He expected to see the same figure that he had seen on the railway platform, the same gloomy drapery, the same quiet, almost deathlike demeanour, nay, almost the same veil over her features; but the Lady Ongar whom he now saw was as unlike that Lady Ongar as she was unlike that Julia Brabazon whom he had known in old days at Clavering Park. She was dressed, no doubt, in black; nay, no doubt, she was dressed in weeds; but in spite of the black and in spite of the weeds there was nothing about her of the weariness or of the solemnity of woe. He hardly saw that her dress was made of crape, or that long white pendants were hanging down from the cap which sat so prettily upon her head. But it was her face at which he gazed. At first he thought that she could hardly be the same woman, she was to his eyes so much older than she had been! And yet as he looked at her, he found that she was as handsome as ever—more handsome than she had ever been before. There was a dignity about her face and figure which became her well, and which she carried as though she knew herself to be in very truth a countess. It was a face which bore well such signs of age as those which had come upon it. She seemed to be a woman fitter for womanhood than for girlhood. Her eyes were brighter than of yore, and, as Harry thought, larger; and her high forehead and noble stamp of countenance seemed fitted for the dress and headgear which she wore.
“I have been expecting you,” said she, stepping up to him. “Hermione wrote me word that you were to come up on Monday. Why did you not come sooner?” There was a smile on her face as she spoke, and a confidence in her tone which almost confounded him.
“I have had so many things to do,” said he lamely.
“About your new profession. Yes, I can understand that. And so you are settled in London now? Where are you living;—that is, if you are settled yet?” In answer to this, Harry told her that he had taken lodgings in Bloomsbury Square, blushing somewhat as he named so unfashionable a locality. Old Mrs. Burton had recommended him to the house in which he was located, but he did not find it necessary to explain that fact to Lady Ongar.
“I have to thank you for what you did for me,” continued she. “You ran away from me in such a hurry on that night that I was unable to speak to you. But to tell the truth, Harry, I was in no mood then to speak to anyone. Of course you thought that I treated you ill.”
“Oh, no,” said he.
“Of course you did. If I thought you did not, I should be angry with you now. But had it been to save my life I could not have helped it. Why did not Sir Hugh Clavering come to meet me? Why did not my sister’s husband come to me?” To this question Harry could make no answer. He was still standing with his hat in his hand, and now turned his face away from her and shook his head.
“Sit down, Harry,” she said, “and let me talk to you like a friend;—unless you are in a hurry to go away.”
“Oh, no,” said he, seating himself.
“Or unless you, too, are afraid of me.”
“Afraid of you, Lady Ongar?”
“Yes, afraid; but I don’t mean you. I don’t believe that you are coward enough to desert a woman who was once your friend because misfortune has overtaken her, and calumny has been at work with her name.”
“I hope not,” said he.
“No, Harry; I do not think it of you. But if Sir Hugh be not a coward, why did he not come and meet me? Why has he left me to stand alone, now that he could be of service to me? I knew that money was his god, but I have never asked him for a shilling and should not have done so now. Oh, Harry, how wicked you were about that cheque! Do you remember?”
“Yes; I remember.”
“So shall I; always, always. If I had taken that money how often should I have heard of it since?”
“Heard of it?” he asked. “Do you mean from me?”
“Yes; how often from you? Would you have dunned me, and told me of it once a week? Upon my word, Harry, I was told of it more nearly every day. Is it not wonderful that men should be so mean?”
It was clear to him now that she was talking of her husband who was dead, and on that subject he felt himself at present unable to speak a word. He little dreamed at that moment how openly she would soon speak to him of Lord Ongar and of Lord Ongar’s faults!
“Oh, how I have wished that I had taken your money! But never mind about that now, Harry. Wretched as such taunts were, they soon became a small thing. But it has been cowardly in your cousin, Hugh; has it not? If I had not
