EVERY DAY FROM SIX TO SEVEN

She wanted years to understand
The grief that he did feel.

Surrey.

Love is not love
That alters where it alteration finds.

This was how the German class was formed.

The next day, as we were leaving the dinner-table, Mr. Langenau paused a few moments by Sophie, in the hall, and talked with her about the boys.

“Charley gets on very well with his German,” he observed, “but Benny doesn’t make much progress. He is too young to study much, and acquires chiefly by the ear. If you only had a German maid, or if you could speak with him yourself, he would make much better progress.”

“Yes, I wish I had more knowledge of the language,” she replied; “I read it very easily, but cannot speak with any fluency.”

“Why will you never speak it with me?” he said. “And if you will permit me, I shall be very glad to read with you an hour a day. I have much leisure, and it would be no task to me.”

“I should like it very much, and you are very kind. But it is so hard to find an hour unoccupied, particularly with so many people in the house, whom I ought to entertain.”

“That is very true, unless you can make it a source of entertainment to them. Miss Benson is she not a German scholar? She might like to join you.”

Then, I think, the clever Sophie’s mind was illuminated, and the tutor’s little scheme was revealed to her clear eye; she embraced it with effusion. “An admirable idea,” she said, “and the others, too, perhaps, would join us if you would not mind. It would be one hour a day at least secure from ennui: I shall have great cause to thank you, if we can arrange it. For these girls get so tired of doing nothing; my mind is always on the strain to think of an amusement. Charlotte! Come here, I want to ask you something.”

Charlotte Benson came, and with her came Henrietta. I was sitting on the sofa between the parlor-doors, and could not help hearing the whole conversation, as they were standing immediately before me.

“Mr. Langenau proposes to us to read an hour a day with him in German. What do you think about it?”

“Charming,” said Charlotte with enthusiasm. “I cannot think of anything that would give me greater pleasure. Henrietta and I have read in German together for two winters, and it will be enchanting to continue it with such a master as Mr. Langenau.”

Henrietta murmured her satisfaction, and then Charlotte rushed into plans for the course, leaving me in despair, supposing I had been forgotten. What place I was to find in such advanced society I could not well imagine.

Mr. Langenau never turned his head in my direction, and talked with Miss Benson with so much earnestness about the books into which they were to plunge, that I could not convince myself that all this was undertaken solely that he might teach me German. In a little while they seemed to have settled it all to their satisfaction, and he had turned to go away. My heart was in my throat. Mrs. Hollenbeck had not forgotten me. She said something low to Mr. Langenau.

“Ah, true!” he said. “But does she know anything of German?” Then turning to me he said, with one of his dazzling sudden glances, “Miss d’Estree, we are talking of making up a German class; do you understand the language?”

“No,” I said, meeting his eye for a moment, “I have only taken one lesson in my life,” and then blushed scarlet at my own audacity.

“Ah,” said he, as if quite sorry for the disappointment, “I wish you were advanced enough to join us.”

Then Charlotte Benson, quite ignoring the interruption, began to ask him about a book that she wanted very much to find. Mr. Langenau had it in his room a most happy accident, and there was a great deal said about it. I again was left in doubt of my fate. Again Sophie interposed. “We have forgotten Mary Leighton,” she said, gently.

“Does Miss Leighton know anything of German?”

“Not a thing,” said Henrietta.

“What does she know anything of, but flirting?” said Charlotte with asperity, glancing out into the grounds where Kilian was murmuring softest folly to her under her pongee parasol.

“Perhaps she’d like to learn,” suggested Sophie. “She and Pauline might begin together; that is, if Mr. Langenau would not think it too much trouble to give them an occasional suggestion. And you, Charlotte, I am sure, could help them a great deal.”

Charlotte made no disguise of her disinclination to undertake to help them.

Mr. Langenau expressed his willingness so unenthusiastically, that I think Mrs. Hollenbeck was staggered. I saw her glance anxiously at him, as if to know what really he might mean. She concluded to interpret according to the context, however, and went on.

“But it will be so much better for all to undertake it, if one does. Suppose they try and see how it will work, either before or after our lesson.”

“De tout mon coeur,” said Mr. Langenau, as if, however, his coeur had very little interest in the matter.

“Well, about the hour?” said Charlotte, the woman of business; “we haven’t settled that after all our talking.”

There was a great deal more, oh, a great deal more, and then it was settled that five in the afternoon should be considered the German hour subject to alteration as circumstances should arise.

Mrs. Hollenbeck very discreetly ordered that a beginning should not be made till the next day but one. “The gentlemen will all be here to-morrow, and there may be something else going on.” I knew very well she was afraid of Richard, and thought he would not approve her zeal for our improvement.

The first lesson was very dull work for me. It was agreed that Mary Leighton and I should take our lesson after the others, sitting beside them, however, for the benefit of such crumbs of information as might fall to us.

Mr. Langenau took no special notice of me then, and very little that was flattering when Mary Leighton and I began our lesson proper. Mrs. Hollenbeck, Charlotte, and Henrietta took up their books and left, when the infant class was called. I do not think Mr. Langenau took great pains to make the study of the German tongue of interest to Miss Leighton. She was unspeakably bored, and never even learned the alphabet. She was very much unused to mental application, undoubtedly, and was annoyed at appearing dull. There was but one door open to her; to vote German a bore, and give up the class. She made her exit by that door on the occasion of the second lesson, and Mr. Langenau and I were left to pursue our studies undisturbed. The rendezvous was the piazza in fine weather, and the library when it was damp or cloudy. The fidelity with which the senior Germans gathered up their books and left, when their hour was over, was mainly due to the kind thoughtfulness of Mrs. Hollenbeck, who was always prompt, and always found some excuse for carrying away Charlotte and Henrietta with her when she went.

