severe mechanism of rule. Those who have least to do, are often most rigorous in thus measuring themselves out; it gives a certain sense of something real in their lives. It was a little after eleven when
Mr. Mildmay Vernon appeared. His residence was in the west wing, nearest to the pool and the trees, and he thought it was probably owing to the proximity of the water that his rheumatism troubled him so much in winter. It did not trouble him at this fine season, but he had the habit of leaning on his stick and talking in a querulous voice. He came out with his newspaper to a little summerhouse where the heat was tempered by the foliage of a great lime. He had very good taste; he liked the flicker of the sunshine which came through those green-silken leaves, and the shelter was very grateful when the sun was hot. The worst of it was that the summerhouse was not in his portion of the common grounds, and the ladies, to whom it ought to have belonged, and to whom it was so convenient to do their work in, resented his constant presence. In winter, he seated himself always on a sunny bench which was in front of the windows now belonging to
Mrs. John, but she was not as yet aware of this peculiarity. The Miss Vernon-Ridgways occupied the space between
Mr. Mildmay’s house and
Mrs. John’s. They were not in the direct line, and they felt that they were treated accordingly, the best of everything being appropriated to those whom Catherine Vernon, who was so proud of her name, considered nearest to the family stock. These ladies were convinced that the blood of the Ridgways had much enriched the liquid that meandered through the veins of the Vernons; but in Catherine Vernon’s presence they kept silence as to this belief. The rooms in the wings were much the best, they thought, and they had even proposed an exchange to
Mr. Mildmay when he complained of being so close to the pool. But he had only grinned and had not accepted; he knew better. Of course he would have grumbled if he had been lodged in Windsor Castle, the ladies said; but he knew very well in his heart that he had been preferred to the best place. On the other side of the house, towards the road, lived
Mrs. Reginald Vernon, the young widow of an officer, with her four children, of whom everybody complained, and an old couple, in reality not Vernons at all, but relations of Catherine’s mother who were looked down upon by the entire community, and had clearly no business in the Vernonry. The old gentleman, Captain Morgan, had been in the navy, and therefore ought to have been the equal of anyone. But the people on the road side kept themselves very much to themselves; the aristocracy lived on the garden front. When
Mrs. John Vernon made her appearance in her deep mourning, there was a great deal of excitement about the place.
Mr. Mildmay put down his paper and came out, bowing, to the door of the summerhouse.
“Between relations I do not know if any ceremony of introduction is necessary,” he said. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you back to England. Poor John and I were once great friends. I hope you will allow me to consider myself at once an old acquaintance.”
“Oh, how thankful I shall be for someone to speak to!” cried Mrs. John. “Though my family were of this county, I seem to have lost sight of everyone that used to know me. A great many changes happen when one has been thirty years away.”
“Poor John! I suppose he never came back to this country again?” Mr. Mildmay said, with sympathetic curiosity, and that air of knowing all about it which is sometimes so offensive; but Mrs. John was simple-minded. She was not even displeased by the undertone of confidential understanding.
“Never! it would have broken his heart; what was left to him to come for? He always said that when ladies meddle with business everything goes wrong. But, dear me, I oughtn’t to say so here,” Mrs. John added, with a little panic, looking round.
“Why?—you need not be afraid of expressing your sentiments, my dear lady, before me. I have the greatest respect for the ladies—where would we without them? ‘Oh, woman, in our hours of ease,’ etc.—you know. But I think that mixed up with business they are entirely out of their place. It changes the natural relations—it creates a false position—”
“John always thought so. But then I was so silly—so dreadfully silly—about business; and he thought that women should all be like me.”
“That is certainly the kind of woman that is most attractive to men,” said Mr. Mildmay, with a gallant bow; “and in my time ladies thought much of that. I hope, however, that you will like this retirement, and be happy here. It is very retired, you see—nothing to disturb us—”
“Oh, Mr. Mildmay, I dare say I shall do very well,” said Mrs. John, putting her handkerchief to her eyes; “but seeing that” (she waved her hand towards the front of the White House in the distance) “from the window, and knowing every day how things are going on at the bank, and all the old associations, I cannot be expected to be very happy. That was not thought of when I came here.”
“My dear lady!” Mr. Mildmay said, soothingly; and then he saw his way to inflicting another pinprick upon this bleeding heart so easily laid open to him. “I suppose you know that Catherine has put her nephew Harry and his sister—he is no more her nephew than I am—one of Gilbert Vernon’s boys: but she took a fancy to him—in the White House? It belongs to her now, like everything else in the neighbourhood. Almost the whole of Redborough is in her hands.”
“Her nephew?” said Mrs. John,
