He Knew He Was Right

had seemed to be quite terrible that a young girl should be left alone in the world, without anybody to take care of her. Young ladies, according to her views of life, were fragile plants that wanted much nursing before they could be allowed to be planted out in the gardens of the world as married women. When she heard from Lady Rowley that Nora was engaged to marry Hugh Stanbury⁠—“You know all about Lord Peterborough, Lady Milborough; but it is no use going back to that now⁠—is it? And Mr. Stanbury has behaved so exceedingly well in regard to poor Louis,”⁠—when Lady Milborough heard this, and heard also that Nora was talking of going to live by herself⁠—in lodgings⁠—she swore to herself, like a goodly Christian woman, as she was, that such a thing must not be. Eccleston Square in July and August is not pleasant, unless it be to an inhabitant who is interested in the fag-end of the parliamentary session. Lady Milborough had no interest in politics⁠—had not much interest even in seeing the social season out to its dregs. She ordinarily remained in London till the beginning or middle of July, because the people with whom she lived were in the habit of doing so;⁠—but as soon as ever she had fixed the date of her departure, that day to her was a day of release. On this occasion the day had been fixed⁠—and it was unfixed, and changed, and postponed, because it was manifest to Lady Milborough that she could do good by remaining for another fortnight. When she made the offer she said nothing of her previous arrangements. “Lady Rowley, let her come to me. As soon as her friend Lady Peterborough is at Monkhams, she can go there.”

Thus it was that Nora found herself established in Eccleston Square. As she took her place in Lady Milborough’s drawing-rooms, she remembered well a certain day, now two years ago, when she had first heard of the glories of Monkhams in that very house. Lady Milborough, as good-natured then as she was now, had brought Mr. Glascock and Nora together, simply because she had heard that the gentleman admired the young lady. Nora, in her pride, had resented this as interference⁠—had felt that the thing had been done, and, though she had valued the admiration of the man, had ridiculed the action of the woman. As she thought of it now she was softened by gratitude. She had not on that occasion been suited with a husband, but she had gained a friend. “My dear,” said Lady Milborough, as at her request Nora took off her hat, “I am afraid that the parties are mostly over⁠—that is, those I go to; but we will drive out every day, and the time won’t be so very long.”

“It won’t be long for me, Lady Milborough;⁠—but I cannot but know how terribly I am putting you out.”

“I am never put out, Miss Rowley,” said the old lady, “as long as I am made to think that what I do is taken in good part.”

“Indeed, indeed it shall be taken in good part,” said Nora⁠—“indeed it shall.” And she swore a solemn silent vow of friendship for the dear old woman.

Then there came letters and telegrams from Chambery, Dijon, and Paris, and the joint expedition in search of the cottage was made to Twickenham. It was astonishing how enthusiastic and how loving the elder and the younger lady were together before the party from Italy had arrived in England. Nora had explained everything about herself⁠—how impossible it had been for her not to love Hugh Stanbury; how essential it had been for her happiness and self-esteem that she should refuse Mr. Glascock; how terrible had been the tragedy of her sister’s marriage. Lady Milborough spoke of the former subject with none of Lady Rowley’s enthusiasm, but still with an evident partiality for her own rank, which almost aroused Nora to indignant eloquence. Lady Milborough was contented to acknowledge that Nora might be right, seeing that her heart was so firmly fixed; but she was clearly of opinion that Mr. Glascock, being Mr. Glascock, had possessed a better right to the prize in question than could have belonged to any man who had no recognised position in the world. Seeing that her heart had been given away, Nora was no doubt right not to separate her hand from her heart; but Lady Milborough was of opinion that young ladies ought to have their hearts under better control, so that the men entitled to the prizes should get them. It was for the welfare of England at large that the eldest sons of good families should marry the sweetest, prettiest, brightest, and most lovable girls of their age. It is a doctrine on behalf of which very much may be said.

On that other matter, touching Emily Trevelyan, Lady Milborough frankly owned that she had seen early in the day that he was the one most in fault. “I must say, my dear,” she said, “that I very greatly dislike your friend, Colonel Osborne.”

“I am sure that he meant not the slightest harm⁠—no more than she did.”

“He was old enough, and ought to have known better. And when the first hint of an uneasiness in the mind of Louis was suggested to him, his feelings as a gentleman should have prompted him to remove himself. Let the suspicion have been ever so absurd, he should have removed himself. Instead of that, he went after her⁠—into Devonshire.”

“He went to see other friends, Lady Milborough.”

“I hope it may have been so;⁠—I hope it may have been so. But he should have cut off his hand before he rang at the door of the house in which she was living. You will understand, my dear, that I acquit your sister altogether. I did so all through, and said the same to poor Louis when he came to me. But Colonel Osborne should have known better. Why