“Oh—sir—you cannot think that—”
Columbine finally opened his eyes and looked at William, who felt the full force of his captain’s anguish and regret. Between laboured breaths, he continued: “Had I to do it all over—but it is all too late. Reflect, Price—ask yourself—whether you are conferring any benefit worth having—upon a woman—when you offer her marriage. What loneliness, what worry—will you inflict upon the woman you love—by your lengthy absence—or worse, what dangers—will you expose her to if you bring your wife with you?”
The exertion of speaking had exhausted the dying man. A tear streamed down his shrunken cheek, and he fell back into unconsciousness.
Chapter Five
The summer heat often rendered the upstairs classroom very disagreeable, even with the windows open to admit every faint breeze. By the afternoon, the girls were all drooping and yawning at their places, after having been kept at their tasks, with little intermission, since seven o’clock in the morning. Yet, when Matron ran the bell for dismissal, it was as though a bolt of lightning passed around the room. Those who were but half-awake instantly regained their vivacity. Whispers grew to excited chatters and trills of laughter, aprons were quickly doffed, and the girls scampered happily away.
On one particular Wednesday afternoon, the girls forgot their eagerness to escape the classroom, for they awaited the appearance of their instructress in her new gown. It was white, with blue trimming and had been designed by herself and Madame Orly, and she was to wear it to an afternoon reception given by Lady Delingpole. The young sempstresses would not be satisfied until Fanny promised to call in at the academy on their way into town, to show herself to them.
When Fanny appeared, the girls squealed and exclaimed in pleasure and pride, examining their own handiwork in the stitchery which decorated the hem and fashionably low neckline. Madame Orly had arranged Fanny’s hair; she was accoutred with gloves, fan, ear-bobs, shawl, and new slippers, and she looked very well indeed.
Fanny smiled as her pupils congratulated themselves; for indeed, their new-found skills had transformed their sewing instructress—who ordinarily wore the plain garb of a governess—into a vision from a fashion plate.
“Her hair looks so pretty! I wish my hair would curl like hers,” cried Martha.
“And her cheeks are so rosy, and her lips so pink,” said Tansy. “Like a picture.”
“I am sure someone will fall in love with her.”
“I should not like for her to get married, because then she would leave us.”
“Perhaps. Mrs. Blodgett is married, ain’t she? And at any rate, Miss Price should get married soon. She is already twenty.”
“She should go to St. Pancras at midnight, and take a brick from the church-yard,” said Sarah knowingly, “and place it under her pillow, then she will dream of her husband.”
“St. Pancras—Mr. Edifice is the curate, at St. Pancras!”
And the girls dissolved into giggles.
And upon examining her own feelings, Fanny discovered she was not unhappy to know she was in good looks, and further, to know that William Gibson would also be in attendance at the reception. His book, Amongst the Slavers, was a prodigious success and had sold out three editions. In fact, Gibson was the literary lion of the hour in London and received many invitations from London’s political hostesses.
These thoughts, pleasant as they were, contended in Fanny’s mind with the fear of walking into a London drawing room filled with titled and powerful persons. Fanny depended upon finding some obscure corner from which to observe the gathering without drawing attention to herself. She was also very conscious of her exposed bosom, and kept her light muslin shawl clutched firmly around her shoulders as she descended from the carriage.
“Come now, Fanny, take a deep breath and plunge in,” Mrs. Butters whispered to her, with some asperity, as they waited in the entrance hall to be received by their host and hostess, “you do not often have such a fine opportunity of meeting with so many interesting people, so try not to look so timid. You are the niece of a baronet and you are involved in a commendable charitable project. Hold your head up high and know your own worth.”
And Fanny began well enough. Lady Delingpole received her kindly; Lord Delingpole, once he understood who she was, gallantly hailed her as “another beauteous bloom from the Bertram bouquet,” and she heard herself responding politely.
Mrs. Butters’ attention was instantly claimed by some of her many acquaintance, and Fanny was left for a moment to look about herself. Past the lobby, still busy with recent arrivals, a large archway led to a gilded reception room, which appeared to be so crowded that Fanny wondered how the great mansion could admit any more guests. What was at first, to her bewildered senses, a blur of noise and bustle, began to sort itself out—she saw many elegant persons, all strangers, all conversing, all ignoring the efforts of the string trio playing from an upstairs balcony. There was much laughter, much heat, much candlelight. But finally, just inside the entrance, she discerned the tall slender form of William Gibson.
He was newly and neatly attired, his unruly brown hair trimmed and pulled into a queue. His snowy white cravat had been wrapped
