The American Senator

that Lawrence Twentyman, though not poor, had other plans of life and thought of leaving the neighbourhood. She, of course, had the money; and as she believed that land was the one proper possession for an English gentleman of ancient family, she doubtless would have been willing to buy it had she approved of the hands into which it would fall. It seemed to her that it was her duty to do as much for the estate with which all her fortune had been concerned. “Yes,” she said; “it should be bought⁠—if other things suited. We will talk of it tomorrow, John.” Then he spoke of his mission to Patagonia and of his regret that it should be abandoned. Even were he ever to be well again his strength would return to him too late for this purpose. He had already made known to the Foreign Office his inability to undertake that service. But she could perceive that he had not in truth abandoned his hopes of living, for he spoke much of his ambition as to the public service. The more he thought of it, he said, the more certain he became that it would suit him better to go on with his profession than to live the life of a country squire in England. And yet she could see the change which had taken place since she was last there and was aware that he was fading away from day to day.

It was not till they were summoned to dine together that she saw Lady Ushant. Very many years had passed since last they were together, and yet neither seemed to the other to be much changed. Lady Ushant was still soft, retiring, and almost timid; whereas Mrs. Morton showed her inclination to domineer even in the way in which she helped herself to salt. While the servant was with them very little was said on either side. There was a word or two from Mrs. Morton to show that she considered herself the mistress there⁠—and a word from the other lady proclaiming that she had no pretensions of that kind. But after dinner in the little drawing-room they were more communicative. Something of course was said as to the health of the invalid. Lady Ushant was not the woman to give a pronounced opinion on such a subject. She used doubtful, hesitating words, and would in one minute almost contradict what she had said in the former. But Mrs. Morton was clever enough to perceive that Lady Ushant was almost without hope. Then she made a little speech with a fixed purpose. “It must be a great trouble to you, Lady Ushant, to be so long away from home.”

“Not at all,” said Lady Ushant in perfect innocence. “I have nothing to bind me anywhere.”

“I shall think it my duty to remain here now⁠—till the end.”

“I suppose so. He has always been almost the same to you as your own.”

“Quite so; quite the same. He is my own.” And yet⁠—thought Lady Ushant⁠—she left him in his illness! She, too, had heard something from Mrs. Hopkins of the temper in which Mrs. Morton had last left Bragton. “But you are not bound to him in that way.”

“Not in that way certainly.”

“In no way, I may say. It was very kind of you to come when business made it imperative on me to go to town, but I do not think we can call upon you for further sacrifice.”

“It is no sacrifice, Mrs. Morton.” Lady Ushant was as meek as a worm, but a worm will turn. And, though innocent, she was quick enough to perceive that at this, their first meeting, the other old woman was endeavouring to turn her out of the house.

“I mean that it can hardly be necessary to call upon you to give up your time.”

“What has an old woman to do with her time, Mrs. Morton?”

Hitherto Mrs. Morton had smiled. The smile indeed had been grim, but it had been intended to betoken outward civility. Now there came a frown upon her brow which was more grim and by no means civil. “The truth is that at such a time one who is almost a stranger⁠—”

“I am no stranger,” said Lady Ushant.

“You had not seen him since he was an infant.”

“My name was Morton as is his, and my dear father was the owner of this house. Your husband, Mrs. Morton, was his grandfather and my brother. I will allow no one to tell me that I am a stranger at Bragton. I have lived here many more years than you.”

“A stranger to him, I meant. And now that he is ill⁠—”

“I shall stay with him⁠—till he desires me to go away. He asked me to stay and that is quite enough.” Then she got up and left the room with more dignity⁠—as also she had spoken with more earnestness⁠—than Mrs. Morton had given her credit for possessing. After that the two ladies did not meet again till the next day.

LVIII

The Two Old Ladies

On the next morning Mrs. Morton did not come down to breakfast, but sat alone upstairs nursing her wrath. During the night she had made up her mind to one or two things. She would never enter her grandson’s chambers when Lady Ushant was there. She would not speak to Reginald Morton, and should he come into her presence while she was at Bragton she would leave the room. She would do her best to make the house, in common parlance, “too hot” to hold that other woman. And she would make use of those words which John had spoken concerning Chowton Farm as a peg on which she might hang her discourse in reference to his will. If in doing all this she should receive that dutiful assistance which she thought that he owed her⁠—then she should stand by his bedside, and be tender to him, and nurse him to the last as