“And you! you, Camilla, after what the turf has cost us, can wish me to encourage a man connected with it.”
“My dear Lena, I know you had a great shock, which made the more impression because you were such a child; but you might almost as well forswear riding, as men who have run a few horses, or staked a few thousands. Every young man of fortune has done so in his turn, just by way of experiment—as a social duty as often as not.”
“Let them,” said Eleonora, “as long as I have nothing to do with them.”
“What was that pretty French novel—Sybille, was it?—where the child wanted to ride on nothing but swans? You will be like her, and have to condescend to ordinary mortals.”
“She did not. She died. And, Camilla, I would far rather die than marry a betting man.”
“A betting man, who regularly went in for it! You little goose, to think that I would ask you to do that! As you say we have had enough of that! But to renounce every man who has set foot on a course, or staked a pair of gloves, is to renounce nine out of ten of the world one lives in.”
“I do renounce them. Camilla, remember that my mind is made up for ever, and that nothing shall ever induce me to marry a man who meddles with the evils of races.”
“Meddles with the evils? I understand, my dear Lena.”
“A man who makes a bet,” repeated Eleonora.
“We shall see,” was her ladyship’s light answer, in contrast to the grave tones; “no rules are without exceptions, and I only ask for one.”
“I shall make none.”
“I confess I thought you were coming to your senses; you have been acting so wisely and sensibly ever since you came home, about that young Frank Charnock.”
Lady Tyrrell heard a little rustle, but could not see that it was the clasping of two hands over a throbbing heart. “I am very glad you are reasonable enough to keep him at a distance. Poor boy, it was all very well to be friendly with him when we met him in a place like Rockpier, and you were both children; but you are quite right not to let it go on. It would be mere madness.”
“For him, yes,” murmured the girl.
“And even more so for you. Why, if he had any property worth speaking of, it would be a wretched thing to marry into that family! I am sure I pity those three poor girls! Miles’s wife looks perfectly miserable, poor thing, and the other two can’t conceal the state of things. She is just the sort of woman who cannot endure a daughter-in-law.”
“I thought I heard Lady Rosamond talking very affectionately of her.”
“Very excitedly, as one who felt it her duty to stand up for her out-of-doors, whatever she may do indoors. I saw victory in those plump white shoulders, which must have cost a battle; but whatever Lady Rosamond gains, will make it all the worse for the others. No, Eleonora, I have known Mrs. Poynsett’s rancour for many years, and I would wish no one a worse lot than to be her son’s fiancée, except to be his wife.”
“She did not seem to object to these marriages.”
“The sons took her by surprise. Besides, Raymond’s was the very parti mothers seek out for their sons. Depend upon it, she sent him off with her blessing to court the unexceptionable cousin with the family property. Poor Raymond, he is a dutiful son, and he has done the deed; but, if I am not much mistaken the little lady is made of something neither mother nor son is prepared for, and he has not love enough to tame her with.”
“That may be seen at a glance. He can’t help it, poor fellow; he would have had it if he could, like anything else that is proper.”
There was a moment’s silence; then the exclamation, “Just look there!”
One of the hats was nodding on the box in a perilous manner.
“It is only James,” said Lady Tyrrell; “as long as it is not the coachman, it matters the less. There’s no danger.”
“You will not keep him, though!”
“I don’t know. He is much the best looking and handiest of the men; and your page, Master Joshua, is no great acquisition yet.”
“I wish you would not call him mine; I wish you would send him back to his grandmother. I can’t bear his being among those men.”
“Very complimentary to my household! They are not a bit worse than the company he came from! You don’t believe in rural simplicity, eh?”
“I believe that taking that boy from his home makes us responsible.”
“And do I hinder you from catechizing him to your heart’s content? or sending him to the school of design?”
Again Eleonora was silent. Perhaps the balancing of the footman’s head occupied her mind. At any rate, no more was said till the sisters had reached their home. Then, at the last moment, when there was no time left for a reply, Eleonora cleared and steadied her voice, and said, “Camilla, understand two things for truth’s sake. First, I mean what I say. Nothing shall ever induce me to marry a man who bets. Next, I never have forgotten Frank Charnock for one moment. If I have been cold and distant to him, it is because I will not draw him near me to be cruelly scorned and disappointed!”
“I don’t mind the why, if the effect is the same,” were Lady Tyrrell’s last words, as the door opened.
Eleonora’s little white feet sped quickly up the steps, and with a hasty good night, she sped across the hall, but paused at the door. “Papa must not be disappointed,” she whispered to herself, and dashed her hand over her eyes; and at the moment the lock turned, and a gray head appeared, with a mighty odour of smoke. “Ah! I thought my little Lena would not pass me by! Have you had a pleasant party, my dear? Was young Strangeways there?”
She had nestled in his arms, and hoped to avoid notice by keeping her head bent against him, as she hastily responded to his questions; but he detected something.
“Eh? Camilla been lecturing? Is that it? You’ve not been crying, little one? It is all right, you know! You and I were jolly enough at Rockpier; but it was time we were taken in hand, or you would have grown into a regular little nun, among all those black coats.”
“I wish I were.”
“Nonsense! You don’t know life! You’ll tell another story one of these days; and hark childie, when you’ve married, and saved the old place, you’ll keep the old room for the old man, and we’ll have our own way again.”
She could but kiss him, and hide her agitation in caresses, ere hurrying up the stairs she reached her own rooms, a single bed-chamber opening into a more spacious sitting-room, now partially lighted by the candles on the toilette-table within.
She flung herself down on a chair beyond the line of light, and panted out half aloud, “Oh! I am in the toils! Oh for help! Oh for advice! Oh! if I knew the right! Am I unfair? am I cold and hard and proud? Is she telling me true? No, I know she is not—not the whole truth, and I don’t know what is left out, or what is false! And I’m as bad—making them think I give
