“Open the door, Perry,” she said; “it is Lady Mason.” He did open the door, and Lady Mason entered.
“Oh, Mr. Orme, I did not know that you were here.”
“I am just off. Good night, mother.”
“But I am disturbing you.”
“No, we had done;” and he stooped down and kissed his mother. “Good night, Lady Mason. Hadn’t I better put some coals on for you, or the fire will be out?” He did put on the coals, and then he went his way.
Lady Mason while he was doing this had sat down on the sofa, close to Mrs. Orme; but when the door was closed Mrs. Orme was the first to speak. “Well, dear,” she said, putting her hand caressingly on the other’s arm. I am inclined to think that had there been no one whom Mrs. Orme was bound to consult but herself, she would have wished that this marriage should have gone on. To her it would have been altogether pleasant to have had Lady Mason ever with her in the house; and she had none of those fears as to future family retrospections respecting which Lord Alston had spoken with so much knowledge of the world. As it was, her manner was so caressing and affectionate to her guest, that she did much more to promote Sir Peregrine’s wishes than to oppose them. “Well, dear,” she said, with her sweetest smile.
“I am so sorry that I have driven your son away.”
“He was going. Besides, it would make no matter; he would stay here all night sometimes, if I didn’t drive him away myself. He comes here and writes his letters at the most unconscionable hours, and uses up all my notepaper in telling some horsekeeper what is to be done with his mare.”
“Ah, how happy you must be to have him!”
“Well, I suppose I am,” she said, as a tear came into her eyes. “We are so hard to please. I am all anxiety now that he should be married; and if he were married, then I suppose I should grumble because I did not see so much of him. He would be more settled if he would marry, I think. For myself I approve of early marriages for young men.” And then she thought of her own husband whom she had loved so well and lost so soon. And so they sat silent for a while, each thinking of her own lot in life.
“But I must not keep you up all night,” said Lady Mason.
“Oh, I do so like you to be here,” said the other. Then again she took hold of her arm, and the two women kissed each other.
“But, Edith,” said the other, “I came in here tonight with a purpose. I have something that I wish to say to you. Can you listen to me?”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Orme; “surely.”
“Has your son been talking to you about—about what was said between him and me the other day? I am sure he has, for I know he tells you everything—as he ought to do.”
“Yes, he did speak to me,” said Mrs. Orme, almost trembling with anxiety.
“I am so glad, for now it will be easier for me to tell you. And since that I have seen Mr. Furnival, and he says the same. I tell you because you are so good and so loving to me. I will keep nothing from you; but you must not tell Sir Peregrine that I talked to Mr. Furnival about this.”
Mrs. Orme gave the required promise, hardly thinking at the moment whether or no she would be guilty of any treason against Sir Peregrine in doing so.
“I think I should have said nothing to him, though he is so very old a friend, had not Mr. Orme—”
“You mean Peregrine?”
“Yes; had not he been so—so earnest about it. He told me that if I married Sir Peregrine I should be doing a cruel injury to him—to his grandfather.”
“He should not have said that.”
“Yes, Edith—if he thinks it. He told me that I should be turning all his friends against him. So I promised him that I would speak to Sir Peregrine, and break it off if it be possible.”
“He told me that.”
“And then I spoke to Mr. Furnival, and he told me that I should be blamed by all the world if I were to marry him. I cannot tell you all he said, but he said this: that if—if—”
“If what, dear?”
“If in the court they should say—”
“Say what?”
“Say that I did this thing—then Sir Peregrine would be crushed, and would die with a broken heart.”
“But they cannot say that;—it is impossible. You do not think it possible that they can do so?” And then again she took hold of Lady Mason’s arm, and looked up anxiously, into her face. She looked up anxiously, not suspecting anything, not for a moment presuming it possible that such a verdict could be justly given, but in order that she might see how far the fear of a fate so horrible was operating on her friend. Lady Mason’s face was pale and woe-worn, but not more so than was now customary with her.
“One cannot say what may be possible,” she answered slowly. “I suppose they would not go on with it if they did not think they had some chance of success.”
“You mean as to the property?”
“Yes; as to the property.”
“But why should they not try that, if
