! Eve and Diana? Viva, you don’t mean to tell me _they_ are coming?”

“Yes, indeed,” and she laughed at his mock dismay.

“But what are they coming for? Who wants them? Who asked them?--If, indeed, they waited to be asked?”

“I did.” She is leaning on her elbow, enjoying his perturbed questioning with all her heart. “I wanted them here to make it pleasant for you and the boys. I am sure I have made it very unpleasant in the beginning!”

“But we already had you--_one_ of the disturbing elements was enough--quite enough. We, the boys and I, had come down here to rusticate quietly, and here you have gone and invited a lot of girls--city girls, too--to torment us with dressing and driving and flirting! Why didn’t they come in time for the ball, then?”

“They meant to--but they were disappointed, detained. They sent a telegram explaining.”

“Humph! Ball-dresses were not finished in time, I suppose,” he commented. “But, really, it is too bad, their coming! Viva, we only wanted you!”

“Yes, I dare say, but I had no idea of three great growing men dangling at my apron strings ‘day in and day out,’ so I arranged to have the girls come so we might have a beau apiece,” demurely.

“How very thoughtful,” he laughs. “Did you provide a beau for your governess, also, Viva?”

“Madame Orne? Why, no. She is above such nonsense. But there is papa, you know; he is very polite to her always.”

“That will do then. But your plans have gone awry. One of the prospective beaux has departed to a bachelor abode where vexatious girls are not. So what will you do about the odd girl now?”

“Diana can have Mr. Essex, and Eve and I can divide you between us,” with a soft little sigh that dies on the scented summer air. The especial beau pretty Viva had intended for herself will, alas, be absent.

Charlton echoes the sigh with comic effect, and inquires:

“When will the siege begin?”

“The siege?” She lifts a puzzled face to his resigned one.

“Certainly. That was what I said, Miss Innocence! You do not expect these belles to come here for any less purpose than to subjugate all our hearts, do you? A lot of girls! Pshaw! I mean to get even with you, Viva, for this!”

But as he sees the pretty face growing sober, he relents, and puts a loving arm about her shoulder.

“It is all right, my pet. The girls are welcome to come; only we would have liked it better with you alone. But if you are pleased, dear, I will try to be.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and leans her head on his shoulder with another little wistful sigh. But the next minute she looks up, saying brightly:

“They are coming this evening. You and Mr. Essex can drive down to the station to meet them. I must stay at home with my foot, you know.”

“Of course you will stay at home if your foot does,” he rejoins teasingly; at which his little sister pouts bewitchingly, and has to be kissed into a good humor again.