When the servants were gone it was a little better, but not much. “Mason, do you mean to hunt this season?” Peregrine asked.
“No,” said the other.
“Well, I would if I were you. You will never know the fellows about here unless you do.”
“In the first place I can’t afford the time,” said Lucius, “and in the next place I can’t afford the money.” This was plucky on his part, and it was felt to be so by everybody in the room; but perhaps had he spoken all the truth, he would have said also that he was not accustomed to horsemanship.
“To a fellow who has a place of his own as you have, it costs nothing,” said Peregrine.
“Oh, does it not?” said the baronet; “I used to think differently.”
“Well; not so much, I mean, as if you had everything to buy. Besides, I look upon Mason as a sort of Croesus. What on earth has he got to do with his money? And then as to time;—upon my word I don’t understand what a man means when he says he has not got time for hunting.”
“Lucius intends to be a farmer,” said his mother.
“So do I,” said Peregrine. “By Jove, I should think so. If I had two hundred acres of land in my own hand I should not want anything else in the world, and would never ask anyone for a shilling.”
“If that be so, I might make the best bargain at once that ever a man made,” said the baronet. “If I might take you at your word, Master Perry—.”
“Pray don’t talk of it, sir,” said Mrs. Orme.
“You may be quite sure of this, my dear—that I shall not do more than talk of it.” Then Sir Peregrine asked Lady Mason if she would take any more wine; after which the ladies withdrew, and the lecture commenced.
But we will in the first place accompany the ladies into the drawing-room for a few minutes. It was hinted in one of the first chapters of this story that Lady Mason might have become more intimate than she had done with Mrs. Orme, had she so pleased it; and by this it will of course be presumed that she had not so pleased. All this is perfectly true. Mrs. Orme had now been living at The Cleeve the greater portion of her life, and had never while there made one really well-loved friend. She had a sister of her own, and dear old friends of her childhood, who lived far away from her in the northern counties. Occasionally she did see them, and was then very happy; but this was not frequent with her. Her sister, who was married to a peer, might stay at The Cleeve for a fortnight, perhaps once in the year; but Mrs. Orme herself seldom left her own home. She thought, and certainly not without cause, that Sir Peregrine was not happy in her absence, and therefore she never left him. Then, living there so much alone, was it not natural that her heart should desire a friend?
But Lady Mason had been living much more alone. She had no sister to come to her, even though it were but once a year. She had no intimate female friend, none to whom she could really speak with the full freedom of friendship, and it would have been delightful to have bound to her by ties of love so sweet a creature as Mrs. Orme, a widow like herself—and like herself a widow with one only son. But she, warily picking her steps through life, had learned the necessity of being cautious in all things. The countenance of Sir Peregrine had been invaluable to her, and might it not be possible that she should lose that countenance? A word or two spoken now and then again, a look not intended to be noticed, an altered tone, or perhaps a change in the pressure of the old man’s hand, had taught Lady Mason to think that he might disapprove such intimacy. Probably at the moment she was right, for she was quick at reading such small signs. It behoved her to be very careful, and to indulge in no pleasure which might be costly; and therefore she had denied herself in this matter—as in so many others.
But now it had occurred to her that it might be well to change her conduct. Either she felt that Sir Peregrine’s friendship for her was too confirmed to be shaken, or perhaps she fancied that she might strengthen it by means of his daughter-in-law. At any rate she resolved to accept the offer which had once been tacitly made to her, if it were still open to her to do so.
“How little changed your boy is!” she said, when they were seated near to each other, with their coffee-cups between them.
“No; he does not change quickly; and, as you say, he is a boy still in many things. I do not know whether it may not be better that it should be so.”
“I did not mean to call him a boy in that sense,” said Lady Mason.
“But you might; now your son is quite a man.”
“Poor Lucius! yes; in his position it is necessary. His little bit of property is already his own; and then he has no one like Sir Peregrine to look out for him. Necessity makes him manly.”
“He will be marrying soon, I dare say,” suggested Mrs. Orme.
“Oh, I
