“But he is so attached to her. And then The Cleeve is so near.”
“We must give up all that, my dear.”
“Very well,” said Lady Staveley; and from that moment it may be said that she had given in her adhesion to the Graham connection. When some time after she gave her orders to Baker as to preparing a room for Mr. Graham, it was made quite clear to that excellent woman by her mistress’s manner and anxiety as to the airing of the sheets, that Miss Madeline was to have her own way in the matter.
But long previous to these preparations Madeline and her mother had discussed the matter fully. “Papa says that Mr. Graham is to come here for the assize week,” said Lady Staveley.
“Yes; so he told me,” Madeline replied, very bashfully.
“I suppose it’s all for the best.”
“I hope it is,” said Madeline. What could she do but hope so?
“Your papa understands everything so very well that I am sure he would not let him come if it were not proper.”
“I suppose not,” said Madeline.
“And now I look upon the matter as all settled.”
“What matter, mamma?”
“That he—that he is to come here as your lover.”
“Oh, no, mamma. Pray don’t imagine that. It is not so at all. What should I do if you were to say anything to make him think so?”
“But you told me that you loved him.”
“So I do, mamma.”
“And he told your papa that he was desperately in love with you.”
“I don’t know, mamma.”
“But he did;—your papa told me so, and that’s why he asked him to come down here again. He never would have done it without.”
Madeline had her own idea about this, believing that her father had thought more of her wants in the matter than he had of those of Felix Graham; but as to this she said nothing. “Nevertheless, mamma, you must not say that to anyone,” she answered. “Mr. Graham has never spoken to me—not a word. I should of course have told you had he done so.”
“Yes, I am sure of that. But, Madeline, I suppose it’s all the same. He asked papa for permission to speak to you, and your papa has given it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know, mamma.”
It was a quarter of an hour after that when Lady Staveley again returned to the subject. “I am sure Mr. Graham is very clever, and all that.”
“Papa says that he is very clever indeed.”
“I’m quite sure he is, and he makes himself very nice in the house, always talking when there are people to dinner. Mr. Arbuthnot never will talk when there are people to dinner. But Mr. Arbuthnot has got a very nice place in Warwickshire, and they say he’ll come in for the county some day.”
“Of course, mamma, if there should be anything of that sort, we should not be rich people, like Isabella and Mr. Arbuthnot.”
“Not at first, dear.”
“Neither first nor last. But I don’t care about that. If you and papa will like him, and—and—if it should come to that!—Oh, mamma, he is so good, and so clever, and he understands things, and talks about things as though he knew how to make himself master of them. And he is honest and proud. Oh, mamma, if it should be so, I do hope you will love him.”
And then Lady Staveley promised that she would love him, thinking nevertheless that had things gone differently she would have extended a more motherly warmth of affection to Peregrine Orme.
And about this time Peregrine Orme made another visit to Noningsby. His intention was to see the judge, explaining what steps his grandfather had taken as to The Cleeve property, and then once more to have thrown himself at Madeline’s feet. But circumstances as they turned out prevented this. Although he had been at some trouble to ascertain when the judge would be at Noningsby, nevertheless, on his arrival, the judge was out. He would be home, the servant said, to dinner, but not before; and therefore he had again seen Lady Staveley, and after seeing her had not thrown himself at Madeline’s feet.
He had made up his mind to give a systematic and detailed account of his pecuniary circumstances, and had selected nearly the very words in which this should be made, not actuated by any idea that such a process would have any weight with Madeline, or by any means assist him with her, but hoping that he might thus procure the judge’s permission to press his suit. But all this preparation and all his chosen words were of no use to him. When he saw Lady Staveley’s face he at once knew that she had no comfort to offer to him. “Well,” he said; “is there any chance for me?” He had intended to speak in a very different tone, but words which have been prepared seldom manage to fit themselves into their appropriate places.
“Oh, Mr. Orme,” she said, taking him by the hand, and holding it. “I wish it were different; I wish it could be different.”
“There is no hope then?” And as he spoke there was a sound in his voice as though the tidings would utterly unman him.
“I should be wicked to deceive you,” she said. “There is no hope.” And then as she looked up at the sorrow so plainly written in the lines of his young, handsome face, tears came into her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. How could it be that a daughter of hers should be indifferent to the love of such a suitor as this?
But Peregrine, when he saw her sorrow, repressed his own. “Very well,” said he; “I will at any rate know how to take an answer. And for your kindness to me in the matter I am much obliged. I ought to have known myself better than to have supposed she could have cared for me.”
“I am sure she feels that
