Miss Marjoribanks

a providential circumstance for Mrs. Woodburn, who was thus saved from the necessity of explaining or accounting for her brother’s unexpected disappearance; but it failed to satisfy the general community, who did not think Mr. Cavendish likely to give in at the first blow even of so distinguished an antagonist as Miss Marjoribanks. Some of the more charitable inhabitants of Grange Lane concluded that it must be the sudden illness of some relative which had called him away; but then, though he was well known to be one of the Cavendishes, neither he nor his sister ever spoke much of their connections; and, on the whole, public opinion fluctuated between the two first suggestions⁠—which seemed truest to nature at least, whether or not they might be fully corroborated by fact⁠—which were, either that Mr. Cavendish had taken fright, as he might very naturally have done, at the advanced state of his relations with Barbara Lake; or that he had speculated, and lost money. In either case his departure would have been natural enough, and need not, perhaps, have been accomplished with quite so much precipitation; but still such a community as that in Grange Lane was in circumstances to comprehend how a young man might take fright and leave home, either because of losing a lot of money, or getting entangled with a drawing-master’s daughter.

The immediate result, so far as society was concerned, was one for which people did not know whether to be most glad or sorry. Mrs. Woodburn, who kept half the people in Grange Lane in terror of their lives, seemed to have lost all her inspiration now her brother was away. She did not seem to have the heart to take off anybody, which was quite a serious matter for the amusement of the community. To be sure, some people were thankful, as supposing themselves exempted from caricature; but then unfortunately, as has been said, the people who were most afraid for Mrs. Woodburn were precisely those who were unworthy of her trouble, and had nothing about them to give occupation to her graphic powers. As for Miss Marjoribanks, who had supplied one of the mimic’s most effective studies, she was much disturbed by the failure of this element of entertainment. “I have always thought it very strange that I never had any sense of humour,” Lucilla said; “but it would not do, you know, if all the world was like me; and society would be nothing if everybody did not exert themselves to the best of their abilities.” There was a mournful intonation in Lucilla’s voice as she said this; for, to tell the truth, since Mr. Cavendish’s departure she had been dreadfully sensible of the utter absence of any man who could flirt. As for Osmond Brown and the other boys of his age, it might be possible to train them, but at the best they were only a provision for the future, and in the meantime Miss Marjoribanks could not but be sensible of her loss. She lamented it with such sincerity that all the world thought her the most perfect actress in existence. “I have nothing to say against any of you,” Lucilla would say, contemplating with the eye of an artist the young men of Grange Lane who were her raw material. “I dare say you will all fall in love with somebody sooner or later, and be very happy and good for nothing; but you are no assistance in any way to society. It is Mr. Cavendish I am sighing for,” said the woman of genius, with the candour of a great mind; and even Mrs. Woodburn was beguiled out of her despondency by a study so unparalleled. All this time, however, Lucilla had not forgotten the last look of her faithless admirer as he faced round upon her when Mr. Archdeacon Beverley came into the room. She too, like everybody else, wondered innocently why Mr. Cavendish had gone away, and when he was coming back again; but she never hinted to anyone that the Archdeacon had anything to do with it; for indeed, as she said to herself, she had no positive evidence except that of a look that the Archdeacon had anything to do with it. By which it will be seen that Miss Marjoribanks’s prudence equalled her other great qualities. It would be wrong to say, however, that her curiosity was not excited, and that in a very lively way; for the vague wonder of the public mind over a strange fact, could never be compared in intensity to the surprise and curiosity excited by something one has actually seen, and which gives one, as it were, a share in the secret⁠—if indeed there was a secret, which was a matter upon which Lucilla within herself had quite made up her mind.

As for the Archdeacon, the place which he took in society was one quite different from that which had been filled by Mr. Cavendish, as, indeed, was natural. He was one of those men who are very strong for the masculine side of Christianity; and when he was with the ladies, he had a sense that he ought to be paid attention to, instead of taking that trouble in his own person. Miss Marjoribanks was not a woman to be blind to the advantages of this situation, but still, as was to be expected, it took her a little time to get used to it, and to make all the use of it which was practicable under the circumstances⁠—which was all the more difficult since she was not in the least “viewy” in her own person, but had been brought up in the old-fashioned orthodox way of having a great respect for religion, and as little to do with it as possible, which was a state of mind largely prevalent in Carlingford. But that was not in the least Mr. Beverley’s way.

It was when Lucilla’s mind was much occupied by this problem that she received a