It can be imagined what those hours were to me, those soft, golden afternoons. Sometimes we took our books and went out under the trees to some shaded seats, and sat there till the maid came out to call us in to tea. Happy, happy hours in dreamland! But what peril to me, and perhaps to him. It is vain to go over it all: it is enough that of all the happy days, that hour from six o’clock till tea-time was the happiest: and that with strange smoothness, day after day passed on without bringing interruption to it. At six the others went to ride or walk; I was never called, and did not even wonder at it.

All this time Richard had been going every day to town and coming back by the evening train. It was pretty tiresome work, and he looked rather pale and worn; but I believe he could not stay away. I sometimes felt a little sorry when I saw how much he was out of spirits, but I was in such a happy realm myself, it did not depress me long: in truth, I forgot it when he was not actually before me, and sometimes even then. “I do not think you are listening to what I say,” he said to me one night as he sat by me in the parlor. I blushed desperately, and tried to listen better. Ah! how often it happened after that. I blush again to think how much I pained him, and how silently he bore it all.

The last days of July were very busy ones in the Wall-street office, and Richard did not give himself a holiday, till one Saturday, much to be remembered, the very last day of the month. I recall with penitence, the impatient feeling that I had when Richard told me he was going to take the day at home. I felt intuitively that it would spoil it all for me. After breakfast, we all played croquet, and then I shut myself into my room with my German books, and selfishly saw no one till dinner. At dinner I was excited and half frightened, as I always was when Mr. Langenau and Richard were both present, and both watching me; it was impossible to please either.

Something was said about the afternoon, and Richard (who all this time knew nothing of the German class) said to me, evidently afraid of some other engagement being entered on, “I hope you will drive with me, Pauline, at five. I ordered the horses when I was down at the stables; I think the afternoon is going to be fine.” It was rather a public way of asking one out of so many to go and take a drive; but in truth, Richard was too honest and straightforward to care who knew what he was in pursuit of, and too sore at heart and too indifferent an actor to conceal it if he had desired. But the invitation struck me with such consternation. At five o’clock! The flower and consummation of the day! The hour that I had been looking forward to, since seven the day before. I could not lose it. I would not go to drive. I hated Richard. I hated going to drive. I grew very brave, and was on the point of saying that I could not go, when I caught Sophie’s eye. She made me a quick sign, which I dared not disobey. I blushed crimson, and did not lift my eyes again, but said in a low voice that I would go. Then my heart seemed to turn to lead, and all the glory and pleasure of the day was gone. It seemed to me of such vast importance, of such endless duration, this penance that I was to undergo. O lovers! Foolish, foolish men and women! I was like a child balked of its holiday; I wanted to cry I longed to get away by myself. I did not dare to look at any one.

Mr. Langenau excused himself, and left the table before the others went away. As we were leaving the table, Sophie, passing close by me, said quite low, “I would not say anything about the German class, Pauline. And it was a great deal better that you should go; you know Richard has not many holidays.”

“Yes, but you don’t give up all your pleasures for him,” I thought, but did not say.

I went quickly to my room, and saw no one till I came down-stairs at five o’clock. I had on a veil, for my face was rather flushed, and my eyes somewhat the worse for crying. Richard was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and accompanied me silently to the wagon, which stood at the door. As we passed the parlor I could see, on the east piazza, Mr. Langenau and Charlotte already at their books. Both were so engrossed that they did not look up as we went through the hall. For that, Richard, poor fellow! had to suffer. I was too unreasonable to comprehend that Mr. Langenau’s absorbed manner was a covering for his pique. It was enough torture to have to lose my lesson, without seeing him engrossed with some one else, whose fate was happier than mine. Perhaps, after all, he was fascinated by Charlotte Benson. She was bright, clever, and understood him so well. She admired him so much. She was, I was sure, half in love with him. (The day before I had concluded she liked Richard very much.) That was a very disagreeable drive. I complained of the heat. The sun hurt my eyes.

“We can go back, if you desire it,” said Richard, with a shade of sternness in his voice, stopping the horses suddenly, after two miles of what would have been ill-temper if we had been married, but was now perhaps only petulance.

“I don’t desire it,” I said, quite frightened, “but I do wish we could go a little faster till we get into the shade.”

After that, there was naturally very little pleasure in conversation. I felt angry with Richard and ashamed of myself. For him, I am afraid his feelings were very bitter, and his silence the cover of a sore heart. We had started to take a certain drive; we both wished it over, I suppose, but both lacked courage to shorten it, or go home before we were expected. There was a brilliant sunset, but I am sure we did not see it: then the clouds gathered and the twilight came on, and we were nearly home.

“Pauline,” said Richard, hoarsely, not looking at me, and insensibly slackening the hold he had upon the reins; “will you let me say something to you? I want to give you some advice, if you will listen to me.”

“I don’t want anybody to advise me,” I said in alarm, “and I don’t know what right you have to expect me to listen to you, Richard, unless it is that I am your guest; and I shouldn’t think that was any reason why I should be made to listen to what isn’t pleasant to me.”

The horses started forward, from the sudden emphasis of Richard’s pull upon the reins; and that was all the answer that I had to my most unjustifiable words. Not a syllable was spoken after that; and in a few moments we were at the house. Richard silently handed me out; if I had been thinking about him I should have been frightened at the expression of his face, but I was not: I was only thinking that we were at home, and that I was going to have the happiness of meeting Mr. Langenau.