“We are going to London, first,” Mrs. Warrender said. “No, not for the season, it is too late; but if any little simple gaieties should fall in Chatty’s way—”
“Little simple gaieties are scarcely appropriate to London in June,” said the rector, with a laugh.
“No, if we were to be received into the world of fashion, Chatty and I—but that doesn’t seem very likely. We all talk about London as if we were going to plunge into a vortex. Our vortex means two or three people in Kensington, and one little bit of a house in Mayfair.”
“That might be quite enough to set you going,” said Mrs. Wilberforce. “It only depends upon whom the people are; though now, I hear that in London there are no invitations more sought after, than to the rich parvenu houses—people that never were heard of till they grew rich; and then they have nothing to do but get a grand house in Belgravia, and let it be known how much money they have. Money is everything, alas, now.”
“It always was a good deal, my dear,” observed the rector mildly.
“Never in my time, Herbert! Mamma would no more have let us go to such houses! It is just one of those signs of the time which you insist on ignoring, but which one day—This new connection will be a great thing for Chatty, dear Mrs. Warrender. It is such a nice thing for a girl to come out under good auspices.”
“Poor Chatty, we cannot say she is coming out,” said her mother, “and the Thynnes, I have always understood, were dull people, not fashionable at all.”
“Oh, you don’t think for a moment that I meant the Thynnes! She has been very quiet, to be sure; but now, of course, with a young husband—and I am sure Chatty does not look more than nineteen; I always say she is the youngest looking girl of her age. And as she has never been presented, what is she but a girl coming out? But I do think I would wait till she had her sister-in-law to go out with. It may be a self-denial for a mother, but it gives a girl such an advantage!”
“But Chatty is not going to have a husband either young or old,” said Mrs. Warrender, with a laugh which was a little forced. “Ah, here is the tea, I wish we had a fire too, Joseph, though it is against rules.”
“I’ll light you a fire, mum,” said Joseph, “in a minute. None of us would mind the trouble, seeing as it’s only for once, and the family going away.”
“That is very good of you not to mind,” said his mistress, laughing. “Light it, then, it will make us more cheerful before we go.”
“Ah, Joseph,” said the rector’s wife, “you may well be kind to your good old mistress, who has always been so considerate to you. For new lords, new laws, you know, and when the new lady comes—”
Joseph, who was on his knees lighting the fire, turned round with the freedom of an old servant. “There ain’t no new ladies but in folks’ imagination,” he said. “The Warren ain’t a place for nothing new.”
“Joseph!” cried his mistress sharply; but she was glad of the assistance thus afforded to her. And there was a little interval during which Mrs. Wilberforce was occupied with her tea. She was cold and damp, and the steaming cup was pleasant to see; but she was not to be kept in silence even by this much-needed refreshment. “I should think,” she resumed, “that the boy would be the chief difficulty. A stepmother is a difficult position; but a stepfather, and one so young as dear Theo!”
“Step-fathering succeeds better than stepmothering,” said the rector, “so far as my experience goes. Men, my dear, are not so exacting; they are more easily satisfied.”
“What nonsense, Herbert! They are not brought so much in contact with the children, perhaps, you mean; they are not called on to interfere so much. But how a mother could trust her children’s future to a second husband—For my part I would rather die.”
“Let us hope you will never need to do so, my dear,” said the rector, at which little pleasantry Mrs. Warrender was glad to laugh.
“Happily none of us are in danger,” she said. “Chatty must take the warning to heart and beware of fascinating widowers. Is it true about the Elms—that the house is empty and everyone gone?”
“Thank heaven! it is quite true; gone like a bubble burst, clean swept out, and not a vestige left.”
“As every such place must go sooner or later,” said Mrs. Wilberforce. “That sort of thing may last for a time, but sooner or later—”
“I think,” said the rector, “that our friend Cavendish had, perhaps, something to do with it. It appears that it is an uncle of his who bought the house when it was sold three years ago, and these people wanted something done to the drainage, I suppose. I advised Dick to persuade his uncle to do nothing, hoping that the nuisance—for, I suppose, however wicked you are, you may have a nose like other people—might drive them out; and so it has done apparently,” Mr. Wilberforce said, with some complacency, looking like a man who deserved well of his kind.
“They might have caught fever, too, like other people. I wonder if that is moral, to neglect the drains of the wicked?”
“No,” said Mrs. Wilberforce firmly; “they have not noses like other people. How should they, people living in that way? The sense of smell is essentially a belonging of the better classes. Servants never smell anything. We all know that. My cook sniffs and looks me in the face and says, ‘I don’t get anything, m’m,’ when it is enough to knock you down! And persons of that description living in the midst of every evil—! Not that I believe in all that fuss about drains,” she added, after a moment. “We never had any drains
