“Mr. Lennox, I have been so much obliged to you for all you have done about Frederick.”
“I am only sorry it has been so unsuccessful,” replied he, with a quick glance towards Mr. Bell, as if reconnoitring how much he might say before him. Margaret, as if she read his thought, addressed herself to Mr. Bell, both including him in the conversation, and implying that he was perfectly aware of the endeavours that had been made to clear Frederick.
“That Horrocks—that very last witness of all, has proved as unavailing as all the others. Mr. Lennox has discovered that he sailed for Australia only last August; only two months before Frederick was in England, and gave us the names of—”
“Frederick in England! you never told me that!” exclaimed Mr. Bell in surprise.
“I thought you knew. I never doubted you had been told. Of course, it was a great secret, and perhaps I should not have named it now,” said Margaret, a little dismayed.
“I have never named it to either my brother or your cousin,” said Mr. Lennox, with a little professional dryness of implied reproach.
“Never mind, Margaret. I am not living in a talking, babbling world, nor yet among people who are trying to worm facts out of me; you needn’t look so frightened because you have let the cat out of the bag to a faithful old hermit like me. I shall never name his having been in England; I shall be out of temptation, for no one will ask me. Stay!” (interrupting himself rather abruptly). “Was it at your mother’s funeral?”
“He was with mamma when she died,” said Margaret, softly.
“To be sure! To be sure! Why, someone asked me if he had not been over then, and I denied it stoutly—not many weeks ago—who could it have been? Oh! I recollect!”
But he did not say the name; and although Margaret would have given much to know if her suspicions were right, and it had been Mr. Thornton who had made the enquiry, she could not ask the question of Mr. Bell, much as she longed to do so.
There was a pause for a moment or two. Then Mr. Lennox said, addressing himself to Margaret, “I suppose as Mr. Bell is now acquainted with all the circumstances attending your brother’s unfortunate dilemma, I cannot do better than inform him exactly how the research into the evidence we once hoped to produce in his favour stands at present. So, if he will do me the honour to breakfast with me tomorrow, we will go over the names of these missing gentry.”
“I should like to hear all the particulars, if I may. Cannot you come here? I dare not ask you both to breakfast, though I am sure you would be welcome. But let me know all you can about Frederick, even though there may be no hope at present.”
“I have an engagement at half-past eleven. But I will certainly come if you wish it,” replied Mr. Lennox with a little afterthought of extreme willingness, which made Margaret shrink into herself, and almost wish that she had not proposed her natural request. Mr. Bell got up and looked around him for his hat, which had been removed to make room for tea.
“Well!” said he, “I don’t know what Mr. Lennox is inclined to do, but I’m disposed to be moving off homewards. I’ve been a journey today, and journeys begin to tell upon my sixty and odd years.”
“I believe I shall stay and see my brother and sister,” said Mr. Lennox, making no movement of departure. Margaret was seized with a shy awkward dread of being left alone with him. The scene on the little terrace in the Helstone garden was so present to her, that she could hardly help believing it was so with him.
“Don’t go yet, please Mr. Bell,” said she, hastily. “I want you to see Edith; and I want Edith to know you. Please!” said she, laying a light but determined hand on his arm. He looked at her, and saw the confusion stirring in her countenance; he sat down again, as if her little touch had been possessed of resistless strength.
“You see how she overpowers me, Mr. Lennox,” said he. “And I hope you noticed the happy choice of her expressions; she wants me to ‘see’ this cousin Edith, who, I am told, is a great beauty; but she has the honesty to change her word when she comes to me—Mrs. Lennox is to ‘know’ me. I suppose I am not much to ‘see,’ eh, Margaret?”
He joked, to give her time to recover from the slight flutter which he had detected in her manner on his proposal to leave; and she caught the tone, and threw the ball back. Mr. Lennox wondered how his brother, the Captain, could have reported her as having lost all her good looks. To be sure, in her quiet black dress, she was a contrast to Edith, dancing in her white crape mourning, and long floating golden hair, all softness and glitter. She dimpled and blushed most becomingly when introduced to Mr. Bell, conscious that she had her reputation as a beauty to keep up, and that it would not do to have a Mordecai refusing to worship and admire, even in the shape of an old Fellow of a College, which nobody had ever heard of. Mrs. Shaw and
