"John says Aunt Julia is so dreadful bad. He says perhaps she'll die." Mittie's eyes were full of tears.
"John had no business to say anything of the sort to you. He is a foolish fellow. You are not to listen to him, Mittie, or to talk to the servants—except Milton and Slade. I don't believe Aunt Julia is nearly so bad as John makes out. Mind you are a good child, and go to bed early, and don't be dull. It won't last long." Mittie held up her face for a kiss, trying to smile. She kept fairly bright until the pony-chaise drove off, carrying her mother and John. Then Mittie's self-command came to an end. She rushed away to a corner of her mother's room, and sobbed out her little heart in a flood of lonely tears.
But Hermione was not in the village, as Slade supposed.
She had gone that afternoon for a walk alone, towards the big house and grounds, nearly two miles distant, where dwelt the Dalton family, Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, and their one daughter, Anna.
She had not once seen the Daltons since that memorable afternoon when Harvey had just returned from abroad, and the three had dropped in for a long call. The Daltons were wealthy people. Mr. Dalton had made a large fortune in business, and had therewith purchased the property lying next to Westford, no long time back.
Hermione did not care much for these Daltons. She knew that her grandfather had not liked them, and she knew also that Harvey was by no means anxious for a closer acquaintance. There was a tinge of commonness about their speech and their manners which grated on her, so she could well understand Harvey's feeling; and they had few redeeming qualities. Mr. Dalton was counted a hard landlord; Mrs. Dalton was said to give herself airs; and Miss Dalton, though a good woman, was an universally-acknowledged bore in society. Hermione, however polite she might be to them in their presence, had fully concurred in these criticisms.
It was not in the least necessary that she should undertake a four miles' walk for the express purpose of a call on the Daltons. They had left their cards, it was true, one day lately, when she was out, but they would not expect to see her for a good while. Her sad loss was still very recent, and during the life of Mr. Dalrymple calls between Hermione and the Daltons had been carefully rendered few and far between by his particular wish. There was no reason now for a change, and six weeks later would have been soon enough.
Yet Hermione went, regardless of mud, saying nothing to anybody.
If she had mentioned her intention, Harvey would at once have proposed driving round thither, that she and Julia might call together. Hermione felt no doubt about this. However little Harvey might care for the acquaintance, he was irreproachable in his gentlemanly kindness to her where such matters were concerned. And she did not wish to go with Julia. She was bent upon paying the call alone.
For the East Bourne question remained still open. Mr. Fitzalan had not changed his mind; had not, as Hermione expected, offered after all to take her in. She was very much hurt at what, in her heart, she called "his unkindness;" so much so that for three whole days she had not been to the Rectory at all.