But at the same time it would be vain to deny that Miss Marjoribanks looked forward to a possible visit from Mr. Cavendish with a certain amount of anxiety. She was not frightened, for she knew her own powers; but she was a little excited and stimulated by the idea that he might come in at any minute, bringing back a crowd of recollections with him; and it was a perpetual wonder to her how he would take the inevitable difference, whether he would accept it as natural, or put on the airs of an injured man. Lucilla did not go out the two afternoons after her meeting with Mrs. Woodburn, partly that she might not miss him if he called—for it was better to have it over; but Mr. Cavendish did not come on either of these days. After that, of course, she did not wait for him any longer. But on the third or fourth day, when she was in Miss Brown’s photographing room (the eldest Miss Brown was not married, and was a mother to the younger girls, and always enthusiastic about sitters), Mr. Ashburton called about business, and Thomas came to fetch Miss Marjoribanks. She was sitting with the greatest good-nature for half a dozen pictures, knowing in her secret heart all the time that she would look a perfect fright, and that all Carlingford would see her grinning with imbecile amiability out of the hazy background of Miss Brown’s cartes. Lucilla knew this, and had hitherto avoided the process with success; but now she gave in; and as the Major was there, of course they talked of the coming election, which, indeed, at present was almost the only topic of conversation in Grange Lane.
“Of course, you are on Mr. Ashburton’s committee,” said Lucilla; “you must be, or going to be, after what you said the other day at lunch—”
“What did I say?” asked Major Brown, with an air of dismay; for, to tell the truth, his heart inclined a little towards poor Mr. Cavendish, who was an old neighbour, and to whom Major Brown could not but think the Marjoribanks and others had behaved rather cruelly. But then in these electioneering matters one never knows what one may have done to compromise oneself without meaning it; and the Major was a little anxious to find out what he had said.
“Dear Major Brown,” said Lucilla, seriously, “I am so sorry if you did not mean it. I am sure it was that as much as anything that influenced Mr. Ashburton. He was turning it all over in his mind, you know, and was afraid the people he most esteemed in Carlingford would not agree with him, and did not know what to do; and then you said, What did it matter about opinions, if it was a good man?—that was what decided him,” said Miss Marjoribanks, with sad yet gentle reproachfulness. “I am so sorry if you did not mean what you said—”
“Good heavens! I don’t remember saying anything of the sort,” said Major Brown. “I—I am sure I never thought of influencing anybody. It is true enough about a good man, you know; but if I had imagined for an instant that anyone was paying attention—By George! it was you that said it, Lucilla—I remember now.”
“Please don’t make fun of me,” said Miss Marjoribanks; “as if anybody cared what I say about politics. But I know that was what decided poor Mr. Ashburton. Indeed, he told me so; and when he finds you did not mean anything—”
“But, good heavens!—I—I did mean something,” cried the accused, with dismay. And he grew quite inarticulate in his confusion, and red in the face, and lost his head altogether, while Lucilla sat calmly looking on with that air of virtue at once severe and indulgent, which pities, and blames, and hopes that perhaps there is not so much harm done as might have been expected. This was the position of affairs when Thomas came to say that Miss Marjoribanks was wanted, as she had told him to do when her candidate came; for, to be sure, it was only next door. It was terrible to hear the soft sigh she gave when she shook hands with Major Brown. “I hope he will not feel it so much as I think; but I should be afraid to tell him,” said Lucilla; and she went away, leaving the good man in a state of bewilderment and embarrassment and doubt, which would have been much more unpleasant if he had not felt so flattered at the same time. “I never meant to influence anybody, I am sure!” he said, with a comical mixture of complacence and dismay, when Lucilla was gone. “I have always said, papa, that you don’t think enough of the weight people give to your opinion,” Miss Brown replied, as she gave the final bath to her negatives; and they both left off work with a certain glow of comforted amour propre, and the most benevolent sentiments towards Mr. Ashburton, who, to tell the truth, until he got his lesson from Miss Marjoribanks, had never once thought about the opinion of Major Brown.
He was sitting with Aunt Jemima when Lucilla came in, and talking to her in a steady sort of a way. Nothing could have made Mr. Ashburton socially attractive, but still there are many people to whom this steady sort of talk is more agreeable than brilliancy. When a man is brilliant there is always a doubt in some minds whether he is trustworthy, or sincere, or to be relied upon; but an ordinary commonsense sort of talker is free from such suspicion. Mr. Ashburton was very sorry to hear that Mrs. John Marjoribanks had bad nights, and suggested that it might be nervousness, and hoped that the air of Carlingford would do her good, and was very glad to hear that her son was getting on
