“You seem to me a little older and thinner than when we parted, May-blossom, and you looked just as well in your good russet gown as in that dainty blue velvet with the sparklers; but you’ll do very well—do very well! And now I dare say that you want to know what brought the old man gadding here.” He threw himself into an arm-chair to converse more at ease, perfectly regardless of the presence of the servants, now engaged in illuminating the room.
“You see, ever since you left us, Stoneby’s grown as dull as ditch-water—all the life seems gone out of it. Parson’s always busy as usual—too busy to have much time to give to a little social gossip; and his wife’s sick, and keeps her room in the cold weather. There’s nothing stirring in the village, or for ten miles round—the very windmill seems to have gone to sleep; and the robins, to my mind, don’t chirp and sing as they used to do. Susan has taken it into her silly head to marry, like her mistress, and the new girl don’t suit me—breaks my crockery, and over-roasts my mutton. The long and short of it is, that home is not home without my May-blossom. I bore it as long as I could—lonely evenings and all. At last says I to myself, ‘I’ll put up my bundle and be off to London. I know there’s some one there will be glad to see the old man; let him arrive when he may, he won’t be unwelcome!’”
Clemence felt indignant with herself for not being able more fully and cordially to respond to her uncle’s assurance. “The world must indeed have already exercised its corrupting influence over me,” was her silent reflection, “when I can experience anything but joy at the sound of that dear familiar voice! But what will my husband say?” As the thought crossed her mind, the door opened, and Mr. Effingham entered the room.
A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined than that between the tall, dignified, handsome gentleman, with his polished manner and graceful address, and the short, square-built, jovial old captain, with a face much of the shape and colouring, without the smoothness, of a rosy-cheeked apple. Mr. Effingham was aware of the arrival of Thistlewood—indeed, no one in the house, not afflicted with deafness, was likely to be altogether ignorant of it; he was therefore quite prepared for the meeting. To the unspeakable relief of Clemence, Mr. Effingham cordially held out his hand to the sailor, who shook it as he might have worked a pump handle, and then said in a kindly voice, “I am glad to see you, captain; you must take up your quarters with us.”
Thistlewood nodded in acquiescence, as one who felt an invitation to be quite an unnecessary form; but Clemence’s expressive eyes were turned on her husband with a look of gratitude, which told how much it was appreciated by her.
“We expect company this evening,” continued Mr. Effingham.
“Ay, so the white-headed chap with the gold cable told me.”
“It does not want a quarter of an hour to dinner-time,” said the gentleman, taking out his watch.
“Dinner-time! I should rather call it supper-time. Ha! ha! ha! I dined before one, but my long journey has made me rather peckish. A beefsteak wouldn’t come anyways amiss.”
“You may like to make some little alteration in your dress,” observed Mr. Effingham, glancing at the pea-jacket and muddy boots of his guest; “my servant will show you your apartment.”