On the same afternoon as that on which Anna was travelling towards Waverley, Mrs Hunt, the doctor’s wife in Dornton, held one of her working parties. This was not at all an unusual event, for the ladies of Dornton and the neighbourhood had undertaken to embroider some curtains for their beautiful old church, and this necessitated a weekly meeting of two hours, followed by the refreshment of tea, and conversation. The people of Dornton were fond of meeting in each other’s houses, and very sociably inclined. They met to work, they met to read Shakespeare, they met to sing and to play the piano, they met to discuss interesting questions, and they met to talk. It was not, perhaps, so much what they met to do that was the important thing, as the fact of meeting.
“So pleasant to meet, isn’t it?” one lady would say to the other. “I’m not very musical, you know, but I’ve joined the glee society, because it’s an excuse for meeting.”
And, certainly, of all the houses in Dornton where these meetings were held, Dr Hunt’s was the favourite. Mrs Hunt was so amiable and pleasant, the tea was so excellent, and the conversation of a most superior flavour. There was always the chance, too, that the doctor might look in for a moment at tea-time, and though he was discretion itself, and never gossiped about his patients, it was interesting to gather from his face whether he was anxious, or the reverse, as to any special case.
This afternoon, therefore, Mrs Hunt’s drawing-room presented a busy and animated scene. It was a long, low room, with French windows, through which a pleasant old garden, with a wide lawn and shady trees, glimpses of red roofs beyond, and a church tower, could be seen. Little tables were placed at convenient intervals, holding silk, scissors, cushions full of needles and pins, and all that could be wanted for the work in hand, which was to be embroidered in separate strips; over these many ladies were already deeply engaged, though it was quite early, and there were still some empty seats.
“Shall we see Mrs Forrest this afternoon?” asked one of those who sat near the hostess at the end of the room.
“I think not,” replied Mrs Hunt, as she greeted a new-comer; “she told me she had to drive out to Losenick about the character of a maid-servant.”
“Oh, well,” returned the other with a little shake of the head, “even Mrs Forrest can’t manage to be in two places at once, can she?”
Mrs Hunt smiled, and looked pleasantly round on her assembled guests, but did not make any other answer.
“Although I was only saying this morning, there’s very little Mrs Forrest can’t do if she makes up her mind to it,” resumed Miss Gibbins, the lady who had first spoken. “Look at all her arrangements at Waverley! It’s well known that she manages the schools almost entirely—and then her house—so elegant, so orderly—and such a way with her maids! Some people consider her a little stiff in her manner, but I don’t know that I should call her that.”
She glanced inquiringly at Mrs Hunt, who still smiled and said nothing.