“But you?”
“I have gone through the fire, and have come out without being much scorched. Dear papa, I do so wish that you should understand it all. It is so nice to have someone to whom everything can be told. I did like him.”
“And he?”
“I have nothing to say about that;—not a word. Girls, I suppose, are often foolish, and take things for more than they are intended to mean. I have no accusation to make against him. But I did—I did allow myself to be weak. Then came this about Miss Wanless, and I was unhappy. I woke from a dream, and the waking was painful. But I have got over it. I do not think that you will ever know from your girl’s manner that anything has been the matter with her.”
“My brave girl!”
“But don’t let mamma talk to me as though he could come back because the other girl has not suited him. He is welcome to the other girl—welcome to do without her—welcome to do with himself as it may best please him; but he shall not trouble me again.” There was a stern strength in her voice as she said this, which forced her father to look at her almost with amazement. “Do not think that I am fierce, papa.”
“Fierce, my darling!”
“But that I am in earnest. Of course, if he comes to Beetham we shall see him. But let him be like anybody else. Don’t let it be supposed that because he flitted here once, and was made welcome, like a bird that comes in at the window, and then flitted away again, that he can be received in at the window just as before, should he fly this way any more. That’s all, papa.” Then, as before, she went off by herself—to give herself renewed strength by her solitary thinkings. She had so healed the flesh round that wound that there was no longer danger of mortification. She must now take care that there should be no further wound. The people around her would be sure to tell her of this breach between her late lover and the Wanless young lady. The Tweeds and the Simkinses, and old Lady Deepbell would be full of it. She must take care so to answer them at the first word that they should not dare to talk to her of Major Rossiter. She had cured herself so that she no longer staggered under the effects of the blow. Having done that, she would not allow herself to be subject to the little stings of the little creatures around her. She had had enough of love—of a man’s love, and would make herself happy now with Bobby and the other bairns.
“He’ll be sure to come back,” said Mrs. Dugdale to her husband.
“We shall do no good by talking about it,” said the doctor. “If you will take my advice, you will not mention his name to her. I fear that he is worthless and unworthy of mention.” That might be very well, thought Mrs. Dugdale; but no one in the village doubted that he had at the very least £1,500 a year, and that he was a handsome man, and such a one as is not to be picked up under every hedge. The very men who go about the world most like butterflies before marriage “steady down the best” afterwards. These were her words as she discussed the matter with Mrs. Tweed, and they both agreed that if the hero showed himself again at the doctor’s house “bygones ought to be bygones.”
Lady Wanless, even after her husband’s return from London, declared to herself that even yet the game had not been altogether played out. Sir Walter, who had been her only possible direct messenger to the man himself, had been, she was aware, as bad a messenger as could have been selected. He could be neither authoritative nor persuasive. Therefore when he told her, on coming home, that it was easy to perceive that Major Rossiter’s father could not have been educated at Christchurch, she did not feel very much disappointed. As her next step she determined to call on Mrs. Rossiter. If that should fail she must beard the lion in his den, and go herself to Major Rossiter at the Horse Guards. She did not doubt but that she would at least be able to say more than Sir Walter. Mrs. Rossiter, she was aware, was herself favourable to the match.
“My dear Mrs. Rossiter,” she said in her most confidential manner, “there is a little something wrong among these young people, which I think you and I can put right if we put our heads together.”
“If I know one of the young people,” said Mrs. Rossiter, “it will be very hard to make him change his mind.”
“He has been very attentive to the young lady.”
“Of course I know nothing about it, Lady Wanless. I never saw them together.”
“Dear Georgiana is so very quiet that she said nothing even to me, but I really thought that he had proposed to her. She won’t say a word against him, but I believe he did. Now, Mrs. Rossiter, what has been the meaning of it?”
“How is a mother to answer for her son, Lady Wanless?”
“No;—of course not. I know that. Girls, of course, are different. But I thought that perhaps you might know something about it, for I did imagine you would like the connection.”
“So I should. Why not? Nobody thinks more of birth than I do, and nothing in my opinion could have been nicer for John. But he does not see with my eyes. If I were to talk to him for a week it would have no effect.”
“Is it that girl of the doctor’s, Mrs. Rossiter?”
“I think not. My idea is that when he has turned it all over in his mind he has come to the conclusion that he will be better without a wife than with one.”
“We
