The Hoyden | Page 6

no!" cries the little figure, "you couldn't beat me. I bet you
anything you like you couldn't. You may play me again if you will, and
then," smiling and shaking her head at him, "we shall see!"
The windows are open and every word can be heard.
"Your future daughter-in-law," says Mrs. Bethune, in a low voice,
nodding her beautiful head at Lady Rylton.
"Oh, it is detestable! A hoyden--a mere hoyden," says Lady Rylton
pettishly. "Look at her hair!"
And, indeed, it must be confessed that the hoyden's hair is not all it
ought to be. It is in effect "all over the place"--it is straight here, and
wandering there; but perhaps its wildness helps to make more charming
the naughty childish little face that peeps out of it.

"She has no manners--_none!"_ says Lady Rylton. "She----"
"Ah, is that you, Lady Rylton?" cries the small creature on the terrace,
having caught a glimpse of her hostess through the window.
"Yes, come in--come in!" cries Lady Rylton, changing her tone at once,
and smiling and beckoning to the girl with long fingers. "I hope you
have not been fatiguing yourself on the tennis-courts, you dearest
child!"
Her tones are cooing.
"I have won, at all events!" says Tita, jumping in over the window-sill.
"Though Mr. Gower," glancing back at her companion, "won't
acknowledge it."
"Why should I acknowledge it?" says the stout young man. "It's folly to
acknowledge anything."
"But the truth is the truth!" says the girl, facing him.
"Oh, no; on the contrary, it's generally a lie," says he.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," says Miss Bolton, turning her
back on him, which proceeding seems to fill the stout young man's soul
with delight.
"Do come and sit down, dear child; you look exhausted," says Lady
Rylton, still cooing.
"I'm not," says Tita, shaking her head. "Tennis is not so very
exhausting--is it, Mrs. Bethune?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. It seems to have exhausted your hair, at all
events," says Mrs. Bethune, with her quick smile. "I think you had
better go upstairs and settle it; it is very untidy."
"Is it? Is it?" says Tita.
She runs her little fingers through her pretty short locks, and gazes
round. Her eyes meet Margaret's.
"No, no," says the latter, laughing. "It looks like the hair of a little girl.
You," smiling, _"are_ a little girl. Go away and finish your fight with
Mr. Gower."
"Yes. Come! Miss Knollys is on my side. She knows I shall win," says
the stout young man; and, whilst disputing with him at every step, Tita
disappears.
"What a girl! No style, no manners," says Lady Rylton; "and yet I must
receive her as a daughter. Fancy living with that girl! A silly child, with
her hair always untidy, and a laugh that one can hear a mile off. Yet it

must be done."
"After all, it is Maurice who will have to live with her," says Mrs.
Bethune.
"Oh, I hope not," says Margaret quickly.
"Why?" asks Lady Rylton, turning to her with sharp inquiry.
"It would never do," says Margaret with decision. "They are not suited
to each other. Maurice! and that _baby!_ It is absurd! I should certainly
not counsel Maurice to take such a step as that!"
"Why not? Good heavens, Margaret, I hope you are not in love with
him, too!" says Lady Rylton.
"Too?"
Margaret looks blank.
"She means me," says Mrs. Bethune, with a slight, insolent smile. "You
know, don't you, how desperately in love with Maurice I am?"
"I know nothing," says Miss Knollys, a little curtly.
"Ah, you will!" says Mrs. Bethune, with her queer smile.
"The fact is, Margaret," says Lady Rylton, with some agitation, "that if
Maurice doesn't marry this girl, there--there will be an end of us all. He
must marry her."
"But he doesn't love--he barely knows her--and a marriage without
love----"
"Is the safest thing known."
"Under given circumstances! I grant you that if two people well on in
life, old enough to know their own minds, and what they are doing,
were to marry, it might be different. They might risk a few years of
mere friendship together, and be glad of the venture later on. But for
two young people to set out on life's journey with nothing to steer
by--that would be madness!"
"Ah! yes. Margaret speaks like a book," says Mrs. Bethune, with an
amused air; "Maurice, you see, is so young, so inexperienced----"
"At all events, Tita is only a child."
"Tita! Is that her name?"
"A pet name, I fancy. Short for Titania; she is such a little thing."
"Titania--Queen of the Fairies; I wonder if the original Titania's father
dealt in buttons! Is it buttons, or soap, or tar? You didn't