Martin Joliffe’s illness and death had added to Anastasia’s experience of life by bringing her into contact with doctors and clergymen; and it was no doubt this training, and the association with the superior classes afforded by Mrs. Howard’s academy, that enabled her to stand the shock of Lord Blandamer’s announcement without giving any more perceptible token of embarrassment than a very slight blush.
“Oh, of course there is no objection,” she said, “to your writing in Mr. Westray’s room. I will show you the way to it.”
She accompanied him to the room, and having provided writing materials, left him comfortably ensconced in Mr. Westray’s chair. As she pulled the door to behind her in going out, something prompted her to look round—perhaps it was merely a girl’s light fancy, perhaps it was that indefinite fascination which the consciousness that we are being looked at sometimes exercises over us; but as she looked back her eyes met those of Lord Blandamer, and she shut the door sharply, being annoyed at her own foolishness.
She went back to the kitchen, for the kitchen of the Hand of God was so large that Miss Joliffe and Anastasia used part of it for their sitting-room, took the pencil out of Northanger Abbey, and tried to transport herself to Bath. Five minutes ago she had been in the Grand Pump Room herself, and knew exactly where Mrs. Allen and Isabella Thorpe and Edward Morland were sitting; where Catherine was standing, and what John Thorpe was saying to her when Tilney walked up. But alas! Anastasia found no readmission; the lights were put out, the Pump Room was in darkness. A sad change to have happened in five minutes; but no doubt the charmed circle had dispersed in a huff on finding that they no longer occupied the first place in Miss Anastasia Joliffe’s interest. And, indeed, she missed them the less because she had discovered that she herself possessed a wonderful talent for romance, and had already begun the first chapter of a thrilling story.
Nearly half an hour passed before her aunt returned, and in the interval Miss Austen’s knights and dames had retired still farther into the background, and Miss Anastasia’s hero had entirely monopolised the stage. It was twenty minutes past five when Miss Joliffe, senior, returned from the Dorcas meeting; “precisely twenty minutes past five,” as she remarked many times subsequently, with that factitious importance which the ordinary mind attaches to the exact moment of any epoch-making event.
“Is the water boiling, my dear?” she asked, sitting down at the kitchen table. “I should like to have tea today before the gentlemen come in, if you do not mind. The weather is quite oppressive, and the schoolroom was very close because we only had one window open. Poor Mrs. Bulteel is so subject to take cold from draughts, and I very nearly fell asleep while she was reading.”
“I will get tea at once,” Anastasia said; and then added, in a tone of fine unconcern: “There is a gentleman waiting upstairs to see Mr. Westray.”
“My dear,” Miss Joliffe exclaimed deprecatingly, “how could you let anyone in when I was not at home? It is exceedingly dangerous with so many doubtful characters about. There is Mr. Westray’s presentation inkstand, and the flower-picture for which I have been offered so much money. Valuable paintings are often cut out of their frames; one never has an idea what thieves may do.”
There was the faintest trace of a smile about Anastasia’s lips.
“I do not think we need trouble about that, dear Aunt Phemie, because I am sure he is a gentleman. Here is his card. Look!” She handed Miss Joliffe the insignificant little piece of white cardboard that held so momentous a secret, and watched her aunt put on her spectacles to read it.
Miss Joliffe focused the card. There were only two words printed on it, only “Lord Blandamer” in the most unpretending and simple characters, but their effect was magical. Doubt and suspicion melted suddenly away, and a look of radiant surprise overspread her countenance, such as would have become a Constantine at the vision of the Labarum. She was a thoroughly unworldly woman, thinking little of the things of this life in general, and keeping her affections on that which is to come, with the constancy and realisation that is so often denied to those possessed of larger temporal means. Her views as to right and wrong were defined and inflexible; she would have gone to the stake most cheerfully rather than violate them, and unconsciously lamented perhaps that civilisation has robbed the faithful of the luxury of burning. Yet with all this were inextricably bound up certain little weaknesses among which figured a fondness for great names, and a somewhat exaggerated consideration for the lofty ones of this earth. Had she been privileged to be within the same four walls as a peer at a bazaar or missionary meeting, she would have revelled in a great opportunity; but to find Lord Blandamer under her own roof was a grace so wondrous and surprising as almost to overwhelm her.
“Lord Blandamer!” she faltered, as soon as she had collected herself a little. “I hope Mr. Westray’s room was tidy. I dusted it thoroughly this morning, but I wish he had given some notice of his intention
