A Civil Contract

have been devised for her, entertainment by retiring to her bedroom in a state of exhaustion; but as soon as she was entreated to do exactly what she liked she began to think that if she rested for an hour she might feel sufficiently restored to join her family at the dinner-table. She allowed Jenny to escort her upstairs, and although it naturally caused her a pang not to be going to her “own” room, she found that such careful provisions for her comfort had been made in the handsomely furnished apartment allotted to her that her melancholy abated. By the time she had been settled on a cushioned day-bed, and had been revived with tea and toast, she was wonderfully in charity with Jenny, and told her that rather than disappoint her dear ones she would make an effort to overcome her fatigue sufficiently to come downstairs in time for dinner.

Meanwhile, Lydia, having peeped into the dining-room, and exclaimed, in awed accents: “Goodness, how rich!” had gone up to the drawing-room with her brother. She paused on the threshold, and stood at gaze, not saying anything for a full minute. Then she looked doubtfully at Adam. His eyes twinkled. “Well?”

“May I say what I think, or — or not?”

“You may, but you needn’t. I know what you think.”

“It’s the stripes!” she said “It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if you took them away — though I must own I don’t like that very peculiar sofa much. Those horrid little legs look like some sort of an animal.”

“Reptile. They are crocodile legs.”

“Crocodile?” Lydia inspected them more closely, and went into a peal of laughter. “Yes, they are! I thought you were trying to hoax me. But why? Oh, yes, I see! It’s the Egyptian mode, isn’t it? I know it’s all the crack, but I don’t think it’s very comfortable, do you?”

“I think it’s detestable,” he answered, laughing too. “Wait until you see Jenny’s preposterous bed! She didn’t choose this stuff, you know: it was her father.”

“Poor Mr Chawleigh! I expect he thinks it’s the very first style of elegance. Mama won’t, you know. Besides, she doesn’t like Mr Chawleigh. I do, even if he is a funny one!” She heaved a sigh. “Oh, Adam, I wish Mama hadn’t settled on Bath! If she had decided on a house in London I could have borne it better, for I should have had you to talk to when I felt quite desperate, which, I’m sorry to say, I frequently do.”

“Has she been very trying?” he asked sympathetically.

“Yes. And I find that I cannot be a comfort to her. Am I very unnatural, Adam?” He shook his head, smiling. “Well, Mama says I am, and sometimes I fear I may be, because I am growing to dislike Charlotte as much as I dislike Maria! Would you have believed it possible that I could? Charlotte! ”

He laughed. “Poor Charlotte! But you don’t really, you know.”

She eyed him somewhat ominously. “No! But I shall if you are going to call her poor Charlotte too!”

“I take it back!” he said hastily. “I never said it!”

Her dimples quivered into being, but she said gloomily: “It’s such humbug! Mama talks about her as if she were dead — except that she hasn’t yet called her her sainted Charlotte. And how she can do so, when she knows Charlotte is as happy as a grig — ! We have had a letter from her, you know, sent from York, where they were staying for a few days.”

“No, I didn’t know, but I’m delighted to hear that she’s so happy.”

“Adam,” disclosed, Lydia, in an awed voice, “she says that Lambert partakes of all her ideas and sentiments!”

“Good God! I mean, how — how fortunate!”

“They shared solemn and elevating thoughts in the Cathedral.”

“No, they didn’t,” replied Adam instantly. “Charlotte had solemn and elevating thoughts, and Lambert said; ‘Ay, very true! By Jove, yes!’ Lydia, you wretch, you are making me as bad as you are yourself! Be quiet!”

She chuckled but had to wink away a tear. “Oh, if only Maria hadn’t died! Then I shouldn’t have been obliged to be a comfort to Mama, or have gone to Bath, even!”

He gave her a hug. “I wish you needn’t have gone, but I think you must, at any rate for a time. Try to bear it! If Mama doesn’t bring you to London herself next spring, would you like to come to us, and let Jenny present you?”

The hug was returned with interest; Lydia cried rapturously: “Yes, of all things! Aunt Nassington spoke of bringing me out, but I would far prefer to be with you. If Jenny would be agreeable?”

As Jenny, who came into the room at that moment, said at once that nothing would afford her greater pleasure, Lydia’s spirits bounded up, and she said, in a burst of confidence, that she hoped Mama would decide to remain in Bath during the spring.

“Outrageous brat! Take her away, Jenny! By the bye, don’t neglect to show her your bathroom! She’ll like it!”

Lydia, in fact, was entranced by it, and scandalized Martha Pinhoe by declaring her determination to use it. “You don’t mean to tell me you don’t, Jenny? Why, it is a beautiful bath! All these mirrors too! You may see yourself whichever way you look while you’re in the bath.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be my notion of a high treat!” remarked Jenny. “However, you’re welcome to use it if you choose.”

“No, that she is not, my lady!” declared Miss Pinhoe. I’m surprised at you, saying such a thing! We all know what land of creatures they are that sit in their baths with looking-glasses all round! The idea!”

It was evident that Lydia was exempt from this universal knowledge, and as it was also evident that she was going to demand enlightenment of Miss Pinhoe, Jenny hurriedly took her away to her own room. Lydia approved of this too, exclaiming: “Why, it’s all new, except for that chest, and the little chair by the window! I must say, it’s a great improvement: it was dreadfully shabby before!”

“Do you like it?” Jenny asked anxiously. “I haven’t very good taste myself — not that I had anything to do with furnishing the house: Papa did it, while we were at Rushleigh, to — to surprise us. Only I’m afraid he made it all rather too — too grand!”

“For my part,” said Lydia, “I shouldn’t care a rush for that. How truly splendid to have a father who gives you such sumptuous surprises!” She hesitated, and then said shyly: “He won’t change Fontley, will he? Not too much?”

“No, no, I promise you it shan’t be changed at all!” Jenny replied, her colour rushing up.

“I don’t mean that this house isn’t very elegant!” said Lydia hastily. “Only that it wouldn’t suit Fontley so well!”

It was the opinion of the Dowager, when she descended to the drawing-room, that the style favoured by Mr Chawleigh would suit no house, and at the first opportunity she expressed this opinion to Adam with great freedom. He found himself defending even the green stripes. He said doggedly that stripes were of the first stare. “Such a very vulgar shade!” said the Dowager, with a shudder. “Far too much bullion on the curtains too! Alas, when I remember how this room once appeared I can’t but grieve at such a transformation!”

He was goaded into retorting: “It could hardly appear the same, ma’am, once you had removed from it everything but the carpet and three of the pictures!”

This unfilial rejoinder wounded her so deeply that not only were the ghosts of Stephen and Maria evoked, but she said, when Jenny told her of the small party arranged for her pleasure, that no doubt dear Jenny had forgotten that she was in deep mourning.

“As though any of us could forget it, when she is positively dripping black crape!” said Lydia. “But don’t be in a worry, Jenny! She won’t retire to her room, I promise you!”

Jenny was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance, but her anxiety was not really allayed until the Dowager came downstairs just before eight o’clock arrayed in black silk, and with Adam’s mantilla pinned over a Spanish comb (also his gift) set in her fair locks.

“Oh, how pretty you look!” Jenny exclaimed involuntarily. “I beg your pardon! I couldn’t resist!”

“Dearest child!” murmured the Dowager indulgently.

“I take great credit to myself for knowing that nothing would become you better than a mantilla,” said Adam. “Perfect, Mama!”