“Do you mean, Edith, that no crime would separate you from a friend?”
“I have not said that. There are circumstances always. But if she repents—as I am sure she does, I cannot bring myself to desert her. Who else is there that can stand by her now; what other woman? At any rate I have promised her, and you would not have me break my word.”
Thus she again gained her point, and it was settled that for the present Lady Mason should be allowed to occupy her own room—her own room, and occasionally Mrs. Orme’s sitting-room, if it pleased her to do so. No day was named for her removal, but, Mrs. Orme perfectly understood that the sooner such a day could be fixed the better Sir Peregrine would be pleased. And, indeed, his household as at present arranged was not a pleasant one. The servants had all heard of his intended marriage, and now they must also hear that that intention was abandoned. And yet the lady would remain upstairs as a guest of his! There was much in this that was inconvenient; but under circumstances as they now existed, what could he do?
When all this was arranged and Mrs. Orme had dressed for dinner, she again went to Lady Mason. She found her in bed, and told her that at night she would come to her and tell her all. And then she instructed her own servant as to attending upon the invalid. In doing this she was cunning in letting a word fall here and there, that might teach the woman that that marriage purpose was all over; but nevertheless there was so much care and apparent affection in her mode of speaking, and she gave her orders for Lady Mason’s comfort with so much earnestness, that no idea could get abroad in the household that there had been any cause for absolute quarrel.
Late at night, when her son had left her, she did go again to her guest’s room, and sitting down by the bedside she told her all that had been planned, pointing out however with much care that, as a part of those plans, Orley Farm was to be surrendered to Joseph Mason. “You think that is right; do you not?” said Mrs. Orme, almost trembling as she asked a question so pertinent to the deed which the other had done, and to that repentance for the deed which was now so much to be desired.
“Yes,” said the other, “of course it will be right.” And then the thought that it was not in her power to abandon the property occurred to her also. If the estate must be voluntarily surrendered, no one could so surrender it but Lucius Mason. She knew this, and felt at the moment that of all men he would be the least likely to do so, unless an adequate reason was made clearly plain to him. The same thought at the same moment was passing through the minds of them both; but Lady Mason could not speak out her thought, and Mrs. Orme would not say more on that terrible day to trouble the mind of the poor creature whose sufferings she was so anxious to assuage.
And then Lady Mason was left alone, and having now a partner in her secret, slept sounder than she had done since the tidings first reached her of Mr. Dockwrath’s vengeance.
XLVII
The Gem of the Four Families
And now we will go back to Noningsby. On that evening Graham ate his pheasant with a relish although so many cares sat heavy on his mind, and declared, to Mrs. Baker’s great satisfaction, that the cook had managed to preserve the bread sauce uninjured through all the perils of delay which it had encountered.
“Bread sauce is so ticklish; a simmer too much and it’s clean done for,” Mrs. Baker said with a voice of great solicitude. But she had been accustomed perhaps to patients whose appetites were fastidious. The pheasant and the bread sauce and the mashed potatoes, all prepared by Mrs. Baker’s own hands to be eaten as spoon meat, disappeared with great celerity; and then, as Graham sat sipping the solitary glass of sherry that was allowed to him, meditating that he would begin his letter the moment the glass was empty, Augustus Staveley again made his appearance.
“Well, old fellow,” said he, “how are you now?” and he was particularly careful so to speak as to show by his voice that his affection for his friend was as strong as ever. But in doing so he showed also that there was some special thought still present in his mind—some feeling which was serious in its nature if not absolutely painful.
“Staveley,” said the other, gravely, “I have acquired knowledge today which I trust I may carry with me to my grave.”
“And what is that?” said Augustus, looking round to Mrs. Baker as though he thought it well that she should be out of the room before the expected communication was made. But Mrs. Baker’s attention was so riveted by her patient’s earnestness, that she made no attempt to go.
“It is a wasting of the best gifts of Providence,” said Graham, “to eat a pheasant after one has really done one’s dinner.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Augustus.
“So it is, sir,” said Mrs. Baker, thinking that the subject quite justified the manner.
“And of no use whatsoever to eat only a little bit of one as a man does then. To know what a pheasant is you should have it all to yourself.”
“So you should, sir,” said Mrs. Baker, quite delighted and very much in earnest.
“And you should have nothing else. Then, if the bird be good to begin with, and has been well hung—”
“There’s a deal in that,” said Mrs. Baker.
“Then, I say, you’ll know what a pheasant is. That’s the lesson which I have learned today, and I give it you as an adequate return
