Girlhood and Womanhood | Page 3

connexion with the story--the tragedy of the county,--and she knew instinctively that there would be a whispered reference to her whenever it was told in society.
The Crawfurds had a cousin visiting them--an English cousin, Polly Musgrave--from the luxury and comparative gaiety of her rich, childless aunt's house in York. Polly was a well-endowed orphan, had no near family ties, and had been educated in the worldly wisdom and epicurean philosophy of a fashionable girls' school. She had come to spend a few weeks, and get acquainted with her Scotch country cousins. Polly had not found her heart, but it was to the credit of her sense and good-nature that she made the very best of a sojourn that had threatened to be a bore to her. She dazzled the girls, she romped with the boys, she entered with the greatest glee into rural occupations, rode on the roughest pony, saw sunset and sunrise from Barnbougle, and threatened to learn to milk cows and cut corn. She brought inconceivable motion and sparkle into the rather stagnant country house, and she was the greatest possible contrast to Joanna Crawfurd. Joanna was a natural curiosity to Polly, and the study amused her, just as she made use of every other variety and novelty, down to the poultry-yard and kitchen-garden at the Ewes.
The girls were out on the moor, in the drowsy heat of a summer day, grouped idly and prettily into such a cluster as girls will fall into without effort. Susan, the beauty--there is always a beauty among several girls--in languid propriety, with her nice hair, and her scrupulously falling collar and sleeves, and her blush of a knot of ribbon; Lilias, the strong-minded, active person, sewing busily at charity work, of which all estimable households have now their share; Constantia, the half-grown girl, lying in an awkward lump among the hay, intently reading her last novel, and superlatively scorning the society of her grown-up relatives; Joanna, sitting thoughtfully, stroking old Gyp, the ragged terrier, that invariably ran after either Joanna or her father; and Polly, who had been riding with Oliver, standing with her tucked-up habit, picturesque hat and feathers, smart little gentleman's riding-gloves and whip, and very espi��gle face--a face surrounded by waves of silky black hair, with a clear pale skin, and good eyes and teeth, which Polly always declared were her fortune in the way of good looks; but her snub nose was neither of a vulgar nor coarse tendency--it was a very lively, coquettish, handsomely cut, irresistible cock nose.
If these girls on the moor had been tried in the fire heated seven times, it would not have been to the strong-minded, broad-chested, dark-browed Lilias that they would have clung. They would have come crouching in their extremity and taken hold of the skirt of round, soft, white Joanna, with the little notable stain on her temple.
Polly was detailing her adventures and repeating her news with a relish that was appetizing.
"We went as far as Lammerhaugh, when Oliver remembered that he had a commission for your father at Westcotes, just when my love, Punch, was broken off his trot, and promised to canter, and the morning was so fresh then--a jewel of a morning. It was provoking; I wanted Noll to continue absent in mind, or prove disobedient, or something, but you good folks are so conscientious."
"Duty first, and then pleasure," said Lilias emphatically.
"That was a Sunday-school speech, Lilias, and spoken out of school; you ought to pay a forfeit; fine her, Susie."
"Aren't you hot, Polly?" asked Susan, without troubling herself to take up the jest.
"Not a bit--no more than you are; I'm up to a great deal yet; I'll go to the offices and gather the eggs. No, I am warm though, and I don't want to be blowsy to-night; I think I'll go into the house to the bath-room, and have a great icy splash of a shower-bath."
"You'll hurt your health, Polly, for ever bathing at odd hours, as you do," remonstrated Joanna.
"All nonsense, my dear; I always do what is pleasantest, and it agrees with me perfectly. In winter, I do toast my toes; and you know I eat half-a-dozen peaches and plums at a time like a South Sea Islander, only I believe they feast on cocoa-nut and breadfruit; don't they, Conny? You are the scholar; you know you have your geography at your finger-ends yet."
"Oh, don't tease me, Polly!" protested Conny impatiently.
"Dear Jack, hand me a sprig of broom to stick in Conny's ear," persisted Polly in a loud whisper.
Constantia shook her head furiously, as if she were already horribly tickled, and that at the climax of her plot.
"Never mind, Conny, I'll protect you. What a shame, Polly, to spoil her pleasure!" cried Joanna indignantly.
"I beg your pardon, Donna Quixotina."
"I wonder you girls