“For her sake I would do anything!”
“It is a great pity to keep the poor thing caged up here: and what is to become of her in the end? As your daughter she can come up to the house and see something of society.”
“What, a servant, madam?” cried Turner, reddening fiercely.
“Nothing of the kind; you are no common man, Turner; and certainly that child, with her wild, arch, nay, haughty style, might pass anywhere. She shall come to the Hurst and obtain some accomplishments. I should fancy her greatly about the house. She might pick up a little education from my son’s tutor, who will be down in a week or two, and become quite an ornament to the establishment.”
“She would be an ornament to any place,” said Turner, proudly.
“Yes,” replied the lady, smiling upon me, “any man might be proud of her for a daughter. I dare say we shall be excellent friends soon—meantime think of what I have said. This is a charming place, it would be a pity for the child to leave it. To-morrow let me have your answer.”
She moved proudly away, holding up her dress, and winding carefully through the flower-beds, as if her errand had been the commonest thing in the world.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
TURNER’S STRUGGLE AGAINST MARRIAGE.
I could not realize the importance of Lady Catherine’s visit all at once. It had been carried on so quietly, so like the ordinary common-place of her patrician life, that its meaning seemed lost in sound. I could even amuse myself with the excitement of poor Turner, who, folding his arms behind him, went furiously pacing up and down the garden, treading everything down in his path, and wading knee deep through the tall autumn blossoms, jerking his feet among them now and then, as if it were a relief to destroy anything that came in his way.
I had never seen the old man in this mood before, and almost thought him mad, for he muttered to himself, and seemed quite unconscious that I was a witness to the scene.