“Did she marry at last against their wish?”
“Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort. She wasn’t one of them flighty ones neither. She just made up her own mind and bided. And now I don’t know whether she hasn’t done about the best of ’em all. Them Oliphants is full of money, they do say—full of money. That was Miss Louisa, who came next. But, Lord love you, Mr. Graham, he’s so crammed with gout as he can’t ever put a foot to the ground; and as cross;—as cross as cross. We goes there sometimes, you know. Then the girls is all plain; and young Mr. Oliphant, the son—why he never so much as speaks to his own father; and though they’re rolling in money, they say he can’t pay for the coat on his back. Now our Mr. Augustus, unless it is that he won’t come down to morning prayers and always keeps the dinner waiting, I don’t think there’s ever a black look between him and his papa. And as for Miss Madeline—she’s the gem of the four families. Everybody gives that up to her.”
If Madeline’s mother married a barrister in opposition to the wishes of her family—a barrister who then possessed nothing but his wits—why should not Madeline do so also? That was of course the line which his thoughts took. But then, as he said to himself, Madeline’s father had been one of the handsomest men of his day, whereas he was one of the ugliest; and Madeline’s father had been encumbered with no Mary Snow. A man who had been such a fool as he, who had gone so far out of the regular course, thinking to be wiser than other men, but being in truth much more silly, could not look for that success and happiness in life which men enjoy who have not been so lamentably deficient in discretion! ’Twas thus that he lectured himself; but still he went on thinking of Madeline Staveley.
There had been some disagreeable confusion in the house that afternoon after Augustus had spoken to his sister. Madeline had gone up to her own room, and had remained there, chewing the cud of her thoughts. Both her sister and her brother had warned her about this man. She could moreover divine that her mother was suffering under some anxiety on the same subject. Why was all this? Why should these things be said and thought? Why should there be uneasiness in the house on her account in this matter of Mr. Graham? She acknowledged to herself that there was such uneasiness;—and she almost acknowledged to herself the cause.
But while she was still sitting over her own fire, with her needle untouched beside her, her father had come home, and Lady Staveley had mentioned to him that Mr. Graham thought of going on the next day.
“Nonsense, my dear,” said the judge. “He must not think of such a thing. He can hardly be fit to leave his room yet.”
“Pottinger does say that it has gone on very favourably,” pleaded Lady Staveley.
“But that’s no reason he should destroy the advantages of his healthy constitution by insane imprudence. He’s got nothing to do. He wants to go merely because he thinks he is in your way.”
Lady Staveley looked wishfully up in her husband’s face, longing to tell him all her suspicions. But as yet her grounds for them were so slight that even to him she hesitated to mention them.
“His being here is no trouble to me, of course,” she said.
“Of course not. You tell him so, and he’ll stay,” said the judge. “I want to see him tomorrow myself;—about this business of poor Lady Mason’s.”
Immediately after that he met his son. And Augustus also told him that Graham was going.
“Oh no; he’s not going at all,” said the judge. “I’ve settled that with your mother.”
“He’s very anxious to be off,” said Augustus gravely.
“And why? Is there any reason?”
“Well; I don’t know.” For a moment he thought he would tell his father the whole story; but he reflected that his doing so would be hardly fair towards his friend. “I don’t know that there is any absolute reason; but I’m quite sure that he is very anxious to go.”
The judge at once perceived that there was something in the wind, and during that hour in which the pheasant was being discussed up in Graham’s room, he succeeded in learning the whole from his wife. Dear, good, loving wife! A secret of any kind from him was an impossibility to her, although that secret went no further than her thoughts.
“The darling girl is so anxious about him, that—that I’m afraid,” said she.
“He’s by no means a bad sort of man, my love,” said the judge.
“But he’s got nothing—literally nothing,” said the mother.
“Neither had I, when I went a wooing,” said the judge. “But, nevertheless, I managed to have it all my own way.”
“You don’t mean really to make a comparison?” said Lady Staveley. “In the first place you were at the top of your profession.”
“Was I? If so I must have achieved that distinction at a very early age.” And then he kissed his wife very affectionately. Nobody was there to see, and under such circumstances a man may kiss his wife even though he be a judge, and between fifty and sixty years old. After that he again spoke to his son, and in spite of the resolves which Augustus had made as to what friendship required of him, succeeded in learning the whole truth.
Late in the evening, when all the party had drunk their cups of tea, when Lady Staveley was beginning her nap, and Augustus was making himself agreeable to Miss Furnival—to the great annoyance of his mother, who half rousing herself every now and then, looked sorrowfully at
