When the carriage which had been ordered by Augustine Aumerle rolled up to the front of the vicarage, Ida was sent again to try her powers of persuasion, to induce the countess to avail herself of it to return to her husband’s home.
Ida felt the errand painful, and almost hopeless. She hesitated for a moment ere she knocked, and heard within the sound of a pen moving rapidly over the paper.
“Annabella, my love,” began Ida, as she softly unclosed the door.
The countess was bending over her desk, apparently absorbed in writing. Her back was towards the door, but she started on the entrance of Ida, and turning hastily round showed a countenance crimsoned to the temples with a burning flush.
“I can’t be disturbed!” she exclaimed in a voice strangely harsh and impatient.
“O dear cousin!” cried Ida, “if you would but listen for a moment—”
“I will hear you to-morrow,” said Annabella, “let me feel that in this room at least I am safe from unwelcome intrusion!”
Intrusion! what a word—and from those lips! Ida Aumerle was deeply hurt, not to say offended, and returned again to her family mortified and dejected. The vicar breathed a weary sigh, and Mrs. Aumerle said something about “a termagant,” which made Mabel extremely angry.
“So then I must be off!” said Augustine. “I had so little hope of the fair lady’s yielding, that, as you see, my travelling bag is all ready. Farewell, Mrs. Aumerle; thanks for your hospitality. Lawrence, remember that I expect you all at Aspendale on the 12th. I shall be glad if by that time you think my friend Mabel sufficiently fledged to try a flight in the blue empyrean!”