“I suppose,” said the rector, strolling with the young ladies to the gate, “that Theo holds by the family politics? I wonder whether he has given any attention to public questions. At his age a young fellow either does—or he does not,” he added, with a laugh. “Oxford often makes a change.”
“We don’t approve of ladies taking any part in politics,” said Minnie, “and I am sure I have never mentioned the subject to Theo.”
“But you know, Minnie, mamma said that Theo was—well, I don’t remember what she said he was, but certainly not the same as he was brought up.”
“Then let us hope he has become a Conservative. Landholders should be and clergy must,” said the rector, with a sigh. Then he remembered that this was not a style of conversation likely to commend itself to the two girls. “I hope we shall see you back next Sunday at the Sunday school,” he said. “Of course I would not hurry you, if you found it too much; but a little work in moderation I have always thought was the very best thing for a grief like yours. Dear Mrs. Warrender, too,” he added softly. He had not been in the habit of calling her dear Mrs. Warrender; but it seemed a term that was appropriate where there had been a death. “I hope she does not quite shut herself up.”
“Mamma has been with Lady Markland several times,” said Minnie, with a mixture of disapproval and satisfaction. “Naturally, we have been so much thrown together since—”
“To be sure. What a sad thing!—twice in one house, within a week, was it not, the two deaths?”
“Just a week,” said Chatty, who loved to be exact.
“But you know Lord Markland was no relation,” added Minnie, too conscientious to take to herself the credit of a grief which was not hers. “It was not as if we felt it in that way.”
“It was a dreadful thing to happen in one’s house, all the same. And Theo, I hear, goes a great deal to Markland. Oh, it is quite natural. He had so much to do for her from the first. And I hear she is a very attractive sort of woman, though I don’t know much of her, for my own part.”
“Attractive? Well, perhaps she may be attractive, to some people,” said Minnie; “but when a woman has been married so long as she has, one never thinks—and her attractiveness has nothing to do with Theo,” she added, with some severity.
“Oh no, I suppose not,” said the rector. “Tell him I hope we shall soon see him here, for I expect his friend Dick Cavendish in the end of the week. You remember Cavendish? He told me he had met you at Oxford.”
“Oh yes,” said Chatty quickly. Minnie, who was not accustomed to be forestalled in speech, trod upon this little exclamation, as it were, and spoilt its effect. “Cavendish! I am not sure. I think I do recollect the name,” she said.
And then they shook hands with the rector across the gate, and went upon their way. But it was not for the first moment quite a peaceful way. “You were dreadfully ready to say you remembered Mr. Cavendish,” said the elder sister. “What do you know of Mr. Cavendish? If I were you, I would not speak so fast, as if Mr. Cavendish were of such importance.”
“Oh no, he is of no importance; only I do recollect him quite well. He gave us tea. He was very—”
“He was exactly like other young men,” said Miss Warrender. And then they proceeded in silence, Chatty having no desire to contest the statement. She did not know very much about young men. Their way lay across the end of the village street, beyond which the trees of the Warren overshadowed everything. There was only a fence on that side of the grounds, and to look through it was like looking into the outskirts of a forest. The rabbits ran about by hundreds among the roots of the trees. The birds sang as if in their own kingdom and secure possessions. To this gentle savagery and dominion of nature the Miss Warrenders were accustomed; and in the freshness of the early summer it was sweet. They went on without speaking, for some time, and then it seemed wise to the younger sister to forestall further remark by the introduction of a new subject, which, however, was not a usual proceeding on Chatty’s part.
“Minnie,” she said, “do you know what the rector meant when he spoke of Lady Markland, that she was an attractive woman? You took him up rather sharply.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Minnie, with that ease which is noticed among near relations. “I said she was rather old for that.”
“She is scarcely any older than you. I know that from the Peerage. I looked her up.”
“So did I,” said Miss Warrender. “That does not make her a day younger or more attractive. She is four years older than Theo: therefore she is as if she were not to him. Four years is a dreadful difference when it is on the wrong side.”
Chatty was ridiculously simple for a person of three-and-twenty. She said, “I cannot think what that has to do with it. The rector is really very silly at times in what he says.”
“I don’t see that he is silly. What he means is that Lady Markland will take advantage of Theo, and he will fall in love with her. I should say, for my part, that it is very likely. I have seen a great many things of the kind, though you never open your eyes. He is always going to Markland to see what he can do, if there is anything she wants. He is almost sure to fall in love with her.”
“Minnie, a married woman!”
“Oh, you little simpleton! She is not a married woman, she is a widow; and she is left extremely well off and with
