‘Oh, Northmoor, it was very horrid and unguarded in me, and I can only be sorry and beg your pardon,’ and while she laughed and held out her hand, there was a dew in her eyes.
‘Truths do not need pardon,’ he said, as he gave a cousinly grasp, ‘and I think you will try kindly to excuse my deficiencies and disadvantages.’
p. 60There was a certain dignity in his tone, and Bertha said heartily—
‘Thank you. It is all right in essentials, and chatter is of very little consequence. Now come and have some breakfast.’
They got on together far better after that, and began to feel like relations, before Herbert was sent off with Mr. Prowse to Colbeam. Indeed, throughout the transactions that followed, Bertha showed herself far less devoted to her own interests than to what might be called the honour of the family. Her father’s will had been made in haste, after the death of his little grandson, and was as concise as possible, her influence having told upon it. Knowing that the new heir would have nothing to begin with, and aware that if he inherited merely the title, house, and land, he would be in great straits, the old Lord had bequeathed to him nearly what would have been left to the grandson, a fair proportion of the money in the funds and bank, and all the furniture and appurtenances of Northmoor House, excepting such articles as Bertha and Lady Adela might select, each up to a certain value.
Lady Adela’s had been few, and already chosen, and Bertha’s were manifestly only matters of personal belonging, and not up altogether to the amount named; so as to avoid stripping the place, which, at the best, was only splendid in utterly unaccustomed eyes. Horses and carriages had to be bought of her, and it was she who told him what was absolutely necessary, and fixed the price as low as she could, so as not to make them a gift. And he was not so ignorant in this matter as she had p. 61expected—for the old habits of his boyhood served him, he could ride well, and his scruples at Miss Morton’s estimate proved that he knew a horse when he saw it—as she said. She would, perhaps, have liked him better if he had been a dissipated horsey man like his father. He would have given her sensations—and on his side, considering the reputation of the family, he was surprised at her eager, almost passionate desire to be rid of the valuable horses and equipages as soon as possible.
When, in the afternoon, she went out of doors to refresh herself with a solitary ramble in the Park after her morning of business, she heard an altercation, and presently encountered a keeper, dragging after him a trespasser, in whom, to her amazement, she recognised Herbert Morton, at the same moment as he exclaimed: ‘Cousin Bertha! Miss— Look at this impudent fellow, though I told him I was Lord Northmoor’s own nephew.’
‘And I told him, ma’am,’ said the keeper, touching his hat, ‘that if he was ten nephews I wouldn’t have him throwing stones at my pheasants, nor his Lordship wouldn’t neither, and then he sauced me, and I said I would see what his Lordship said to that.’
‘You must excuse him this time, Best,’ said Miss Morton; ‘he is a town-bred boy, and knows no better, and you had better not worry his Lordship about it.’
‘Very well, Miss Morton, if it is your pleasure, but them pheasants are my province, and I must do my dooty.’
‘Of course, quite right, Best,’ she answered; ‘but p. 62my cousin here did not understand, and you must make allowance for him.’
Best touched his hat again, and went off with an undercurrent of growl.
‘Oh, Herbert, this is a pity!’ Miss Morton exclaimed.
‘Cheeky chap!’ said Herbert sulkily. ‘What business had he to meddle with me? A great big wild bird gets up with no end of a row, and I did nothing but shy a stone, and out comes this fellow at me in a regular wax, and didn’t care half a farthing when I told him who I was. I fancy he did not believe me.’
‘I don’t wonder,’ said Bertha; ‘you have yet to learn that in the eyes of any gentleman, nothing is much more sacred than a pheasant.’
‘I never meant to hurt the thing, only one just chucks a stone,’ muttered Herbert, abashed, but still defensive and offended. ‘I thought my uncle would teach the rascal how to speak to me.’
‘I’ll tell you what, Herbert, if you take that line with good old servants, who are only doing their duty, you won’t have a happy time of it here. I suppose you wish to take your place as a gentleman. Well, the greatest sign of a gentleman is to be courteous and well-behaved to all about him.’
‘He wasn’t courteous or well-behaved to me.’
‘No, because you did not show yourself such a gentleman as he has been used to. If you acted like a tramp or a poacher, no wonder he thought you one’; then, after a pause, ‘You will find that much of your pleasure in sport depends on the keepers, and that it would be a great disadvantage p. 63to be on bad terms with them, so I strongly advise you, on every account, to treat them with civility, and put out of your head that there is any dignity in being rude.’
Herbert liked Miss Morton, and had been impressed as well as kindly treated by her, and though he sulked now, there was an after-effect.
p. 64CHAPTER X
COMING HONOURS
With great trepidation did Mary Marshall set forth on her visit to Coles Kenton. She had made up her mind— and a determined mind it could be on occasion—that on it should turn her final acceptance of her twenty years’ lover.
Utterly inexperienced as she was, even in domestic, not to say high life, she had perhaps an exaggerated idea, alike of its requirements and of her own deficiencies; and she was resolved to use her own judgment, according to her personal experience, whether she should be hindrance or help to him whom she loved too truly and unselfishly to allow herself to be made the former.
She was glad that for the first few days she should not see him, and should thus be less distracted and biased, but it was with a sinking heart that she heard that Lady Kenton had called to take her up in the carriage. Grateful as she was for the kindness, which saved her the dreariness of a solitary arrival, she was a strange mixture of resolution and self-distrust, of moral courage and timidity, as had p. 65been shown by her withstanding all Miss Lang’s endeavours to make her improve her dress beyond what was absolutely necessary for the visit, lest it should
