“I did not say so. Rintoul is not so much with us as I could wish—he has his duty to attend to. To be sure, they get a great deal of leave; but you young men have so many places to go to nowadays. You spend so very little time at home. I wonder if it is a good thing or the reverse,” said Lady Lindores, with a little sigh. “A mother may be pardoned for not admiring the new way, when our sons come home, not for us, but for the shooting.”
“I think I am scarcely able to judge,” said John: “home—perhaps was a little different to me: my mother has so many claiming a share in her. And now my home is here in Dalrulzian, which is merely a house, not a home at all,” he said with something between a laugh and a sigh.
“You must marry,” Lady Lindores said; “that is what the county expects of you. You will disappoint all your neighbours if you do not accomplish this duty within a year. The question is, whether the lady is already found, or whether we are to have the gratification of seeing you go through all the preliminaries, which is a great amusement, Mr. Erskine; so I hope you have your choice still to make.”
It was accident, of course, which directed her eyes to Nora, who sat by Torrance—accident only; for a kind woman, who was herself a mother, would not have willingly done anything to light up the sudden colour which flamed over the girl’s face. Nora felt as if she could have sunk into the earth. As for John, it seemed almost an insult to her that he should look at her coldly across the table with studious unconsciousness.
“I am afraid I cannot undertake to furnish amusement for the county,” he said, “in that way—and Dalrulzian is not big enough for two people. I had no idea it was so small. It is a bachelor’s box, a lodge, a sort of chambers in the country, where one can put up a friend, but nothing more.”
Here Nora found a way out of her embarrassment. “Indeed,” she cried, “you wrong Dalrulzian, Mr. Erskine. We found it sufficient for our whole family, and the most delightful place to live in. You are not worthy of Dalrulzian if you talk of it so.”
“I think Erskine is quite right,” said Torrance, between two mouthfuls; “it’s a small little bit of a place.”
“So is Lindores,” the Countess said, eagerly; “there are quantities of small rooms, but no sort of grandeur of space. We must go to Tinto for that. You have not yet seen Tinto, Mr. Erskine? We must not be jealous, for our old nests are more natural. If we were all rich enough to build sets of new rooms like a little Louvre, there would be none of the old architecture left.”
“You are speaking about architecture, Lady Lindores,” said Dr. Meldrum. He had just returned from his first expedition “abroad,” and he was very willing to enlighten the company with his new experiences: besides, just then Lady Caroline was pressing him very hard upon a point which he did not wish as yet to commit himself upon. “Stone and lime are safer questions than evolution and development,” he said, turning to her, in an undertone.
“Safer perhaps, but not so interesting. They are ended and settled—arrange them in what form you please, and they stand there forever,” said Lady Caroline, with brightening eyes; “but not so the mind: not so a single thought, however slight it may be. There is all the difference between life and death.”
“My dear Lady Caroline! you will not call the Stones of Venice dead—or St. Peter’s, soaring away into the skies? Though they are but collections of stones, they are as living as we are.”
“I begin to recognise her again,” said John, innocent of all reason why he should not fix his attention upon poor Carry, as her pale face lighted up. He felt too pitiful, too tender of her, to speak of her formally by her new title. “She used to look like that in the old days.”
“Yes,” said Lady Lindores, with a sigh. “Poor Carry! visionary subjects always pleased her best.”
Torrance had raised his head from his plate, and was lending an eager ear. “It’s confoundedly out of place all that for a woman,” he said. “What has she to do with politics, and philosophy, and nonsense? She has plenty to think of in her children and her house.”
Lady Lindores made him a little bow, but took no further notice. She was exasperated, and scarcely under her own control; but Nora, on the other side, was glad to have the chance of breaking her lance on someone. If Pat Torrance was not worth her steel, there was at least another opposite whose opinions she had no clue to, whom she would have liked to transfix if that had been possible. “It does us poor girls good to have the benefit of a gentleman’s real opinion,” she said. “Would you like Lady Caroline to make your puddings? It is so good to know what is expected of us—in all ranks.”
“Why not?” said Torrance, over his plate. “A woman’s business is to look after her house—that was always considered the right thing. I hope you are not one of the strong-minded ones, Miss Barrington. You had much better not. No man ever looks at them.”
“And what a penalty that would be!” cried Nora, with solemnity.
“You wouldn’t like it, that I’ll promise you. I tell you, they are all the ugly ones. I once saw a lot of them, one uglier than the other—women that knew no man would ever look at them. They were friends of Lady Car’s, you may be sure, all chattering
