Cousin Henry entered the house and said a few words to the farmer’s wife, who was not, however, specially gracious in her demeanour. He had not the gift of saying much to such persons, and was himself aware of his own deficiency. But still he had done something—had shown that he was not afraid to enter a tenant’s house. As he was leaving, the farmer followed him to the gate, and began to offer him some advice, apparently in kindness.
“You ought to be doing something, sir, with those paddocks between the shrubberies and the road.”
“I suppose so, Mr. Griffith; but I am no farmer.”
“Then let them, sir. William Griffith will be glad enough to have them and pay you rent. The old Squire didn’t like that the land he had held himself should go into other hands. But he never did much good with them lately, and it’s different now.”
“Yes, it’s different now. I don’t think I shall live here, Mr. Griffith.”
“Not live at Llanfeare?”
“I think not. I’m not quite fitted to the place. It isn’t my doing, but among you all, I fear, you don’t like me.” As he said this he tried to carry it off with a laugh.
“You’d live down that, Squire, if you did your duty, and was good to the people;—and took no more than was your own. But perhaps you don’t like a country life.”
“I don’t like being where I ain’t liked; that’s the truth of it, Mr. Griffith.”
“Who’ll come in your place, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
“Miss Brodrick shall—if she will. It was not I who asked my uncle to bring me here.”
“But she is not to have the property?”
“Not the property;—at least I suppose not. But she shall have the house and the grounds, and the land adjacent. And she shall manage it all, dividing the rents with me, or something of that kind. I have offered it to her, but I do not say that she will agree. In the meantime, if you will come up and see me sometimes, I will take it as a kindness. I do not know that I have done any harm, so as to be shunned.”
Then Farmer Griffith readily said that he would go up occasionally and see his landlord.
XI
Isabel at Hereford
Isabel had not been many hours at home at Hereford before, as was natural, her father discussed with her the affairs of the property and her own peculiar interest in the will which had at last been accepted. It has to be acknowledged that Isabel was received somewhat as an interloper in the house. She was not wanted there, at any rate by her stepmother—hardly by her brothers and sisters—and was, perhaps, not cordially desired even by her father. She and her stepmother had never been warm friends. Isabel herself was clever and high-minded; but high-spirited also, imperious, and sometimes hard. It may be said of her that she was at all points a gentlewoman. So much could hardly be boasted of the present Mrs. Brodrick; and, as was the mother, so were that mother’s children. The father was a gentleman, born and bred as such; but in his second marriage he had fallen a little below his station, and, having done so, had accommodated himself to his position. Then there had come many children, and the family had increased quicker than the income. So it had come to pass that the attorney was not a wealthy man. This was the home which Isabel had been invited to leave when, now many years since, she had gone to Llanfeare to become her uncle’s darling. There her life had been very different from that of the family at Hereford. She had seen but little of society, but had been made much of, and almost worshipped, by those who were around her. She was to be—was to have been—the Lady of Llanfeare. By every tenant about the place she had been loved and esteemed. With the servants she had been supreme. Even at Carmarthen, when she was seen there, she was regarded as the great lady, the acknowledged heiress, who was to have, at some not very distant time, all Llanfeare in her own hands. It was said of her, and said truly, that she was possessed of many virtues. She was charitable, careful for others, in no way self-indulgent, sedulous in every duty, and, above all things, affectionately attentive to her uncle. But she had become imperious, and inclined to domineer, if not in action, yet in spirit. She had lived much among books, had delighted to sit gazing over the sea with a volume of poetry in her hand, truly enjoying the intellectual gifts which had been given her. But she had, perhaps, learnt too thoroughly her own superiority, and was somewhat apt to look down upon the less refined pleasure of other people. And now her altered position in regard to wealth rather increased than diminished her foibles. Now, in her abject poverty—for she was determined that it should be abject—she would be forced to sustain her superiority solely by her personal gifts. She determined that, should she find herself compelled to live in her father’s house, she would do her duty thoroughly by her stepmother and her sisters. She would serve them as far as it might be within her power; but she could not giggle with the girls, nor could she talk little gossip with Mrs. Brodrick. While there was work to be done, she would do it, though it should be hard, menial, and revolting; but when her work was done, there would be her books.
It will be understood that, such being her mood and such her character, she would hardly make herself happy in her father’s house—or make others happy.
