Wych Hazel | Page 9

of hands took two cherries and signed away
the rest; the sweetest of girl voices declined the magazine or gave it
over to Mr. Falkirk. If the eyes burned brown lights (instead of blue) in
their seclusion, if the voice just didn't break with fun, perhaps only Mr.
Falkirk found it out, and he by virtue of previous knowledge. But in
fact, Miss Hazel gave the keenest attention to everybody and
everything.
A contrast to Mr. Kingsland was their other fellow-traveller. Mr. Rollo
occupying the place in front of Mr. Falkirk, made himself as much as
possible at ease on the middle seat, with his back upon the persons who
engaged Mr. Kingsland's attention; but he did not thereby escape theirs.
When a society is so small, the members of it almost of necessity take
note of one another. The little brown-veiled figure could not help
noticing what a master he was in the art of making himself comfortable;
how skilfully shawls were disposed; how easily hand and foot, back
and head, took the best position for jolting up the hill. It amused her as
something new; for Mr. Falkirk belonged to that type of manhood
which rather delights in being uncomfortable whenever circumstances
permit; and other men she had seen few. Mr. Rollo had a book too,
which he did not offer to lend; and he gave his lazy attention to nothing
else--unless when a bright glance of eye went over to Mr. Kingsland.
He was as patient as any of the party; as truly he had good reason,
being by several degrees the most comfortable. But Mr. Falkirk moved
now and then unrestingly, and the back seat was hot and cramped,--and
Wych found the jolts and heavings of the coach springs a thing to be
borne. And that swinging and swaying middle seat, with its one
occupant came so close upon her premises, that she dared not adventure
the least thing, even to Mr. Falkirk. If the momentary relief of turning
that grey travelling shawl into a pincushion, occurred to her, nothing
came of it; the thick folds were untouched by one of her little fingers.

She put her face as nearly out of the coach as she could, and perhaps
enjoyed the scenery, if anyone did. Mr. Falkirk gave no sign of
enjoyment, mental or physical, and Mr. Kingsland would certainly have
been asleep, but for losing sight of the brown veil--and of possible
something it might do. Yet now and then there were fine reaches for the
eye, beautiful knolly indications of a change of surface, which gave
picturesque lights and shades on their soft green. Or a lonely valley,
with smooth fields and labourers at work, tufty clumps of vegetation,
and a line of soft willows by a watercourse, varied the picture. Then the
ascent began in good earnest, and trees shut it in, and there was
everywhere the wild leafy smell of the woods. Night began to shut it in
too, for the sun was early hidden from the travellers; the gloom, or the
fatigue of the way, gathered inside the coach as well, on all except the
occupant of the middle seat. Some time before this his ease-seeking had
displayed itself in a new way; and letting himself out of the coach door
he had kept up a progress of his own by the side of the vehicle, which
quite distanced its slow and toilsome method of advance. For Rollo was
not only getting on with a light step up the road, but making
acquaintance with every foot of it; gathering flowers, pocketing stones,
and finding time to fling others, which rebounded with a racketty hop,
skip and jump, down the side of the deep ravine on the edge of which
the way was coasting. Then making up for his delay by a mode of
locomotion which seemed to speak him kindred to the squirrels, he
swung himself over difficult places by the help of hanging branches of
trees, and bounded from rock to rock, till he was again far ahead of the
horses, and of the road too, lost out of sight in another direction. Now
and then a few rich notes of a German air came down, or up, to the
coach tantalizingly. Certainly Mr. Rollo was enjoying himself; and it
was made more indubitably certain to the poor plodders along inside
the coach, by the faint fumes of an excellent cigar which 'whiles' made
themselves perceptible.
Now to say the truth, it was all tantalizing to Wych Hazel. In the first
place she was, as she had said, 'cramped to death,' physically and
mentally,--both parts of her composition just spoiling for a fight; and
whereas she had hitherto kept her face well out of the window, now she
drew it resolutely