Alice | Page 9

yes."
"What, in Indian ink?"
"Yes; and water-colours."
"Oh! Why, who could have taught you in this little village; or, indeed,
in this most primitive county?"
"We did not come to Brook-Green till I was nearly fifteen. My dear
mother, though very anxious to leave our villa at Fulham, would not do
so on my account, while masters could be of service to me; and as I
knew she had set her heart on this place, I worked doubly hard."

"Then she knew this place before?"
"Yes; she had been here many years ago, and took the place after my
poor father's death,--I always call the late Lord Vargrave my father.
She used to come here regularly once a year without me; and when she
returned, I thought her even more melancholy than before."
"What makes the charm of the place to Lady Vargrave?" asked
Caroline, with some interest.
"I don't know; unless it be its extreme quiet, or some early association."
"And who is your nearest neighbour?"
"Mr. Aubrey, the curate. It is so unlucky, he is gone from home for a
short time. You can't think how kind and pleasant he is,--the most
amiable old man in the world; just such a man as Bernardin St. Pierre
would have loved to describe."
"Agreeable, no doubt, but dull--good curates generally are."
"Dull? not the least; cheerful even to playfulness, and full of
information. He has been so good to me about books; indeed, I have
learned a great deal from him."
"I dare say he is an admirable judge of sermons."
"But Mr. Aubrey is not severe," persisted Evelyn, earnestly; "he is very
fond of Italian literature, for instance; we are reading Tasso together."
"Oh! pity he is old--I think you said he was old. Perhaps there is a son,
the image of the sire?"
"Oh, no," said Evelyn, laughing innocently; "Mr. Aubrey never
married."
"And where does the old gentleman live?"
"Come a little this way; there, you can just see the roof of his house,

close by the church."
"I see; it is tant soit peu triste to have the church so near you."
"Do you think so? Ah, but you have not seen it; it is the prettiest church
in the county; and the little burial-ground--so quiet, so shut in; I feel
better every time I pass it. Some places breathe of religion."
"You are poetical, my dear little friend."
Evelyn, who had poetry in her nature, and therefore sometimes it broke
out in her simple language, coloured and felt half-ashamed.
"It is a favourite walk with my mother," said she, apologetically; "she
often spends hours there alone: and so, perhaps, I think it a prettier spot
than others may. It does not seem to me to have anything of gloom in it;
when I die, I should like to be buried there."
Caroline laughed slightly. "That is a strange wish; but perhaps you have
been crossed in love?"
"I!--oh, you are laughing at me!"
"You do not remember Mr. Cameron, your real father, I suppose?"
"No; I believe he died before I was born."
"Cameron is a Scotch name: to what tribe of Camerons do you
belong?"
"I don't know," said Evelyn, rather embarrassed; "indeed I know
nothing of my father's or mother's family. It is very odd, but I don't
think we have any relations. You know when I am of age that I am to
take the name of Templeton."
"Ah, the name goes with the fortune; I understand. Dear Evelyn, how
rich you will be! I do so wish I were rich!"
"And I that I were poor," said Evelyn, with an altered tone and

expression of countenance.
"Strange girl! what can you mean?"
Evelyn said nothing, and Caroline examined her curiously.
"These notions come from living so much out of the world, my dear
Evelyn. How you must long to see more of life!"
"I! not in the least. I should never like to leave this place,--I could live
and die here."
"You will think otherwise when you are Lady Vargrave. Why do you
look so grave? Do you not love Lord Vargrave?"
"What a question!" said Evelyn, turning away her head, and forcing a
laugh.
"It is no matter whether you do or not: it is a brilliant position. He has
rank, reputation, high office; all he wants is money, and that you will
give him. Alas! I have no prospect so bright. I have no fortune, and I
fear my face will never buy a title, an opera-box, and a house in
Grosvenor Square. I wish I were the future Lady Vargrave."
"I am sure I wish you were," said Evelyn, with great naivete; "you
would suit Lord Vargrave better than I should."
Caroline laughed.
"Why do you think so?"
"Oh, his