Mrs. Burton, when she knocked at Lady Ongar’s door, had a little note ready for the servant between her fingers. Her compliments to Lady Ongar, and would Lady Ongar oblige her by an interview. The note contained simply that, and nothing more; and when the servant took it from her, she declared her intention of waiting in the hall till she had received an answer. But she was shown into the dining-room, and there she remained for a quarter of an hour, during which time she was by no means comfortable. Probably Lady Ongar might refuse to receive her; but should that not be the case—should she succeed in making her way into that lady’s presence, how should she find the eloquence wherewith to plead her cause? At the end of the fifteen minutes, Lady Ongar herself opened the door and entered the room. “Mrs. Burton,” she said, smiling, “I am really ashamed to have kept you so long; but open confession, they say, is good for the soul, and the truth is that I was not dressed.” Then she led the way upstairs, and placed Mrs. Burton on a sofa, and placed herself in her own chair—from whence she could see well, but in which she could not be well seen—and stretched out the folds of her morning dress gracefully, and made her visitor thoroughly understand that she was at home and at her ease.
We may, I think, surmise that Lady Ongar’s open confession would do her soul but little good, as it lacked truth, which is the first requisite for all confessions. Lady Ongar had been sufficiently dressed to receive any visitor, but had felt that some special preparation was necessary for the reception of the one who had now come to her. She knew well who was Mrs. Burton, and surmised accurately the purpose for which Mrs. Burton had come. Upon the manner in which she now carried herself might hang the decision of the question which was so important to her—whether that Phoebus in knickerbockers should or should not become lord of Ongar Park. To effect success now, she must maintain an ascendancy during this coming interview, and in the maintenance of all ascendancy, much depends on the outward man or woman; and she must think a little of the words she must use, and a little, too, of her own purpose. She was fully minded to get the better of Mrs. Burton if that might be possible, but she was not altogether decided on the other point. She wished that Harry Clavering might be her own. She would have wished to pension off that Florence Burton with half her wealth, had such pensioning been possible. But not the less did she entertain some half doubts whether it would not be well that she could abandon her own wishes, and give up her own hope of happiness. Of Mrs. Burton personally she had known nothing, and having expected to see a somewhat strong-featured and perhaps rather vulgar woman, and to hear a voice painfully indicative of a strong mind, she was agreeably surprised to find a pretty, mild lady, who from the first showed that she was half afraid of what she herself was doing. “I have heard your name, Mrs. Burton,” said Lady Ongar, “from our mutual friend, Mr. Clavering, and I have no doubt you have heard mine from him also.” This she said in accordance with the little plan which during those fifteen minutes she had laid down for her own guidance.
Mrs. Burton was surprised, and at first almost silenced, by this open mentioning of a name which she had felt that she would have the greatest difficulty in approaching. She said, however, that it was so. She had heard Lady Ongar’s name from Mr. Clavering. “We are connected, you know,” said Lady Ongar. “My sister is married to his first-cousin, Sir Hugh; and when I was living with my sister at Clavering, he was at the rectory there. That was before my own marriage.” She was perfectly easy in her manner, and flattered herself that the ascendancy was complete.
“I have heard as much from Mr. Clavering,” said Cecilia.
“And he was very civil to me immediately on my return home. Perhaps you may have heard that also. He took this house for me, and made himself generally useful, as young men ought to do.
