CHAPTER XX
MRS. JEDSLEY’S visit of curiosity and condolence was of a surprisingly consolatory nature. As an old friend, Mrs. Jedsley permitted herself the curiosity; but even from an old friend Lady Paton had not expected a true-ringing generosity of judgment.
“I came, my dear—yes, because I wanted to know. My ears are buzzing with the talk of it—true or false, who can tell? Not even you, I fancy; but I have my own opinion,” said Mrs. Jedsley. “I understand Camelia pretty well; but vulgarly, schemingly cruel—rubbish! rubbish!—so I say!”
That the saying had been at all necessary made poor Lady Paton more white, yet Mrs. Jedsley’s denunciation was so sincere that she took her hands, saying, “How can they! It was a mistake. She found she did not love him. He understands.” Sir Arthur’s parting words had haloed her daughter for her during these difficult days.
“Yes, yes, he is a very fine fellow, and idealizes her tremendously,” said Mrs. Jedsley, with strict justice. “It was, of course, a great shame for her not to have made up her mind long ago—a great shame to have accepted him”—Mrs. Jedsley shore off Camelia’s beams relentlessly—“and a great pity, my dear, that the engagement should have been announced, since a few hours of silence might have shifted the matter, and no one the wiser. But of course we were all as ready as dry kindling for the match—it spread like wildfire—a fine crackling! and then, in a day, a fine cackling! Lady Haversham came running down to me post-haste to say it was off—to wonder, to exult. Of course she is an adherent of the Duchess’s, and Lady Elizabeth has her chance again. But yes, yes, I know the child—a vain child, a selfish child; ah! it pains you; one must face that truth to see beyond it—to others; but not vulgarly cruel. She would not play with the man for months to give herself the feline fun of crunching him at the end of it all. She was playing with herself rather, only half in earnest. The engagement brought her to her senses—held her still; she couldn’t dance, so she thought. Indeed, it’s the first time I’ve respected Camelia. I do respect a person who has the courage to retrieve a false step. It is quite a good enough match to turn a girl into a schemer. At least she has proved she’s not that.”
“No! no! My daughter!”
“Quite true; your daughter; that does count, after all. No, she can’t be accused of husband-hunting.” Mrs. Jedsley laughed dryly. “Now, the question of course remains, who is she in love with?” and she fixed on her friend a gaze so keenly interrogative that it certainly suggested tinder ready to flash alight of itself. “Not our Parliamentary big-wig, Mr. Rodrigg? Oh no!”
“No, indeed.” Lady Paton’s head-shake might have damped the most arduous conjecture. “He went away, you know—very angrily, it seems, and most discourteously, for I did not even see him. He behaved very badly, Michael told me. Michael himself is gone; you knew that too? He just stopped to see me on his way to the station.”
“Mr. Perior—yes.” Mrs. Jedsley looked ruminative; even to her quickly jumping mind that long leap of inference did not suggest itself except in one connection.
Poor Mr. Perior! Had Camelia been giving the mitten right and left? Buffeting back into hopelessness each suitor who advanced, encouraged by another’s failure? Had Mr. Perior really been foolish enough to run his head into that trap?