“If you had only said you were engaged,” the old lady exclaimed, “or not at home—or anything, Lucilla! You know, you need never stand on ceremony with me. No wonder he looked as if he could eat me! Poor fellow! and I dare say he has gone away with his heart full,” said Mrs. Chiley, with the tenderest sympathy. She could not get over it, nor eat any lunch, nor think of anything else. “Poor dear boy! He need not have been so put out with an old woman like me. He might have known if he had given me the least hint, or even a look, I would have gone away,” said the kind old woman. “But you must be all the kinder to him when he comes back, Lucilla. And, my dear, if I were you, I would stay in this afternoon. He is sure to come back, and I would not keep him in pain.”
“I don’t think he will come back,” Lucilla could not help saying; for she had a conviction that nothing more would come of it; but nevertheless she did stay in that afternoon, and received several visits, but saw nothing more of Mr. Cavendish. It was rather vexatious, to tell the truth; for to see a man so near the point and not even to have the satisfaction of refusing him, is naturally aggravating to a woman. But Miss Marjoribanks had far too much philosophy as well as good sense to be vexed on that account with Mrs. Chiley, who could not forgive herself, and to make up for the consequences of her unlucky visit, would have done anything in the world. The old lady herself returned in the afternoon to know the result, and was doubly vexed and distressed to hear he had not come back.
“I ought to be on the Archdeacon’s side, Lucilla,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I know I ought, when it was I that brought him here: but I can’t help feeling for the other, my dear. He always was so nice—a great deal nicer, to my way of thinking, than Mr. Beverley; not to say but that the Archdeacon is very agreeable,” Mrs. Chiley added, recollecting herself; for in matters of that description a woman of experience is aware that she cannot be too particular about what she says; and supposing that Mr. Cavendish did not come back, it would never do to prejudice Lucilla against the other candidate. “I never blamed Mr. Cavendish about that Lake girl,” the old lady continued. “It was not his fault, poor young man. I know he was always devoted to you in his heart; and to think he should come here the very first place as soon as he returned! I only wish I had had one of my headaches this morning, my dear, to keep me indoors for an old Malaprop. I do indeed, Lucilla. It would have served me right, and I should not have minded the pain.”
“But indeed I don’t wish anything of the sort,” said Miss Marjoribanks. “I would not have the best man in the world at the cost of one of those dreadful headaches of yours. It is so good of you to say so; but you know very well it is not that sort of thing I am thinking of. If I were to go off and marry just now, after all that has been done to the drawing-room and everything, I should feel as if I were swindling papa; and it is the object of my life to be a comfort to him.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Chiley, “but we must not neglect your own interest for all that. I think it is most likely he will come this evening. He has just come from the Continent, you know, where people do make calls in the evening. I meant to have asked you to come down to us, as we shall be all alone—”
“All alone? Then where is the Archdeacon?” asked Lucilla.
“He has gone out to Sir John’s for a day or two, my dear,” said Mrs. Chiley, and she could not understand the little gleam of intelligence that shot into Lucilla’s eye. “He left word with me for you that he would be sure to be back before Thursday, but seeing Mr. Cavendish when I came in made me forget all about it. He would be quite distressed, poor man! if he thought I had forgotten to give you his message. I won’t ask you now to come down and cheer me up a little, Lucilla. I think poor Mr. Cavendish is sure to come this evening, and I will not stand in his way again. But, my dear, you must send me a little note after he has been. Now promise. I shall be quite in suspense all night.”
“Dear Mrs. Chiley, I don’t think he will come,” said Miss Marjoribanks. “For my part, I think it was providential your coming today—for I am sure I don’t know what I should have said to him. And it is so odd the Archdeacon should be away just at this moment. I feel quite sure he will not come tonight.”
“There is nothing odd about the Archdeacon,” said Mrs. Chiley. “It was for today he was asked, you know; that is simple enough. If you are sure that you
